All right, I’m probably going to hell for that one. But seriously, I seem to have fallen into a ditch filled with iambic pentameter.
I’ve been thinking about meter in general lately. When I first began to write poetry, it was mostly free verse–no rhyme, no meter. Nothing wrong with that. But in my recent poems, I’ve noticed that when revising a draft and paying attention to the sound of the line, I am tending to change words and phrases in such a way as to fall into a regular meter.
The biggest catalyst for this was when I began to follow advice from writing guides and make a habit of reading my poems out loud as I revise them. In doing so, I came to know how pleasing a rhythmical line is to me.
Rhyme is still not often present, and when it is there it’s more likely to be slant rhyme than full rhyme. So I suppose you’d call these poems blank verse as opposed to free verse.
Nothing wrong with that either–as long as my paying attention to meter doesn’t make me suck energy or juice from the poem’s language. But I’ve noticed that several poems have evolved, specifically, into iambic pentameter. Hey, it was good enough for Shakespeare…but I don’t want to get into a rut.
So, I suppose I should do some deliberate exercises about writing in other meter structures. Trochees, anapests, dactyls, varying number of feet–and if I worry about loss of spontaneity, I should remember that none of these are a commitment. The poem is mine; I can tear it apart and rebuild it as many times as I want.
Do you know the little verse about the main types of metrical feet?
“The iamb saunters through my book,
Trochees rush and tumble;
While the anapest runs like a hurrying brook,
Dactyls are stately and classical.”
By the way, an even better way to remember the dactyl is Benedict Cumberbatch.
Lori Lynne Armstrong 