Last year former Russian president Vladmir Putin lent political weight when he opened the Sydney wing of the festival giving Australian politicians a hint of the importance that some governments place on their national cinemas. I was grateful to festival organisers for a brief peep at some of the headline features.
A Russian-Belgian co-production, The Banishment arrives on our shores shrouded in both mystery and anticipation. The Siberian born director Zvyagintev even went to Kubrickian lengths, going into hiding to avoid the press. Thankfully the results have proven worth the trouble. This is a major event in world cinema, a genuine example of film art, and should not be missed by any serious filmgoer. In the crime thriller Vice, director and co-writer Valery Todorovsky revisits the Russian underground he so successfully explored a decade ago in Land of the Deaf.
Vice follows the descent of young hipster Denis Maxim Metveyeva dance club disc jockey whose dreams of a life beyond the mundane lead him into an uncompromising relationship with lonely, sociopathic mobster Verner Fedor Bondarchuk. With some fine performances, blistering scenes of violence and a peculiarly bleak Russian denouement, Vice is an effectively paced crime drama, a much darker film than it seems at first. The film gently portrays the less than remarkable, though still thoroughly unmanageable, mid-life crisis of St.
Petersburg anesthetist Sergei Maslov. Come and sing along to the adventures of Ichtyandr, boy with gills. It is simply an elegant and imaginatively installed exhibition delineating the uncompromising aesthetic, cultural and formal qualities of these two modern trailblazers of world cinema. These two artists were born—as life would have it—one week apart in countries Iran and Spain respectively that have both experienced massive socio-cultural and political turbulence, censorship and ideological contradictions and tensions.
The exhibition subtly reveals the resonating, parallel trajectories of the filmmakers, each exploring a personal path in cinema that speaks of everyday life, history, landscape, myth and memory. In other words, they see and hear the world as a perennial enigma located and concealed in the visible.
Whatever differences there may be in terms of culture, as you surrender yourself to their exhibits, you realise that these filmmakers have a mutual interest in producing a contemplative cinema of attentiveness to the contingencies of life, to silence and tranquillity.
At the same time they evoke Proustian reveberations of their childhood memories. Bergala is right in emphasising how both filmmakers abhor the iron-clad tyranny of drama, sense and narrative and make their speculative, non-linear and philosophically informed films as if they are contemporary visual artists.
And at the other end of the exhibition, whose critical theme is, I believe, the indispensable connectedness that exists between the childhood of cinema and the cinema of childhood Serge Daney, Jean Louis Scheferwe find the correspondence between Kiarostami and Erice conducted in mini-DV letters.
This striking exhibit, amongst others scattered throughout the exhibition, particularly attests to their experimental creativity and curiosity to go beyond the usual constraints of celluloid cinema to explore the new possibilities of small digital cameras. This is another instance of how cinema is rapidly expanding beyond the theatre, especially in galleries and museums, where art and film are interacting in many intricate ways. Quince Treea work that continues the concerns of his modern masterpiece on creativity,The Quince Tree Sun.
The exhibition program also contains most of the seminal films of these risk-taking filmmakers. Correspondences highlights something that is sorely missing in these ahistorical times of ours. I thought it was important to introduce some of the most cutting edge, current media art production to China. Synthetic Times would have been a major event in any country, let alone one in which the concept of media art is barely known, and the sense of excitement and interest among visitors was obvious.
On the one hand these technologies, like film and photography before them, offer the tantalising possibility of capturing something of our history for posterity. The elusive nature of this promise felt all the more poignant in a city where physical traces of the past are being erased daily. On the other hand these same technologies are being increasingly utilised to observe, record and classify our movements. Every so often a bright shaft of vertical light passed across the scanner which recorded a ghostly impression of spectators who pressed themselves against the glass.
Each new sweep of light saw the previous image erased and new impressions recorded. If no-one pressed against the glass, the screen cycled through old images, creating a layering effect akin to a series of digital Turin shrouds. Initially amusing and a lot of fun, the blurry indistinct images took on a haunting air after a time, like ghosts reaching into the present from a murky past.
Two robot arms suspended from a large metal frame each ended in a ring roughly the size of a football. The rings were dipped into bowls of soapy fluid, before being swung into the centre of the frame, where fans blew on the liquid to form giant bubbles. Clouds of mist were sprayed into the bubbles and shimmering images projected from the rear briefly appeared on the water droplets before the bubbles burst, the mist dissipated and the entire process began again.
Images included a baby, a giant eye and, rather incongruously, a chicken. In the corner of the metal frame, indistinct naked figures were projected onto a solid plastic sphere, creating the effect of human forms swimming in a fish bowl. The work beautifully evoked the transient nature of images, suggesting that for all our archival technologies, time is always at work, eroding our attempts to fix memories. It comprised two screens, the right one a fuzzy yellow surveillance image of the crowd in front of the work, captured by a camera in the corner.
The image depicted gallery patrons in real time, but also retained traces of past observers in the form of spectral shadows.
Periodically a small rectangle, akin to a gunsight, would single out an individual and relay their close-up to the blue-toned screen on the left. A small screen sat before a comfortable armchair and hat stand, signifiers of cosy domestic security. A melancholic or sometimes menacing air lurked below the playful surfaces of the installations described above, but two works in Synthetic Times were unambiguously disquieting.
The first was Cloud, by Chinese artist Xu Zhongmin Occasionally the spinning stopped, the strobing ceased and the children became stationary figures poised mid-action. Then the spinning resumed and they continued their lemming-like tumbles. Wide open to interpretation, Cloud was a disturbing portrayal of futile, repetitive mass action. A large installation comprising a main screen and three smaller screens on the opposite wall, viewers had to climb a sizeable mound made from timber in the centre of the room, as if gathering to hear a Biblical parable.
The walls were filled with the silhouettes of strange creatures and vegetation, and maps of the world. On the main screen small animated vignettes played out in sequences lasting from a few seconds to a minute or so. A dolphin swam beside a man walking on shore, until the creature hit a red pipe and went belly-up while the man walked on oblivious.
A map of the world folded in on itself. Many of the aphoristic scenes were replete with acts of sanitised, clinical violence, the animated figures playing out a seemingly endless cycle of attraction, repulsion and struggle for domination with an unnerving air of calm.
The rear trio of screens showed similar scenes. The scenarios felt both familiar and strange, like half remembered dreams.
You turn up at the Judith Wright Centre, grab a drink, sit in the foyer and wait your turn. The usher comes out and quietly offers up the now mandatory fear of litigation instructions on responsible behaviour when encountering an installation. Emboldened by caveats I enter the room alert to the terrors that might lie ahead. The space is darkish and semi-industrial—silver aircon ducts, chunky pillars. The white box isolates the object, the black box isolates the viewer.
Although it does change the piece from its original conception the space works. The floor is covered in white dust marked by the footprints of previous visitors. There are two discs at either end of the space, each one a couple of metres across. The closest disc is a sand covered platform raised to about knee height, the further one a disc of white dust laid out on the ground and defined by a rim of deeper dust.
Both discs glow with video projections. Onto the raised disc is projected a dancer, life size, colour muted close to grey scale. The dancer spins and contorts within what looks like a very amniotic fluid. The face is obscured, the body de-identified.
Motion is slow, there are pauses then rapid jerking shifts. Tissue filaments, like sheets of skin, float about in the fluid, disintegrate and trail the motion of the limbs. If the raised disc is gestation then the second disc is erosion. Again the dancer is anonymous and seen from above. But this time the image is repeatedly broken down into noise generated by the microbial growth patterns of an AI algorithm.
Even though the images are large, the effect is of looking through a porthole or microscope onto a private mystery. Throughout all of this is the sound design—low rumbles, spatially driven static, unnerving resonances.
Organic, layered, moving about, buzzes and drones. At times I wander away from the image and just enjoy the sound, which seems to be more responsive to my position in the space than the images ever were. It is as if the sound forms an enclosure within which the dancer acts out a private and necessary cycle. At the end of the timeslot a light goes on in the corner of the space.
One walks up a short flight of stairs to a platform overlooking the disc of the eroded body. But now the body is fully revealed, face down, knees clenched, crouching. You reach into a bowl and grab some dust and cast it onto the figure below. More dust blows in.
Soon there is enough dust to erase the figure completely. It is designed around ideas of viral transmission—epidemics of disease and fear. The space is cubic and black, large screen at one end. The screen looks like a giant monocular scope, red crosshairs slowly moving across the surface. And, underneath the smoke trails, a movie of a surveillance operation plays out, figures glowing hot in the long wavelengths of night vision.
Contagion presents a traditional theatric and game-like space with the action split between the presentation on the screen and the audience out front. People try and interact with the system by moving about the space to drive movement in the smoke trails. But one cannot move about the space and interact in a completely natural fashion as the head must be facing forward and angled upward to view the screen, which is quite high.
There is nothing intrinsically wrong with a work that sets up some sort of disjunction or discomfort between action and response, but there must be some sort of conceptually coherent payoff for doing so. Unfortunately in Contagion there is no obvious payoff that links audience motion and orientation to the conceptual domain.
In the end, Contagion feels flat, any emotional or aesthetic engagement dominated by the clumsiness of the interaction. By contrast, Shifting Intimacies does not feel particularly interactive at all—the experience is primarily poetic, and more powerful for that. Keith Armstrong: www. The large screen facing you is contained in a deep circle of thin, bright metal, a camera hanging discreetly just above. Your actions become experimental as soon as you realise that the patterning on the vivid screen is evolving at the same rate as your own movement.
You adjust relative to the camera. You discover that you can position hands, face, torso, objects with astonishing results, as surreal, temporary still lives or slow, lyrical dances. Here, Jordana Maisie the maker turns us into co-maker and subject at once. Media arts now encapsulates everything from photography to pre-cinema to film to video to gaming to Second Life to mobile phone and GPS art, and the big screens proliferating in public spaces across the world.
There are other positive signs. Experimenta has upped the ante by titling its big touring shows as biennales. Meanwhile, Australian media artists roam the world, invited to major media arts events like Ars Electronica and ISEA [see reports on the festivals in RT88] or appearing in notable exhibitions.
A more integrative vision is also evident. As Ricardo Peach makes clear, several of the Australia Council artform boards have partnered media arts projects and have individually addressed the potency of new technologies for their constituencies.
Kathy Cleland and Lizzie Muller have drawn together works familiar and unfamiliar, all deserving of a wider audience. The spacious Campbelltown Arts Centre allows each work plenty of room to work its magic in a thematically rigorous show that seduces the viewer-participant into reflecting on their self perception with humour, trepidation and deep seriousness.
You feel vaguely implicated, a tad grubby, for even staying to listen to the rubbish he spouts. It seems to have a life of its own, but you work out fairly quickly that if you turn to two small screens with large black dot-like eyes, in the corner and gesture you can perhaps influence the rise and fall of this phallic toy —shocking inflation, too big! Is it mirroring our foolishness, our wishful thinking? The face is analysed and gridded so we witness the precise topography on which changes will be wrought—the slow re-drafting and fattening of lips or re-working of eyebrows and nose.
This is not me, but it might be the kind of hypothetical modelling offered potential makeover customers. No screens. In a nearby room, the wheelchairs have been replaced by doppelgangers, two immaculately crafted timber boxes with crystal screens on four sides Circle D: Fragile Balances, You pick one up and, as you gently turn the box around, writing unfolds in a similar style to the wheelchair printouts.
At the same time you glimpse responses on the second box as a lateral, poetic conversation unfolds. The screen is an unreliable mirror. Brightly coloured toys litter the floor. You arrange them on a plinth.
A camera and computer read your arrangement and interpret and transform it onto a screen above, thickening and varying the colours quite beautifully. In a long, narrow, dark room you move towards a screen and camera above it on which fragments of a row of overlapping faces are fading and over which your own multiplies moment after moment, in portraiture of now and now and now and before, before, before…and, as you shift before the lens, now again.
The visitor retires to a gently darkened space, stretches out on a cushioned platform, holds a sensor in each hand and encounters themself, life size, on a screen above. The pace of the heartbeat yields a flow of snow or blossom-like drift over the body and changes in colour and sound—for some participants the variation is subtle, for others relatively dramatic in intensity. A number are distinctive artworks and all are Dangers Of A Real & Concrete Nature - Deviser - Unspeakable Cults (Cassette) about where people see their bodies centred or off-balance, wounded, anxious or enjoyed.
Khut and collaborators Caitlin Newton-Broad, Greg Turner and David Morris-Oliveroshave video-ed some of these drawings and recorded the makers explaining them. These, with headphones, are available on small wall players. The notion of a new kind of library is fully and immersively realised, and goes a step further in its offer of creativity. The artist Khut provides the framework within which others can make art of their bodies and their perceptions.
Those who draw and speak become interpreters of that making. The hung paintings and screen recordings are left for others to share and compare as the mirroring multiplies. These eclectic media are driven by the audio beat: electronic music composed, performed and mixed by Monceaux.
Supermarket unfolds as a series of chapters, or sections. Even though it is described as non-narrative the approach to genres and styles fragments the work. There are a number of Monceaux-Stirling vignettes. One section comprises numerous shots of people wearing uggboots framed to cut off the person at the knees, keeping identities censored, or avoiding, like television news, the need for permission to shoot.
This chapter is followed by a romantic comedy, shot on Super 8 for Shoot the Fringe. It tells a story about two balloons meeting in The Garden of Unearthly Delights. While a sweet interpretation of falling in love, its classical narrative form stands out amongst the otherwise experimental use of footage. Early on there is a sequence of images that runs approximately in this order: an Aboriginal man hunting with a spear, kangaroos, the face of a native American, an eagle, a bull running, snow on branches, time-lapse footage of Uluru, and smiling black children who wave at the camera.
Are the artists calling into question the ethics of representation or are they unconsciously contributing to a colonialist perception of Aboriginal people? And what about the generalising association the sequence makes, likening the indigenous peoples of Australia with those of America?
Scenes from Picnic at Hanging Rocks martial arts and other films are re-cut. While the artists are perhaps concerned with deconstructing authorship the sequences seem to bear no relationship to an overall theme, except to say that everything can be accessed and is all available for consumption. In keeping with the tradition of experimental filmmaking, Monceaux and Sterling do take risks.
Supermarket has been created under the radar. At times Supermarket offers images that stand alone as remarkable moments. It is worth noting that the filmmakers come from a visual arts background and their documentary, A Shift in Perceptionsabout the experiences of three visually impaired women, has done very well in both national and international film festivals [RT75, p50]. The virtual gets real-er all the time. Getting past conventional representation must be a challenge for artists making work in Second Life?
There was already a cluey and energetic art culture happening there and Australians seemed to be engaged in it from the beginning. But in fact it was the largest grant that artists have received for such a virtual platform.
It was an interesting collaboration within the Australia Council itself. Were there funding criteria beyond making the work, for example how it might be exhibited or broadcast?
It was about making people aware of the potential of the platforms and assisting those who might be technologically phobic, or just not into these spaces, to at least have access. The artists collaborated with Lismore Regional Gallery so that a regional centre had the first mixed reality showing of the Second Life initiative.
Lismore farmers mixed with the directors of Eye-Beam [new media arts centre] in New York as Babel Swarm evolved in the gallery. They could access an avatar and then interact with the other avatars from Tokyo or New York. The artists cleverly developed the event in three stages.
The first was like a traditional gallery approach with images, photographs and text. The second space, on screen, was machinima: a filmic version of the artwork. The third space was where people were engaged interactively in real time with Babel Swarm and with other avatars. The people at the opening were creating Babel Swarm in the process of interacting with it. After the letters fall, they start searching for each other but avatars can destroy them and once destroyed they have no chance of becoming whole again, becoming one with other letters.
What might the literary people get out of it, do you think other than the joy of seeing letters? There are probably writers watching their text fall and interacting in a dialogue about the ways words and letters can impact on each other. The gallery audience loved the experience and so did the in-world audience and participants—there were more than a thousand visitors at the time.
It will depend on the type of artists and their interests. A key thing is that this practice engenders a collaborative approach. If artists are not necessarily confident within the virtual space they can collaborate with somebody who knows more about it and maybe thinks about that space in a different way.
That can be very productive. One of the processes we developed for this initiative was a matchmaker or collaborator blog where we put artists in contact with each other, not just the technically proficient. There was a recognition that the next step would probably be an embodied computer-human interface, a little bit more complex than, say, the mouse or the keyboard.
There are a lot of new interfaces being developed in areas like gaming: alpha waves or 3D motion-tracking cameras allow people to move their bodies and therefore their in-world avatars.
It will explore cognitive processes and bodily interaction and their relationship to virtual environments. What Inter-Arts wants to encourage in our next round, closing December 1, is work that can engage with mixed reality settings but also more locative media based works—mobile phones, GPS—different ways of interacting in public spaces. It was extraordinary.
It took us all by surprise. It was great to be on the crest of the wave. People are now more comfortable with being in these virtual spaces. You can always come back in another avatar and make new friends.
The media and public response to the Babel Swarm launch was extraordinary. It got the highest hit rate of any initiative that the Australia Council marketing team has developed to date. I think one of the keys to its web success was that there was international interest. It was an interesting to see the potential of social networking sites in terms of art practice.
What have the other artform boards of the Australia Council taken on in this area? The Literature Board, through Stories of the Future, had some great Second Life and other digital initiatives in its promotion of digital publishing over three years. It included the mixed reality event Mix My Lit at Federation Square where V-Jays and Lit-Jays were mixing their sounds and images and texts that the public were texting them onto the screen and their little stories were being mashed.
The Music Board and the Literature Board were already on board with this. You have emerging practices, collaboration across artforms, breaking down barriers and giving artists the opportunity to seek support for work they may not be able to apply for in one particular board. Post-convergence funding. What about the issue of facilitating participation and development in regional areas?
The Inter-Arts Office part funded a project with urban and regional dimensions called A-lure by Visionary Images completed this year in Melbourne, Shepparton and Richmond where socially disadvantaged young people worked with media artists to develop locative media games within the City of Melbourne. In this last line the monosyllable So is followed by a pause that takes the place of a foot and a half. One of Frost's most triumphant variations is: Little—less—nothing!
And that ended it. Alison Gross, Old English Ballad. Where the chaf-1 finch sings on the or-1 chard bough. Home-Thoughts, from Abroad, Robert Browning. So numerous are the variations to which the metric pattern in English can be adapted, to the greater naturalness of the poetry. Accent Pattern Instead of Metric Coleridge, in one poem, abandoned the formal metric foot altogether, in favor of a rediscovered Old English method of letting the line pattern consist of a definite number of accents, with any number of unaccented syllables, occurring in any order.
And the owls have awak- ened the crow- ing cock. I lb-1 whoo! How drow-1 sily it crew. Christabel, Samuel Taylor Coleridge. This follows the same method of accent versification. Walter de la Mare's most famous poem is built around a pattern of three accents to the line, as the second and fourth line below indicate; he uses unaccented syllables where he pleases: But on-1 ly a host of phantom listeners That dwelt in the lone house then, Stood lis-1 tening in the qui-1 et of the moonlight To that voice from the world of men.
The Listeners, Walter de la Mare. Other modern poets have done as much, or more. Variety within uniformity. Blank Verse and Free Verse Blank verse means simply unrhymed verse. Any line pattern, if unrhymed, is blank verse. Heroic blank verse is unrhymed five-foot iambic poetry or verse. Most of Shakespeare is written in heroic blank verse. Heroic couplets, beloved of Dryden and Pope, are pairs of five-foot iambic lines rhymed with each other.
Free verse may be rhymed or unrhymed, although it is usually unrhymed, since rhyming is an even more unnatural convention of poetry than meter; and the poet who has abandoned formal meter will hardly, as a rule, still use the device of rhyming.
Free verse is verse without a metric pattern, but with a wider pattern than meter allows. It still tends toward regularity, rather than variety, and the final court of appeals as to whether any example should be classified as poetry or prose from a standpoint of content, or as verse or prose from a standpoint of technique, is the individual poet or reader himself.
To many readers, the following are all poetry: Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God.
Thou turnest man to destruction; and sayest, return, ye children of men. The Ninetieth Psalm. But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate—we cannot consecrate—we cannot hallow—this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or to detract.
The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here; but it can never forget what they did here. The Gettysburg Address, Abraham Lincoln. Out of the cradle endlessly rocking, out of the mockingbird's throat, the musical shuttle, out of the Ninth-month midnight, over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the child leaving his bed wandered alone, bareheaded, barefoot, down from the showered halo, up from the mystic play of shadows twining and twisting as if they were alive.
Walt Whitman used the artificial line division of poetry to present the third of these selections; the King James version of the Bible and Lincoln used the natural line division so familiar in the printing of prose. Little or nothing is added by the artificial line division: Out of the cradle endlessly rocking, Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle, Out of the Ninth-month midnight, Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the child leaving his bed wandered alone, bareheaded, barefoot, Down from the showered halo, Up from the mystic play of shadows twining and twisting as if they were alive.
It is poetry, to many, in either form; and the first form is the more natural and readable. Scan the Whitman selection, or any of the others, and the tendency toward regularity of rhythm becomes apparent: a wider regularity, perhaps only an up rhythm or a down rhythm, but still inevitably there. This distinguishes free verse from prose, from the technical point of view.
At times writers of free verse let their lines reach surprising lengths, no matter how lovely the music is: thus Sandburg. Cool Tombs, Carl Sandburg. Again the lines can be extremely brief: It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on. Fog, Carl Sandburg. The free verse writer devises his own line-division pattern.
This form, eliminating the devices of meter and rhyme, calls on the poet to avoid the inconsequential and the trivial, and to write down only his important utterances. If rhyme is a shelter for mediocrity, as Shelley wrote in his preface to The Revolt of Islam, free verse is a test of the best that the poet has in him.
Line Length in Verse Oliver Wendell Holmes, himself a doctor, advanced the theory that line length in verse marked physiologically the normal breathing of the poet. In other words, a breath should be taken at the end of each line; and the line should be no longer than the poet's ability to hold his breath.
No artificial line division is used in prose, to indicate where a breath should be taken. There is no greater reason for artificial line division in poetry. It still remains true that the long Greek lines, each consisting of six feet, called for huge-breasted warriorbards to chant them; that the norm of English verse, the five-foot iambic line, indicates a lesser chest expansion in the typical English poet; and that the briefer modern tendency shows a further deterioration in the chest expansion of poets.
Where poetry consists in end-stopped lines—lines with a natural pause at the end of each line—there is more reason for an artificial line division. Shakespeare began so; many poets never get beyond this, in the main.
But when we come to poetry like— We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life. A sonnet set up in this manner appears: O bitter moon, O cold and bitter moon, climbing your midnight hillside of bleak sky, the earth, as you, once knew a blazing noon. Night brings the silver hour when she will die.
We shall be cold as you are, and as bitter, icily circling toward a tepid fire, playing at life with our deceitful glitter, past joy, past hope, forever past desire. Yet still the forest lifts its leafy wings to flutter for a while before the chill. And still the careless heart is gay, and sings in the green temple on the dusty hill.
And the gulls tumble, and the homing ships peer for the harbor. And the sand drips. The Flight of the Eagle, v, Clement Wood. In an earlier volume, this had appeared with the usual line division of poetry as ordinarily printed. Rhyme can occur of course in ordinary prose, although this usage is extremely rare. Where the rhythm of verse is used, as in the sonnet quoted, it is possible for poets to use the line and paragraph division usual to prose, if this is desired.
Common Name, or Explanation A verse containing one metrical foot. A verse containing two metrical feet. A measure consisting of two metrical feet; a ditrochee. A verse containing three metrical feet. A verse containing four metrical feet. A verse containing five metrical feet. A verse containing Dangers Of A Real & Concrete Nature - Deviser - Unspeakable Cults (Cassette) metrical feet. A verse containing eight metrical feet.
A strophic verse of two lines, usually called a couplet today. Three unaccented syllables Three accented syllables Accent, unaccent, accent Unaccent, accent, accent Accent, accent, unaccent Two trochees regarded as a compound foot Accent, unaccent, unaccent, unaccent Accent, unaccent, unaccent, accent Three accents and one unaccent: of the first, second, third or fourth class, depending on the location of the unaccented syllable OTHER TERMS.
Explanation Verse not defective in the last foot; verse complete in its number of syllables. The lighter or unstressed part of a foot, especially in quantitative verse; later, the accented syllable of a foot. A break in a verse caused by the ending of a word within a foot. A masculine caesura follows the thesis or stressed part of a foot. A feminine caesura follows the arsis or caesura comes after the third half foot, which means in the second foot; a penthemimeral caesura, after the fifth half foot; a hepthemimeral caesura, after the seventh half foot; and so on.
A bucolic caesura, in dactylic hexameter, is a caesura occurring in the fourth foot, especially in pastoral poetry.
Verse lacking a syllable at the beginning, or terminating in an imperfect foot. The break caused by the coincidence of the end of a foot with the end of a word. Bucolic diaeresis, a diaeresis occurring in the fourth foot, especially in pastoral poetry. The extension of the sentence beyond the limitations of the distich. Metrical stress. The heavier or stressed part of a foot in classical prosody, especially in quantitative verse; later, the unaccented syllable or syllables of a verse.
Rhyme is the identity in sound of an accented vowel in a word, usually the last one accented, and of all consonantal and vowel sounds following it; with a difference in the sound of the consonant immediately preceding the accented vowel.
Rhyme deals exclusively with sounds and has nothing to do with spelling. The rhyming dictionary terminating this book is strictly phonetic and therefore logical and useful.
Correct rhymes may be spelled alike: ate, plate, mate, abate, syncopate. They may be spelled differently: ate, bait, straight, freight. In this case the spelling is immaterial. So called "eye rhymes"—that is, words spelled alike that look alike but are pronounced differently—are not rhymes at all; they slip into versification, if at all, as consonance, which will be discussed later. That is, the incorrect rhyme earth, hearth so popular among English versifiers, is no more a rhyme than the following sets of words identically spelled, but pronounced differently:.
Identities do not rhyme, no matter what the spelling is; since the preceding consonantal sounds must differ. The following are identities, and not rhymes: bay, obey bare, bear, forbear laying, overlaying ability, possibility, probability. Sounds almost alike, after the identical accented vowel sounds, do not rhyme. These are properly called assonance and have not succeeded as a versification device in English. Examples are: main, game, reins, lamed hate, shape, played feed, sleet, creep sandwich, orange, lozenge childhood, wildwood Norfolk, war talk anguish, Flatbush silver, deliver You can find examples of incorrect rhymes in poems by many accepted poets, and in a much higher percentage of popular songs and newspaper versification.
Two of the above examples were taken directly out of songs nationally popular. Slovenly rhyming is one of the sure signs of mediocrity in versification. Learn correct rhyming first; then, if you wish to break the rule you understand, that is your privilege. The language's poverty in rhyming has caused the following almost-rhymes to become widely accepted: given, Heaven; bosom, blossom; shadow, meadow; God, road; war, more; bliss, is; was, grass.
Among widely used "eye rhymes," which are not rhymes at all, but mere identities in spelling, are:. Bosom-blossom, was-grass are combinations of consonance and assonance; bliss-is is assonance; the others in the first list are consonance.
The first three pairs in the second set are acceptable consonance; real, steal is an attempt to rhyme a two-syllabled word with a one-syllabled one and has no justification from any standpoint. Use consonance or assonance purposely, if desired; but always know that this is not correct rhyming.
If the poet is tone-deaf as to sounds, it is best to rely upon the phonetic symbols above each group of rhyming words in the rhyming dictionary that terminates this book, or upon dictionary markings. Many people cannot distinguish the obvious difference in sounds between this pair of words, which do not rhyme: north, forth. Take away the th sound, and many people still hear no difference between this pair of words, which do not rhyme: nor, fore.
Take away the r sound, and some people still hear no difference between this pair of words, which do not rhyme: gnaw, foe.
If in doubt as to such off-rhymes, follow the phonetic markings. A third common error in rhyming comes from such mispronunciations as dropping a terminal -g. These do not rhyme: martin, parting, herding, burden.
They may be rhymed colloquially, that is, in quoted words, as follows: martin, partin', herdin', burden. But unless writing colloquially, do not use such incorrect rhymes as those given first above. A similar error comes from ignoring the r sounds, which causes such off-rhymes as: court pronounced cou't, like coatboat Lord pronounced Lawdgaud. Rhymes can be made of two or more words. Here are examples of perfect rhymes: satin, flat in. Quentin, went in.
Such couplings are more appropriate to light and humorous verse than to serious poetry. Rhyming must always give the effect of unobtrusive naturalness, or it fails of its proper effect. Robert Browning is in a class by himself in fantastic many-word rhymings and near-rhymings, often in serious verse: The wolf, fox, bear and monkey By piping advice in one key. This is not a rhyme, because monkey is, phonetically, a rhyme sound for ungki, or at best ungke; and one key is, phonetically, a rhyme sound for unke, the unguessed g sound in the first spoiling it as a rhyme.
Again, in the same poem, he uses this fantastic coupling: While, treading down rose and ranunculus, You Tommy-make-room-for-your-uncle-us! Ranunculus has its rhyme sound ungk'-u-lus; the next line, ungk'ool-us: a minor difference, but enough to spoil the rhyme. Much closer is Byron's celebrated couplet: O ye lords of ladies intellectual, Inform us truly, have they not henpecked you all?
Don Juan, I, xxii, Lord Byron. The unaccented last syllable of the first line differs from the unaccented last syllable of the second with the difference of a and 6.
Barham furnishes many perfect many-worded rhymes, such as: Should it even set fire to one's castle and burn it, you're Amply insured for both building and furniture. Samuel Hoffenstein furnishes a splendid example: You haven't the nerve to take bichloride; You lie up nights till you're gaunt and sore-eyed. In using such rhyme combinations, it is wise to put the combination with the inevitable sound first; bichloride; following this with the combination of words to rhyme with it. Thus W.
Gilbert, a master rhymester, uses in this order: monotony, got any. In light and humorous verse, such rhyming cleverness is a crown; in serious verse, if used sparingly, it is permitted. Function and 'types of Rhyme In serious verse, since obvious cleverness defeats the appeal to the serious emotions, rhyming should be unobtrusive.
To have your rhyme words merely conveniences demanded by your rhyming pattern is one of the chief faults of rhymed verse. Rhyme is a potent shaper. Once you have written down a line of verse or poetry, and intend to have the next line or the next line but one rhyme with it, your choice of terminal words for the rhyming line is limited by the limited rhyming resources of the language.
If a poet commences, October is the wildest month. Assuming that the first line's rhyming word has certain rhyming mates, the choice of terminal rhyme words for the rhyming line is limited to these; and the direction of the poet's thought and its expression must be deflected into some natural use of one of these rhyming mate words. Rhyming is a brain stimulant and may even spur on the poetic imagination. The meaning of the planned poem may have been clear in the mind; but its expression, if rhyme is used, must work in limited fields, and only the master achieves in these that finality Dangers Of A Real & Concrete Nature - Deviser - Unspeakable Cults (Cassette) natural utterance which is one of the charms of great poetry.
To the authentic poet, especially the living poet, there is no such thing as poetic license: the right to warp and twist the language out of its natural order or grammar, to suit the exigencies of rhyme. Browning continued his Tommy-make-room-for-your-uncle-us couplet with this: Quick march! I would not for worlds be your place in, Recipient of slops from the basin! What Browning meant, in the direct natural order, was: Quick march!
Even this is unnatural; the real order would be "Quick march! Let us suppose that inspiration worked with him in the erratic fashion quoted above. Then would be the time for the critical sense to come in, and rigorously to eliminate all such evidences of poetic license—inversions, ungrammatical constructions, and the like.
Not one has a place in poetry, more than in speech. This is a rigid rule to lay down. It is not any individual's rule. It is the rule that Shakespeare followed when he wrote: Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. Creeps in this petty pace from day to day. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more; it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
This was written some three hundred years ago. There is not an obsolete or even archaic word in it, not a strained construction, not an inversion or instance Dangers Of A Real & Concrete Nature - Deviser - Unspeakable Cults (Cassette) ungrammatical poetic license.
The quotation given in fragmentary form from Browning, which includes ranunculus, homunculus, skoramis, and countless inversions, was outdated long ago: the words of Shakespeare live.
The best of Burns, of Shelley, of the Keats of Hyperion, of the best among the modern poets, always follows this rule: no inversions, no archaisms, no poetic license. This is the price of a chance for wide poetic greatness. To return to the strict technique of rhyming, one-syllabled rhymes are called single or masculine rhymes. Examples are: we, flee, sea, apostrophe, harmony, disk, tamarisk, odalisque, fling, sing, carolling.
In the last pair of the first grouping, and the third rhymes in the others, note that only a secondary accent falls on the rhyming syllable.
This is enough. A rhyme may be more smothered, if read naturally— a modern variation in which it may be said that an accented syllable is rhymed with an unaccented one: such as anguish, wish; ring, wedding. Used sparingly, this is effective. Two-syllabled rhymes are called double or feminine rhymes. Examples are: ocean, motion, devotion, traded, aided, play did. Three-syllabled rhymes are called triple rhymes. There may be rhymes, especially in light verse, of four or even more syllables.
A rhyme like the one last given shows iittle cleverness, since it is merely "rest, best, palimpsest" with the phrase "of it" added. The lack of cleverness makes it more suitable for serious poetry than for light verse.
End rhyme is used at the end of the lines. Here is an example, the rhyming words being italicized, and the rhyme scheme indicated by the corresponding numerals: Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, 1 Old Time is still a-flying; 2 And this same flower that smiles today, 1 Tomorrow will be dying. Rhyme 1 is a single or masculine rhyme; rhyme 2 is a double or feminine rhyme.
Internal rhyme is rhyme used within the line, to give added effectiveness by a closer repetition of the rhyming sounds. We weave in the mills and heave in the kilns. We sieve mine-meshes under the hills, And thieve much gold from the Devil's bank tills. To relieve, O God, what manner of ills? Here year-long rhymes internally with drear-long; weave, heave, sieve, thieve and relieve are further internal rhymes; and mills is an internal rhyme to kilns and the three next end rhymes.
Undesirable Rhymes Incorrect rhymes, or rhymes constructed by straining the natural expression into inversions and grammatical perversions, excused on.
Quite as undesirable are rhymes which are hackneyed and overworked, such as: kiss, bliss. These are unobjectionable technically. But they have been so used and overused by other poets that the only excuse for them today is use in an entirely new manner. It is the fact that most rhymes have been comparatively overworked that has caused the tendency toward consonance, which is such a marked feature of modern poetry, from Emily Dickinson onward.
Alliteration Alliteration, like rhyme, is a repetition of sounds. But the sound repeated is only the initial consonant of syllables or words.
This was one of the major devices of Anglo-Saxon poetry, which did not use rhyme. The Raven, Edgar Allan Poe. If not overused, this is highly effective. Dolores, Algernon Charles Swinburne. Where there is no sense of unnaturalness in the repetition of alliterative sounds, it may be successfully employed. Assonance Assonance, called also vowel rhyme, consists in the identity of the final accented vowel sound, with dissimilarity in the subsequent consonantal and vowel sounds.
It was used in Provencal and Old French poetry, and is still used in Spanish. George Eliot tried unsuccessfully to introduce it into English, the assonances being italicized: Maiden crowned with glossy blackness, Lithe as panther forest-roaming. Long-armed naead, when she dances. On the stream of ether floating. Bright, O bright Fedalma! The repetition here is not sufficiently marked to make this device popular in English versification.
Typical groups of assonantal masculine or single-rhyrrted endings are: grab, crack, had, tan, sham, hang, fat face, shade, hate, pain, claim, male led, wreck, hem, then, set, step bide, kine, fight, pipe, wise, advice In Dangers Of A Real & Concrete Nature - Deviser - Unspeakable Cults (Cassette) endings, we would have: aiming, faded, scraping, hailing, painter, lateness roaming, floated, coping, goader, golden coming, dumbness, stubborn, rustle Unpopular so far, at any time assonance may achieve a popularity in English versification.
Consonance Consonance, also loosely called off rhymes, sour rhymes and analyzed rhymes, consists in an identity of all consonantal and vowel. An improvised model would be: There's a golden willow Underneath a hill.
By a babbling shallow Brook and waterfall; And a mill-wheel turning Under moon and sun. As if gently scorning Time and tide and man. There can be any combination of end and internal consonance with end or internal rhyme in the same poem, according to the best modern practice: the poet himself being the judge of what form is most pleasing to his inner sense of music, and that of his prospective readers.
Edna St. Vincent Millay, in The Poet and His Book, uses these pairs of words in consonance: worry, bury; withered, gathered; cluttered, spattered; quarrel, laurel; hunters, winter's; valleys, bellies. She also twice uses assonance: cupboard, upward; only, homely. Elinor Wylie uses such instances of consonance as: bloody, body; people, ripple; mourner, corner; primer, dreamer; standard, pondered; noble, trouble; music, physic; Circe, hearsay; Vulcan, falcon; languish, distinguish; lost, ghost; sword, lord; suns, bronze; and many more.
Emily Dickinson is more lavish in her use of consonance than any of these. The reason has been hinted before: the limited field of rhymes in the language, in spite of the impressive length of any rhyming dictionary. One advantage of a phonetic rhyming dictionary is that it makes the use of precise and accurate consonance possible. Words are arranged by rhyme and not by consonance; and yet the phonetic arrangement gives a start toward arriving at accurate consonance.
Thus AD is followed by AD and this by AD, so that we may proceed directly from rhyming sounds like aid to sad and then to charade. In double rhymes, O 'le, OL 'e and OL 'e follow in regular sequence; thus holy, Macaulay and folly are near neighbors.
Suppose it is desired to locate all the consonance sounds possible for a line ending with holy. Look up also OUL'e and other possible vowel combinations, to make sure there are no rhyme sounds under them. And now the poet has an accurate test to see which words are in precise consonance with holy, and which are not.
Thus this most modern of all sound-repetition devices in English versification can be achieved most perfectly through the use of a phonetic rhyming dictionary. The phonetic symbols, of course, must be in precise alphabetical order. Turn, under each of the five vowels not forgetting the vowel sounds Ol, OO, and Oil come alphabetically alsoto the vowel followed by the identical consonant and vowel sounds following the accented vowel in the rhymed syllable you wish consonances for; and all consonances that the lists of words afford will be found.
Though I actually giggle when he is lugging all that shit up the mountain. At last redeemed by his bursting heart, the Grinch still remains the ultimate Christmas villan because he just wanted to eliminate the holiday altogether. Sometimes, I agree. Yes, I always watched it when I was a kid, but now that I'm an adult it really just bugs the hell out of me.
And it's not a snowman thing. Quite to the contrary, I actually collect snowmen and love the darn things. His voice grates my nerves. Dangers Of A Real & Concrete Nature - Deviser - Unspeakable Cults (Cassette) Karen?
What the heck kind of friend is she, making Frosty drag her into a toasty greenhouse up there at the North Pole? I think exposing kids to that kind of thing is cruel. Essentially, Frosty melts into a puddle of goo. Not a nice picture. Almost a horror cartoon. But then ole Frosty comes back to life and all is well. And it's all Happy Birthday all over again.
Despite the fact that he can make it all go away with the stupid magic hat, I still don't like him. Whomever they got to voice these characters just got on my last nerve. Even Jimmy Durante as Frosty jerked my chain. And if we're being truthful here, Hinkle wasn't the villan of Frosty. The freakin' SUN took Frosty out! The villain in this one is a buzzard. Credits Writer s : Deviser Lyrics powered by www. Disclaimer: i testi sono forniti da Musixmatch.
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