Previous articles in this series have described the role of emotion and memory in composition, and examined specifically the composition of limericks. Here, the focus is on two fundamental tools for the design of poems: commonality and contrast.
Commonality and contrast have universal applicability. No form of structure is possible without something shared in common, whether it be the edge of a wall, a variable name in a program, or shared electrons in molecules. And any form of setting things apart implies a type of contrast, viewed generally.
But the focus here is on commonality and contrast, specifically in literature, and poetry in particular. Commonality and contrast can operate both semantically across the scope of a work and also syntactically down to the lowest level. We will cover the range, starting at the highest level.
The semantic use of commonality and contrast is most apparent in long narrative poems, and in non-poetic literary works. I will discuss this only briefly, because the focus here is on poetic composition, and long poetic works are rarely composed today, or, for that matter, read. (I am an exception, having composed two long narrative poems in my younger days: Kalamand, 1997, and The Way of Trilobites, 2002. See here if you are interested.)
Focusing for the moment on long narrative works, the structure of the story appears through commonality, and generally its point as well; the exploratory part of the story is built around its choice of contrasts.
In the simplest case, one contrasts good with evil. But pure good and evil are rare in Homer and Shakespeare, who I consider the leading literary figures, as they are in life itself. More interesting contrasts convey, for instance, what it means to be a hero (Achilles/Hector in the Iliad), what it means to grow into responsibility (Henry/Harry Hotspur in Henry IV), or what it means to be a good daughter (Cordelia/Goneril and Regan in King Lear).
But the contrast must occur within some structure, which it is the role of commonality to provide. In the context of literature, this could be for instance shared family, occupation, or interest. Ultimately, it is shared humanity.
What contrast tears asunder, commonality binds. They work together. One might say that if contrast is like the branches of a tree, commonality is the trunk. The choice of commonality is how unification is achieved.
The “point” of a story is often conveyed through its identification of commonalities. This is where the disparate contrasts come together, and are seen as different aspects of the same thing.
We see this toward the end of the Iliad, as King Priam comes to the tent of his enemy, Achilles, to ask for the return of his son’s body. Here, the contrasting passions of Greeks and Trojans at war disappear into their common humanity.
Romeo and Juliet is similar. In the hands of a lesser writer, Romeo and Juliet would have been a tale of contrasts. One of the warring families would have been chosen to be good, the other evil, and most likely good would have prevailed over evil with Romeo and Juliet living happily ever after.
Shakespeare chose instead to make Romeo and Juliet a story of commonality. The two families are little different; even their mutual hatred is simply mirrored between them. His point is that the apparent differences between them, so evident to themselves, are a fallacy; but a deadly fallacy, capable of destroying something beautiful. (For a sonnet on this topic, see here.)
In The King and the Sage, the commonality is the regret of ghosts for the failings of their lives; the contrast is between a failure of the head and a failure of the heart.
In shorter works, the role of commonality and contrast is more tactical. It can be used to indicate a common structure within the poem, and thus to mark off exploratory branches (contrast) that stem from it.
Ways of indicating commonality at this level include rhyme and meter, alliteration, sequence, and shared words or phrases. We will discuss these in turn.
For poets who use rhyme, the commonality it establishes across lines can be a powerful way to indicate the structure of the poem.
Most poets treat a poetic form, meaning here primarily the pattern of meter and rhyme, as fixed for a particular poem. I do not. I view poetic form as in service of commonality and contrast, which in turn serves the poetic message. The poetic form should reflect the poem’s structure, and adjust as necessary.
As an example, a strong commonality in a speech by Hades in the following passage caused seven lines in a row to rhyme with each other. This was not characteristic of the rest of the work, where the structure was different.
Thus sets these souls, whom I forever claim.
And yet, preserve the honor of their name.
And let them walk amidst you, through their fame!
And Chiron, in whose cause tonight I came,
Beloved of gods, he kindled reason’s flame,
With which, ferocious fortune, sought to tame.
Forever honor those who do the same!
Notice also the use of alliteration in the first, fourth and sixth lines, which we will turn to shortly.
If you are wondering if it is generally possible to rhyme seven lines in a row without it appearing utterly forced, the answer is, probably not, and don’t try. I didn’t set out with that goal either.
Instead, as described in my previous article on memory and emotion in composition, start with an understanding of what the poem needs to express, and its emotional flow. Then hold it in memory, and let your subconscious do the editing. If this rhyme sequence had not been possible, I suspect the nature of the speech would have changed to express the commonality in some other way.
I say suspect, because in this mode of composition one does not have direct conscious control over the flow of words. They arise from the inner workings of one’s mind, as if they came from somewhere else.
I believe this is the reason for Homer’s invocation of his muse. While this has been tritely parroted for millennia, notably by Milton, my sense is that for Homer it was completely serious: that he did not think that the Iliad came from him, but rather through him.
In The River Styx, which is a conversation between a dying husband and his wife, the commonality between their speech is shown by duplicating the rhyming words exactly, although with reversed stanza order.
Incidentally, in The River Styx the chorus has syllable count 8-8-9-8, a pattern reversed in all other stanzas. The reason is that I generally find it easier to express a thought through an even number of syllables, and an emotion through odd. The oddness can be used to indicate uncertainty, incompleteness, and turmoil. The syllable count therefore indicates the emotional structure of the stanza.
In Hephaistos in a Shipyard, the words of Hephaistos initially appear to have no rhyme. They do rhyme, but only over the course of the whole poem, marking its structure.
Consistent with the comments above, the pattern of rhyme can and should change depending on the underlying structure of the poem. For example, in Sorrow’s Children the rhyme pattern in successive stanzas switches between couplet and alternate lines, depending on whether the flow of thought is more focused or more diffuse.
And from The Way of Trilobites referenced above,
I, Zeus, Poseidon, brothers were we three,
As fell upon this rare and favored plot,
And for its three partitions cast our lot,
As each of equal worth, or so judged we.
Here, the second and third lines are closely related, as are the first and fourth. The pattern of rhyme therefore adjusts to reflect this fact, rejecting the more common couplet form (rhyme of adjacent lines) or rhyme of alternate lines.
Another example of this pattern, and for the same reason, is A Point of Time.
A point of time alone I mark,
And shine it best I may,
And plant brave flowers upon the way,
Before I must embark.
This is particularly unusual in that the rhyme is not only atypical in the order of the match, but also unites lines with different numbers of syllables. But that is what the structure of the poem calls for.
Conversely, one can mark the end of a passage by breaking the rhyme and/or meter, as in the below sequence from Sailor (where we also see alliteration):
For we on honeydew had fed,
And with the winter winds were wed:
And so, like clouds of August sped,
Across the wondrous sea.
Moving on from rhyme and meter, another means of showing commonality is through a sequence, most naturally (so to speak), the seasons. A short example of this is Rather Should the Winter Never End, in which the seasons appear in order in successive lines. (This is also an acrostic of my wife’s name.)
Rather should the winter never end,
If I should meet the spring without thy hand.
The seasons our souls do summers send,
And all do fall upon our hearts’ command.
A longer example, The Seasons, also uses sequence to provide commonality. Here, each season has the same stanza pattern, and the end of each season indicates the start of the next, completing a cycle by the end of the poem.
Another technique for showing commonality, particularly useful within a line, is to select words with the same initial letter (“alliteration”). Examples of this were given above in passing. But to focus on alliteration explicitly, notice the words associated with “arts”, “grounds”, “statues” and “fountains” in this extract from In Origin, which bind together the individual parts of the couplet:
With all allicient arts their grounds didst gild:
With selcouth statues, fabrile fountains filled.
Alliteration can be overdone, of which I am also an example:
In all great measure dwells but sad decay.
In narrow compass, cruel and awkward things.
Melt then the moment to what mirth one may!
Well wine will warm when wandering wit it wings!
We come finally to the expression of commonality through repeated words or phrases.
We are most familiar with this from the structure of songs, in which a chorus is repeated to express the underlying idea. But the number of ways in which commonality can be expressed through repeated words or phrases is infinite, and I simply give some examples below as food for thought.
An initial word can be repeated, as in Love is Not Bitter:
Love is not bitter, for time is not long,
Love is the rainbow, and never the rain;
Love is the weakness that makes the heart strong;
Love me forever, two ones to a twain.
For sonnets, if the stanzas are each units of thought, this can be expressed through a repeated phrase at the start and/or end of each stanza, as in ‘for’ and ‘said’ in The Artist Said, and ‘shall we’ in On Becoming Obsolete.
In Imagination, the complete structure of the first stanza, including rhyming words and imagery, is duplicated in the second. This marks a commonality of thought; but word changes between corresponding lines contrast the meaning of the two stanzas.
In Kensington Today, a commonality used in many poems is a repeated line at the end of each stanza.
In The Soul of a Tyrant, the common phrase is ‘a tyrant’; In Brutus – Sonnet Version it is ‘I cannot judge’; in Cassandra, it is the repetition of her name.
An interesting variation is in The Distant Song, in which ‘perhaps’ appears at the start of four lines in the first two stanzas, but not thereafter. The reason is that the first two stanzas are similar, but differ from the rest of the poem. Repeating ‘perhaps’ after the first two stanzas would indicate a false commonality, not consistent with the meaning of the poem.
In Apollo, the repetition is ‘my brothers, sisters’; in At War’s End it is ‘therefore’; in Enduring Love, it is ‘I shall not’; in Remnant, it is ‘I am’.
In While Summer Shall Shine on Your Soul, the commonality of the first, third and fifth lines, and of the second and fourth, is expressed both in terms of rhyme pattern and by the phrases ‘come, now’ and ‘leave off’, respectively.
In conclusion, what I hope the reader will take from this article is that a poem can be made more impactful by matching its design to the underlying intent of the poet; and that this design can be constructed from commonality and contrast.
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