The ode less travelled: unlocking the poet within (16 page)

Any purely anapaestic line is either a monometer of three syllables…

Uncon
vinced

…a dimeter of six…

Uncon
vinced
, at a
loss

…a trimeter of nine…

Uncon
vinced
, at a
loss
, discon
tent

…or a tetrameter of twelve…

Uncon
vinced
, at a
loss
, discon
tent
, in a
fix
.

And so on. Don’t be confused: that line of twelve syllables is not a hexameter, it is a
tetrameter
. It has
four
stressed syllables.

Remember: it is the number of
stresses
, not the number of
syllables
, that determines whether it is penta-or tetra-or hexa-or any other kind of -meter:

Now look at the anapaestic tetrameter above and note one other thing: the first foot is one word, the second foot is two thirds of a single word, foot number three is two and a third words and the fourth foot three whole words. Employing a metre like the anapaest doesn’t mean every foot of a line has to be composed of an anapaestic word:

That would be ridiculous, as silly as an iambic pentameter made up of ten words, as mocked by Pope–not to mention fiendishly hard. Nor would an anapaestic tetrameter have to be made up of four pure anapaestic
phrases
:

The rhythm comes through just as clearly with…

or…

…where every foot has a different number of words. It is the beats that give the rhythm. Who would have thought poetry would be so arithmetical? It isn’t, of course, but prosodic analysis and scansion can be. Not that any of this really matters for our purposes: such calculations are for the academics and students of the future who will be scanning and scrutinising your work.

Poe’s ‘Annabel Lee’ is in anapaestic
ballad
form (four-stress lines alternating with three-stress lines):

For the
moon
never
beams
without
bring
ing me
dreams

Of the
beaut
iful
Ann
abel
Lee
.

I suppose the best-known anapaestic poem of all (especially to Americans) is Clement Clarke Moore’s tetrametric ‘The Night Before Christmas’:

’Twas the
night
before
Christ
mas, when
all
through the
house
Not a
creat
ure was
stir
ring, not
ev
en a
mouse
;

The
stock
ings were
hung
by the
chim
ney with
care
In
hopes
that St
Nich
olas
soon
would be
there
.

The second couplet has had its initial weak syllable docked in each line. This is called a
clipped
or
acephalous
(literally ‘headless’) foot. You could just as easily say the anapaest has been substituted for an iamb, it amounts to precisely the same thing.

Both the Poe and the Moore works have a characteristic lilt that begs for the verse to be set to music (which they each have been, of course), but anapaests can be very rhythmic and fast moving too: unsuited perhaps to the generality of contemplative poetry, but wonderful when evoking something like a gallop. Listen to Robert Browning’s ‘How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix’:

I
sprang
to the
stirr
up and
Jor
is and
he

I
gall
oped, Dirk
gall
oped, we
gall
oped all
three
.

It begs to be read out loud. You can really hear the thunder of the hooves here, don’t you think? Notice, though, that Browning also dispenses with the first weak syllable in each line. For the verse to be in ‘true’ anapaestic tetrameters it would have to go something like this (the underline represents an added syllable, not a stress):

Then I sprang to the stirrup and Joris and he

And I galloped, Dirk galloped, we galloped all three.

But Browning has given us
clipped
opening feet:

Da-
dum
, titty-
tum
, titty-
tum
, titty-
tum

Da-
dum
, titty-
tum
, titty-
tum
, titty-
tum
.

instead of the full

Titty-
tum
, titty-
tum
, titty-
tum
, titty-
tum

Titty-
tum
, titty-
tum
, titty-
tum
, titty-
tum

If you tap out the rhythms of each of the above with your fingers on the table, or just mouth them to yourself (quietly if you’re on a train or in a café, you don’t want to be stared at) I think you will agree that Browning knew what he was about. The straight anapaests are rather dull and predictable. The opening iamb or acephalous foot, Da-
dum
! makes the whole ride so much more dramatic and realistic, mimicking the way horses hooves fall. Which is not to say that, when well done, pure anapaests can’t work too. Byron’s poem ‘The Destruction of Sennacharib’ shows them at their best.

T
AKE OUT YOUR PENCIL AND MARK THE ANAPAESTS HERE
(Assyrian is
three
syllables, by the way, not four):

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,

And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;

And the sheen on their spears was like stars on the sea,

And the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Byron doesn’t keep this up all the way through, however: