Blogging A to Z: "S" is for Syllabics (Huh?)

First of all, some poetic terms for the non-poets out there:
        Formal verse: verse that has meter and usually, but not always, rhyme. Formalists today are the minority. I am of the minority.
        Free verse: verse that has neither meter nor rhyme. Most poetry written today is free verse.
        Blank verse: a type of formal verse, it is unrhymed iambic pentameter. One example is Tennyson's "Ulysses"; Frost's "Mending Wall" is another; also, Shakespeare's plays are mostly written in blank verse. Many of my own poems are blank verse.
        Scansion: the metrical or rhythmical analysis of a poem

Then there's syllabics. Quite simply, a syllabic poem contains the same number of syllables per line, or the same pattern of syllable count per line from stanza to stanza. Rhyme is certainly not required, but is sometimes used. Meter is not an issue, but the restriction of syllable count formalizes the poem to a certain extent, at least in appearance, and does give it an inherent, though not apparent, rhythm. So one could say that syllabics is a happy balance between free and formal verse, and may serve as a bridge for any poet wanting to transition from formal to free or vice-versa.

What exactly constitutes a syllable in poetry is a bit vague, and we can't always adhere to how the dictionary divides syllables. For instance, in the first poem below—the "u-a" in "rituals" and the "i-o" in "inviolate" may count poetically and musically either as one syllable or as two separate syllables; I consider both to be one syllable in this particular poem. Also, words like "jewels" (third stanza) may be considered to have either one or two syllables. As is so often evidenced in older poetry, there are such instances even between two words—e. g., "many a," where the "-y" of "many" and the word "a" may be counted together as one syllable. Furthermore, in Italian, words such as "mio" and "tuo," though they are pronounced with two distinct syllables when spoken or sung, are counted as having only one syllable in the scansion of a poem. (This may be why, in music, these words are often assigned only one note.) In any case, I feel that the musicality of a poem overrides strict rules of rhythm, and determining musicality is at its core a matter of subjective opinion.

The two poems below are examples of syllabics. The first, "Ours," is of the simpler kind, having the same number of syllables in every line; in this case, seven. The second poem, "Heartscape," is more complicated. It's an example of a poem having the same pattern of syllable count per line from stanza to stanza; in this case, the pattern is 4-8-7-6-5.  Also, unusually, "Heartscape" is metered; the meter, like the syllable count, changes from line to line, but the pattern of meters is exactly the same between the two stanzas.

All this said, I hope that, beyond the dry but necessary stuff of craft, the content of my poetry will appeal to the average reader, especially readers who generally avoid poetry because they find it difficult to understand or relate to. My personal goal with every poem I write is to move, to awaken a memory or experience similar to the one I've tried to convey. If I accomplish that, I'm satisfied.



Ours

Your ways are unknown to me,
Your rituals of night and day;
Not even to imagine
Ever granted, to witness
Ever given to my eye.

Your days and all that fills them,
Inviolate—too vast a sea
Of histories, circumstance,
Between my heart and that which
Sense would covet above all.

What I have is mine to hold;
Such precious jewels hid away
For this poor miserly self!
All the earth's riches to me;
To others, perhaps, fool's gold ...

No matter. For you and I
Share all we share forever,
Though it be merely hours,
Fleshless words on brittle page
Be our only testament.

Our legacy—the knowledge
That, in spirit, intertwined
These threads, gossamer yet strong,
Stronger far than sense, older
Than all days and ways of earth.        (April 2007)



Heartscape

Time stops for joy,
That only with the fnest strokes
We may preserve the moment;
Words, perhaps, may serve to prime,
But only love can seal.

Time runs unseen
Through days of color lusterless
That fade into the canvas;
Then a distant glimmer nears,
And time shall stop again.          (September 2007)