[TYPEWRITER CLICKING]
[PERCUSSION BEAT]
SPEAKER: The word meter might make
you think of a unit of measurement
only sprinter's care about.
But in poetry, the
idea of meter helps
us hear the ways English marks
out of beat when spoken aloud.
Meter refers to the patterns created
by the accented and unaccented
syllables in a string of words.
To see what's difficult to hear,
it helps to mark up a poem.
Noting the accented and
unaccented syllables,
also called stressed in unstressed
syllables, is called scansion.
It's a good way to
geek out on sounds.
But sometimes people
struggle at first
to hear and/or see
the difference between
stressed and unstressed syllables.
So one trick is to say
the word incorrectly.
This makes clear what the
natural accent pattern is.
For example, say this word aloud.
Not sure where the
accented syllable is?
Say it like this--
em-pha-SIS.
[THREE DRUM BEATS]
Em-pha-SIS.
Hopefully that doesn't
sound right to you.
Now try em-PHA-sis.
[THREE DRUM BEATS]
Em-PHA-sis.
Still not right.
Only one possibility left--
EM-pha-sis.
The first syllable is stressed,
and the last two are unstressed.
So when we use scansion to show
that pattern, it looks like this.
[THREE DRUM BEATS]
Using scansion, you can identify
certain metrical patterns.
Why bother?
Well, patterns of stressed
and unstressed syllables
occur naturally and
randomly in English.
Poets and even some highly evolved
prose writers often align them
intentionally to create
deliberate patterns
and variations on those patterns
to capture the ears attention.
Crafting metrical
phrases pushes spoken
language closer towards song.
Think of each syllable as a note.
For example, the phrase washes wild
shores with tides of white shells
makes us hear a particular music.
The alliteration of the W's and
S-H's and the assonance of the I's,
the slight rhyme of wild
and tide, the singular meter
of wild shores with white shells.
When a poem plays
with sound patterns
by using alliteration,
rhyme, and meter,
it creates notes,
refrains, and beats,
that form a subtle
yet palpable music.
The sentence's sense
affects the brain.
Its music affects the body.
Sometimes a poem's elusive meaning
makes the reader's mind strain.
I can't clearly explain what a
complex hop-step apoplexy is.
But I enjoy saying and hearing it.
We might not get it.
But as long as it sounds
good, we'll listen.
Obscure content doesn't feel as
distant when the languages music,
creates a physical sensation.
One way to create that sensation
is through metrical pattern
and variation.
So here's some of the most common
metrical patterns in English.
None of these examples reach
for the heights of great poetry.
The idea is just to let you
hear and see the patterns.
An iamb, or iambic meter,
is unstressed then stressed.
The beat-- it pounds the sounds
into the shape of thoughts
the pope hopes to
slip inside your ear.
The beat-- it pounds the
sounds into the shape--
[DRUMBEAT MIRRORING PATTERN]
--of thoughts the poet hopes
to slip inside your ear.
The inversion of an iamb is
it trochee or trochaic meter,
Stressed then unstressed.
[DRUMBEAT MIRRORING PATTERN]
Left foot, quick step,
right foot, stop.
Dance that claptrap high-hat pop.
Where is the high-hat?
We don't have a high-hat.
A dactyl is stressed--
[DRUMBEAT MIRRORING PATTERN]
--un, un.
Waltzing with language
is tricky at first,
but practice can turn
into intricate verse.
Bonus points if you
noticed a dactyl itself
is the musical beat a Waltz uses.
An anapest is un, un, then stressed.
In the hallway your footsteps
might turn your invisible mood
into rhythms the warden
would rather not hear.
Meter isn't an exact science.
Variations don't disqualify a line
from falling into a general rhythm.
Some readers might hear that
last part as pure anapest.
Others might call it a spondee.
A spondee spondaic meter is two
stressed syllables in a row.
Sentences tap dancing forward
through time can trip up.
Notice how this sentence
starts out with the run
of dactyls, which creates a
flowing rhythm akin to dancing.
Then that last awkward spondee
breaks the rhythm, as if
the sentence itself tripped.
That's when a poem's form
embodies what it's talking about.
Here's another spondee.
Sometimes a sleepy reader
needs a well-placed spondee
like bam-bam to wake up.
If you're approaching
meter as a reader,
don't think the point is
to constantly mark up poems
like a scientist
dissecting poor mice.
If you're a writer, don't
get stuck walking in lockstep
to these prescribed rhythms.
Still, like any art, writing
asks for a measure of discipline.
Put yourself through your
own little meter band camp
to train your ear to hear
the music inside what's said.
The first step is to say it aloud.
You'd rather listen to a song
than look at sheet music, right?
Reading aloud will tune your ear
and expand your mind's capacity
to marvel at how our
agile brains can juggle
sense and sound simultaneously.
Listen to this last piece.
And notice how it doesn't
stick to one meter,
but uses various metrical rhythms
occasionally and sparingly,
like a spice.
The scansion won't appear so
that you can practice hearing
it slash seeing it for yourself.
Bus Stop Talk--
You know the woman waiting
next to you silently
enjoys a pulse, a rhythm shouldering
blind blood through dark veins
to keep the whole show glowing.
Before this quiet encounter
is over, ask, out of the blue,
what she is listening to.
And your heart's pace might
leap a few beats forward
when the sentence you speak
splits the air in two.
One half-- the silence
sound floats forward upon.
The other-- a modest boat that
breathes the waves of otherness
to ship odd inquiries of interest
we don't expect and so, I hope,
don't reject.
It's not difficult to create a beat.
You're doing it right
now with your heart.
[PERCUSSION SHAKER]
Like meter, you only hear
it when you listen for it.
Still, it moves you.
