Today’s Poem at Poems Ancient and Modern is one I read in a very forced meter — Robert Graves’s early poem about Christ in the wilderness, which I chant like a nursery rhyme in two dactyls a line.
But I wonder what a good vocabulary might be for talking about forced meter. In sung music, it’s easy because, say, a song sung in waltz time could give a natural preference to the first beat in the measure.
In poetry, we need a kind of scale to talk about how forced the meter is — and when, too artificial or too contrary to common stressing, we get off the boat. Nursery rhymes, children’s skipping and counting rhymes, political mob chants, and incantations tolerate a great deal of artificiality.
Less so might be show-piece poetry, where a meter is used to demonstrate a particular form.
So, for example, a while back I wrote a note about Robert Louis Stevenson’s poem “Alcaics,” a demonstration of Horace’s ancient Roman meter brought into English. And Adam Roberts, a sharp cookie, suggested that the prosody didn’t work all the through — although “If you set the rhythm of the line in your head before you read the poem, tap it out with a finger on a tabletop as you read aloud, you can roll the whole poem through the requisite metre; but that's not to say that the pattern of stresses, half-stresses and unstresses of actual English-as-she-is-spoke in the poem really is alcaic throughout.”
But what are we to call poems like this? Or skipping rhymes that embrace their artificiality? Or Graves’s poem, for that matter?
The rhyme scheme breaks up as the mythical monsters arrive... Your brief biography doesn't mention his lover (wife?) Laura Riding, have you covered her poetry? EG Nor is it written.
"poems one really doesn’t expect"--ha--that was exactly my reaction. I think something along the lines of "Well, I wasn't expecting that" actually passed through my mind.
My inattentive reading initially sort of glossed over the literal wilderness, and I read the audience of monsters and "poor blind broken things" as his human listeners. Which is a valid extension of the meaning, I think.
Such a Giraradian poem. The scapegoat with lover's eyes follows Him who is the perfectly innocent ultimate scapegoat and prefigures that His sacrifice will take the punishment for sin, which is separation from God, away from us guilty humans. I was moved and felt myself among all the foul creatures surrounding Christ with eager eyes. What a perfect poem for Ash Wednesday by a writer who fell so far from the realities he so thoughtfully explored in this poem. White Goddess, phooey. Thanks for republishing this. I missed it the first time around.
What a gorgeous poem! My thoughts are that it’s ironic that Graves depicts Christ as being hunted, or almost stalked by the little scapegoat in the desert, but Graves’s Christ isn’t threatened at all by the bizarre mythical creatures in their ugliness and hostility. It’s kind of indicative of the Graves’ own spiritual path later on - myth and its trappings were more welcome to Graves than the sacrifice required for atonement.
Jesus appears to have said very little to his friends about those 40 days - just the angels' help, the Tempter's offers, and his hunger. So we can imagine much. Even with that license, the poem's beasts feel artificial. But not the poor scapegoat. It now feels inevitable that that ancient sacrifice would be his best companion in the wilderness. Quite affecting.
Today’s Poem at Poems Ancient and Modern is one I read in a very forced meter — Robert Graves’s early poem about Christ in the wilderness, which I chant like a nursery rhyme in two dactyls a line.
But I wonder what a good vocabulary might be for talking about forced meter. In sung music, it’s easy because, say, a song sung in waltz time could give a natural preference to the first beat in the measure.
In poetry, we need a kind of scale to talk about how forced the meter is — and when, too artificial or too contrary to common stressing, we get off the boat. Nursery rhymes, children’s skipping and counting rhymes, political mob chants, and incantations tolerate a great deal of artificiality.
Less so might be show-piece poetry, where a meter is used to demonstrate a particular form.
So, for example, a while back I wrote a note about Robert Louis Stevenson’s poem “Alcaics,” a demonstration of Horace’s ancient Roman meter brought into English. And Adam Roberts, a sharp cookie, suggested that the prosody didn’t work all the through — although “If you set the rhythm of the line in your head before you read the poem, tap it out with a finger on a tabletop as you read aloud, you can roll the whole poem through the requisite metre; but that's not to say that the pattern of stresses, half-stresses and unstresses of actual English-as-she-is-spoke in the poem really is alcaic throughout.”
But what are we to call poems like this? Or skipping rhymes that embrace their artificiality? Or Graves’s poem, for that matter?
An explanation of this painting in English by the Prado Museum:
https://www.instagram.com/p/DF--65Mged4/
The rhyme scheme breaks up as the mythical monsters arrive... Your brief biography doesn't mention his lover (wife?) Laura Riding, have you covered her poetry? EG Nor is it written.
Haven't done Riding. Do you have particular poems of hers you recommend?
This reminded me a little of Isaiah 34. It's incredible. Thank you.
"poems one really doesn’t expect"--ha--that was exactly my reaction. I think something along the lines of "Well, I wasn't expecting that" actually passed through my mind.
My inattentive reading initially sort of glossed over the literal wilderness, and I read the audience of monsters and "poor blind broken things" as his human listeners. Which is a valid extension of the meaning, I think.
Such a Giraradian poem. The scapegoat with lover's eyes follows Him who is the perfectly innocent ultimate scapegoat and prefigures that His sacrifice will take the punishment for sin, which is separation from God, away from us guilty humans. I was moved and felt myself among all the foul creatures surrounding Christ with eager eyes. What a perfect poem for Ash Wednesday by a writer who fell so far from the realities he so thoughtfully explored in this poem. White Goddess, phooey. Thanks for republishing this. I missed it the first time around.
What a gorgeous poem! My thoughts are that it’s ironic that Graves depicts Christ as being hunted, or almost stalked by the little scapegoat in the desert, but Graves’s Christ isn’t threatened at all by the bizarre mythical creatures in their ugliness and hostility. It’s kind of indicative of the Graves’ own spiritual path later on - myth and its trappings were more welcome to Graves than the sacrifice required for atonement.
Beautiful, just beautiful.
This brought tears to my eyes.
Jesus appears to have said very little to his friends about those 40 days - just the angels' help, the Tempter's offers, and his hunger. So we can imagine much. Even with that license, the poem's beasts feel artificial. But not the poor scapegoat. It now feels inevitable that that ancient sacrifice would be his best companion in the wilderness. Quite affecting.