The Ode Less Travelled: Unlocking The Poet Within

lingering long is lodged,In lair of loathsome ways,My death delayed to keep from life,The harm of hapless days.But stay: O spite! But Mark, poor knight,What dreadful dole is here?Eyes, do you see? How can it be?O dainty duck, O dear.

We can do the same thing with Kipling’s popular ‘Tommy’, which he laid out in fourteeners:Yes, makin’ mock o’ uniforms that guard you while you sleepIs cheaper than them uniforms, an’ they’re starvation cheap;An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiers when they’re goin’ large a bitIs five times better business than paradin’ in full kit.Yes, makin’ mock o’ uniformsThat guard you while you sleepIs cheaper than them uniforms,An’ they’re starvation cheap;An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiersWhen they’re goin’ large a bitIs five times better businessThan paradin’ in full kit.

What we have there are verses in lines footed in alternating fours and threes: tetrameters and trimeters, a metrical scheme you will see again and again in English poetry. Such four and three beat lines are also common in verse designed for singing which, after all, uses up more breath than speech. It would be rather difficult to sing a whole heptametric line without turning purple. The long and winding road

andYou are the sunshine of my life

could be called (by an ass) iambic trimeters and tetrameters respectively, whileThat’s the way I like it

andI can’t get no satisfaction

are trochaic trimeter and tetrameter. Of course, it is fundamentally daffy to scan lyrics (a word derived from the Greek lyre, the harp-like instrument used to accompany song) since it is the musical beat that determines emphasis, not the metrical stress. You could never guess the very particular emphasis on ‘get no’ just by reading the lyrics of ‘Satisfaction’ unless you knew the tune and rhythm it was written to fit.

FOUR BEATS TO THE LINE

Wordsworth wrote ‘Daffodils’ in straight four-beat tetrameters.I wander’d lonely as a cloudThat floats on high o’er vales and hillsWhen all at once I saw a crowd,A host, of golden daffodils;

Tetrameter, the four-stress line, is immensely popular in English verse. If iambic pentameter, the Heroic Line, may be described as the great joint of beef, then tetrameters are the sandwiches–the everyday form if you like, and no less capable of greatness. If you ask someone to write a poetic ditty on a Valentine’s card or something similar, nine times out of ten they will write tetrameters, whether they do so consciously or not: the four-beat instinct is deep within us, much as in music the four/four time signature is so standard as to be the default: you don’t have to write it in the score, just a letter C for Common Time.

Four stresses also mark the base length of a form we will meet later called the ballad, where they usually alternate with three-stress lines, as in the anonymous seventeenth-century ‘Ballad of Sir Patrick Spens’:And many was the feather-bedThat fluttered on the foam;And many was the good lord’s sonThat never more came home.

Coleridge’s ‘Rime of the Ancient Mariner’:The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,The furrow followed free:We were the first that ever burstInto that silent sea.

and Oscar Wilde’s ‘Ballad of Reading Gaol’:I never saw a man who lookedWith such a wistful eyeUpon that little tent of blueWhich prisoners call the sky.

In each of these ballad verses the first and third lines have four stresses (eight syllables) and the second and fourth lines have three (six syllables):

It might have struck you that all three extracts could have come from the same poem, despite their each being separated by roughly a hundred years. We will hold that thought until we come to look at the ballad later. You will remember, I hope, that the Earl of Oxford’s duff heptameters and Kipling’s rather better managed ones seemed to beg to be split into a similar arrangement:My life through lingering long is lodged,In lair of loathsome ways,Yes, makin’ mock o’ uniformsThat guard you while you sleep

Tetrameters, even if they follow ballad form and alternate with trimeters, don’t need to have the swing and narrative drive of a ballad: they can be used in more lyrical and contemplative poetry too, as we have already seen with Wordsworth’s use of them for his daffodils. Emily Dickinson (1830-86) is perhaps the poet who most completely mastered the reflective aspect of the four-beat/three-beat measure. Almost none of her poetry is in lines of longer than four feet, yet its atmosphere of depth, privacy and (often sad) thoughtfulness is a world away from lusty narrative ballads.712²²Because I could not stop for deathHe kindly stopped for meThe carriage held but just ourselvesAnd Immortality.1612The Auctioneer of PartingHis ‘Going, going, gone’Shouts even from the Crucifix,And brings his Hammer down–He only sells the Wilderness,The prices of DespairRange from a single human HeartTo Two–not any more–

Lord Byron shows that pure four-beat tetrameters can be blissfully lyrical: note the initial trochaic substitution in the last line.She walks in beauty like the nightOf cloudless climes and starry skiesAnd all that’s best of dark and brightMeets in her aspect and her eyes.

While Humbert Wolfe demonstrates here their appropriateness for comic satire:You cannot hope to bribe or twist,Thank God, the British journalist.But seeing what the man will doUnbribed, there’s no occasion to.

The above examples are of course in iambic four-beats.

Mary Sidney Countess of Pembroke’s metrical version of Psalm 71 is written in trochaic tetrameters:

Lord, on thee my trust is grounded:Leave me not with shame confounded

As is Longfellow’s Song of Hiawatha: