Posts tagged with "My friend's reading notes"
Tuesday, 9. January 2007, 11:27:29
My friend's reading notes
As what we introduced before, a line of a sonnet usually constituted by five iambs (iambus feet) - /week Strong/week Strong/wS/wS/wS/. A line of a limerick is constituted by some anapestic feet - anapests - /week week Strong/wwS/wwS/
Sort of different from other types of metrical poetry, limerick is more like count on beat. Beat is what we call 拍子/节拍, it's more subjective, a large matter of ear, emphasis, with consulation with dictionary when in doubt.
Judgement on beat:
This is largely a matter of ear, emphasis, with consultation with a dictionary when in doubt. One good test is whether the sentence sounds natural with beats on the assumed accented syllables. A particular one syllable word may be weak or strong depending on the context. Since anapest has fewer strong beats than iambic, the criteria for strong beats tends to be more stringent. The preposition, "of" can be strong in iambic, e.g. "I am the leader of the street", but is nearly always weak in anapestic, e.g., "I'm the king of the road". [Note the superiority of the anapest phrasing.]
Talk something about Rhyming, which always puzzles our friends here. The following is from David finley's Limerick discussion page, having read some materials, I found his words were more persuasive.
David finley:
Rhyming
Generally the rhymes should be precise or nearly so. Consonance is not allowed, nor are eye-rhymes. Rhymes based on mispronunciations are dubious unless the distortion is reasonable to the speaker. If, for example, the distortion is southern, Texan, Brooklyn, etc., the poem must indicate the the setting. Note also that ending "d" and ending "t" are pronounced so much a like that they can be rhymed. So for example, "list" and "missed" rhymes nicely [as Mikado fans know so well].
In a two syllable rhyme [feminine rhyme], the beat must be on the first of the two syllables and the last syllable must be the same. There are a few cases where one can get way with last syllables nearly the same. The most frequent such case is where the weak syllable has a leading "h" in some cases but not others. For example, "kissed her" and "sister" can be rhymed, as can "odd, he" and "body."
The consonant sound preceding the rhymed sound should be different, so e.g. "pain" should not be rhymed with "pane." With two syllable words this is more defensible. I would not strongly object to rhyming "airplane" with "explain," but this is still somewhat defective. [Also note that "Monica" and "harmonica" is another example of a rhyme that is defective for this reason.]
(Once I explained to Alicelotus, why 'son' can not be rhymed with 'sun', here is a good answer.)
Of course, some popular old limericks repeat rhyming words, the most noted examples, being "tiger" in the "Niger" limerick, and the limericks of Edward Lear. The, "Niger" limerick gets by because it is otherwise good and partly because the context makes the repetition effective. Still, this formulation is considered obsolete, so it should usually be avoided. In my pages, I think I use it only once, in the "False Creek" limerick. (By the way, False Creek is a real place, and I do compensate with an internal rhyme on the last line.) As a general rule, repetition of rhyming words should be avoided.
The rhymes should appear to be unforced. This means that every rhyming word must appear to be natural in the context. Limerick writers are entitled to one arbitrary name, place or person, but anything more is suspect. The place or name need not have much to do with the rest (although it is nice if it does). Even the abitrary name should be real, not just made up for the limerick. Consider:
There was a young girl named Suzanne
Who came from the town of Spokane
This is a dubious beginning, unless there is some news story that links Suzanne with Spokane. My personal preference is to make all five lines count, but one arbitrary name in a neutral introductory line is perfectly acceptable.
Of course, some limericks succeed despite two names; I will give one such example:
A team playing baseball in Dallas.
Called the umpire bad names out of malice.
While that worthy had fits,
The team made eight hits
And a girl in the bleachers named Alice.
In this case, one gets away with the arbitrary name at the end because of the clever zeugma (double meaning of the word "made" in the last two lines). Also note that 'Alice' is a very common name, which helps a little.
One frequent criterion that is invoked for rhymed poetry is that the rhymes should appear to be unforced. This does not mean that the poem cannot be rhyme-driven. Rather it means whether the the rhymes shuld not appear to be arbitrary in the finshed product. Let us note two examples. Consider the limerick by Lewis Carroll. Notice that there is nothing arbitrary once the first line is dispensed with. Hod-carriers did use their heads and mortar is a natural thing for them to carry.
In the limerick, antique (also given above), the first line phrase is so memorable in itself that it gains easy acceptance despite the adjective noun reversal. From then on, the phrasing and word order are all natural. The rhyming words appear to be totally unforced. A "week" is an ordinary length of time, the "door" is where invited guests usually enter. Further, "roar" and "squeak" are very obvious words denoting the extremes (lions roar and mice squeek), so that the words at the end of the last two lines do not appear to be rhyme-induced at all.
Also note that if you must use a somewhat forced rhyming word, it is better to get it in early, preferably the first line. This is the main reason why arbitrary names are usually placed in the first line.
---By CalmSea
Monday, 1. January 2007, 15:23:51
My friend's reading notes
WHAT MAKES A GOOD POEM?
In 2002, Marilyn asked a group of authors, editors, and other book people this question. Here are their responses, along with some of their recommended titles.
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A poem is a communication from one soul to another that makes one or both hearts sing.
Walter Mayes. Valerie & Walter's Best Books For Children: A Lively, Opinionated Guide. Avon, 1998.
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What is a good poem?
A good poem is a slip-of-a-thing
that celebrates language, that takes
you on a short journey and touches your heart,
turns on your imagination, or tickles your funny-
bone somewhere along the way.
Nikki Grimes. A Pocketful of Poems. Clarion, 2001. Danitra Brown Leaves Town. HarperCollins, 2002.
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A good poem is a blind date with enchantment.
Above all, no matter what its subject matter,
it must possess perfect verbs and no superfluous
words. It must be an antidote to indifference.
The acid test is that you want to read it time and
time again, and not only to yourself. A good poem
begs to be shared with others.
J.Patrick Lewis. Freedom Like Sunlight: Praisesongs for Black Americans. Creative Editions, 2001. A World of Wonders: Geographic Travels in Verse and Rhyme. Penguin Putnam/Dial, 2002.
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When I think of a good poem :
Many things come to mind but a few specifically: A good poem makes you feel like you've been there before, or want to go. A good poem takes you to the city, to the sea, to the heart of any and all matters; you see it, taste it, belong to it. A good poem is a menagerie of craft; a spinning of sound, word choice, alliteration, rhythm and often rhyme. A good poem is the arrangement of enchantment, or as J. Patrick Lewis says, a blind date with enchantment.
Rebecca Kai Dotlich. Lemonade Sun and Other Summer Poems. Boyds Mills, 1998. When Riddles Come Rumbling: Poems to Ponder. Boyds Mills, 2001.
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What makes a good poem? Brevity, terseness, spareness, viewing something new for the very first time, creating an image like no one has ever been blown away by before in their entire life.
Lee Bennett Hopkins. Pass the Poetry, Please, 3rd Edition. HarperCollins, 1998. My America: A Poetry Atlas of the United States. Simon & Schuster, 2000.
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Love and care for elemental details, for chosen words and their simple arrangement on the page... and a way of ending that leaves a new resonance or a lit spark in the reader or listener's mind—that’s part of it.
Naomi Shihab Nye. Come with Me: Poems for a Journey. Greenwillow, 2000. 19 Varieties of Gazelle. Greenwillow, 2002.
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A good poem creates a world that somehow touches the reader. That world is built of images that come to the reader through vivid sense details and the music of vivacious language.
Paul Janeczko. A Poke in the I. Candlewick, 2001. Seeing the Blue Between: Advice and Inspiration for Young Poets. Candlewick, 2002.
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For me, good poems, ones that I like to read over and over, can bring delight in many ways. Wit, word-play, unexpectedness of word and thought, depth of feeling, word-music, vivid images, the shape of the poem on the page, all bring me joy.
I think poetry should come from the heart of the writer—whether it is light and funny or deeply-felt. Caring—about the subject, the emotion, the act of making the poem—is, I believe, essential.
It seems to me a good poem can rhyme or not rhyme, use similes and metaphors or not, be metrical or free, be as complex as a Shakespeare sonnet or as seemingly simple as a statement by William Carlos Williams. It can be anything the writer wants it to be—as long as it reflects true feeling. And that "feeling" can be just the joy of using words!
Strong, accurate, interesting words, well-placed, make the reader feel the writer’s emotion and intentions. Choosing the right words—for their meaning, their connotations, their sounds, even the look of them, makes a poem memorable. The words become guides to the feelings that lie between the lines. Just-right words make the poem reverberate—and give the reader the joyful shivers!
Patricia Hubbell. Black Earth, Gold Sun. Marshall Cavendish, 2001. City Kids. Marshall Cavendish, 2001.
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"Prose = words in their best order; Poetry = the best words in their best order"—Coleridge said it, and I believe it. Poetry IS about words—their precision, texture, beauty (and ugliness). Prose is about words, too, but not in the same way. Prose is about the bigger picture. The canvas is bigger and so are the brushstrokes. A good poem, whether narrated by a character or by the poet her/himself, uses words wonderfully, and it uses them to capture specific moments in a fresh way, a way that makes the reader exclaim with delight, "Yes, that's it! That's right!"
A good poem may also ask philosophical questions. In its condensed form, poetry gives these questions an immediacy, a great power to startle and grab the imagination. Poetry is great for asking—and sometimes answering—those questions that come to you just as you're falling asleep.
Marilyn Singer. Footprints on the Roof: Poems About the Earth. Knopf, 2002. The Company of Crows. Clarion, 2002.
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A good poem surprises your senses, shakes you awake, stirs your emotions, and startles your imagination. Each poem is an act of discovery. Poetry helps us widen our vision and our hearts.
Joan Bransfield Graham. Splish Splash. Houghton Mifflin, 1994. Flicker Flash. Houghton Mifflin, 1999.
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A good poem awakens the senses, allowing me to see, touch, experience something in a powerful way.
A good poem makes the ordinary and familiar seem extraordinary.
Michele Coppola, editor, Dutton Books
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Personally, I'd say a good poem makes me see something in a new way. It's fresh and eye-opening. And it's also compact and intense. One of my favorite quotes about poetry is this one from Arnold Adoff: "I really want a poem to sprout roses and spit bullets; this is the ideal combination..." I think it's partly the compactness of a poem that, if the poet has a strong vision and command of language, will let it both "sprout roses and spit bullets" at the same time. A good poem doesn't waste words; it uses them sparingly and meaningfully.
Rebecca Davis, editor, Greenwillow/HarperCollins
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A poem for children—what makes it good? Perhaps it comes down to an original voice saying something that sounds almost as if we had never heard it before. Rhythm is the skeleton that holds a poem together, so a strong but still interesting rhythm pleases the ear and tongue. Rhyme, if it is not old tired rhyme, can be funny, explosive or just a neat way of completing a thought in a poem for the young.
Rhyme is also great for reading aloud, and some attention needs to be devoted to the sounds of the words themselves. Last, or possibly first, is the thought, idea, that centerpiece around which the poem is built. Maybe I can boil my answer down to sense and song, a helping of each. And always new and therefore a little surprising.
Karla Kuskin. Dogs and Dragons, Trees and Dreams. HarperCollins, 1980. Moon, Have You Met My Mother? HarperCollins, 2003.
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A good poem captures a certain moment, or memory, like a "word photograph." In one quick reading, hardly more than a glance, a poem can give us a reminder of how Uncle Al never learned to use chopsticks, of how it feels to breathe water, like a fish, in a dream, of how a mother uses her hand to shield a baby's eyes. A good poem is a photograph capturing the most forgettable and the most unforgettable moments in our lives.
Janet S. Wong. Behind the Wheel: Poems About Driving. McElderry/S&S, 1999. Night Garden: Poems from the World of Dreams. McElderry/S&S, 2000.
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A poet is a little like a photographer who shoots a subject from an unexpected angle. Even when its subject has been written about many times (how many new subjects are there?), poetry invites you to consider it from a new perspective. The language a good poem uses is similarly fresh, surprising, memorable—a flavor that lingers on the tongue.
Alice Schertle. A Lucky Thing. Harcourt, 1999. I Am The Cat. HarperCollins/Lothrop, 1999.
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I think a good poem is like a vitamin. It's an encapsulation of a feeling, an image, a new relationship. Packed with energy, it might be playful or serious, but a good poem is always nourishing.
Bobbi Katz. We the People. Greenwillow, 2000. A Rumpus of Rhymes: A Book of Noisy Poems. Dutton, 2001.
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Answering that question is like cooking calamari: either do it in five seconds or for five hours.
Any short (or even long) answer to what's a good poem worries me, as it begs other questions: good for whom? good for when? good for what? I love poems to know and say to myself, silly poems to read once and giggle over, poems that touch my soul even if they hover outside my rational understanding. Of course, there are matters of form, meter, rhyme, scansion, but all the mechanics can only enhance and facilitate a thought, a feeling, an expression of being that needs to be articulated.
So, I don't know any recipe for a good poem, only a taste test: does it touch someone, sometime, somehow? Then, it will be savored by that person and nourish him or her.
Judy O'Malley, former editor, Houghton-Mifflin.
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There are at least a hundred different ways to respond to that question. Like a good poem, it says more in a few words than some novels do in three hundred pages.
But, here's a thought I had recently about poetry:
A good poem is like medicine. It can be made up of almost anything, but only when its ingredients are put together in the right proportions--neither too much nor too little—can it affect your life.
Taking that medicine analogy even further, just a little dose of good poetry is sometimes all you need to be helped and even healed.
This, of course, ties into some very old ideas. My Abenaki ancestors said that words have power, that a song can be medicine, can restore balance, can bring back joy after sorrow. Words of power make things happen. Good poems touch that sort of power.
Joseph Bruchac. No Borders. Holy Cow! Press, 1999. Above the Line. West End Press, 2003.
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By a good poem, I take it that you mean a great poem. Like "Ode to a Nightingale" or "Howl" or etc…
I think a great poem touches through all layers of existence and does it singingly.
Liz Rosenberg. Children of Paradise. University of Pittsburgh, 1994. These Happy Eyes. Mammoth Books, 2001.
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A good poem stays with me.
I like the way it hangs out somewhere in the back of my mind coming to the front on occasion to remind me it's there: "'You are old, Father William,' the young man said..."
It leaves me an image: Robert Frost is icy blue and white.
It turns words around, letting me see them from a different angle: e.e. cummings.
Valerie Lewis. Valerie & Walter's Best Books For Children: A Lively, Opinionated Guide. Avon, 1998.
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The most simple way I define what poetry is to children is: A poem is a picture made of words.
Good poems can tell us what we already know in our bones but had never seen or heard or even put into words before. For a poem to be good it needs the element of surprise. That comes to the reader both in content, line break, sound, and voice. You read the opening line, are carried (or jolted) to the last line, and then wonder, how did I get here? There you are standing in this new place but feeling that, yes, you too, belong here.
A good poem is like a simply wrapped package that appears unremarkable at first glance. Until you read it. Then stars glow where there was never light before. Something sparkles. It might be you. It might be the dark. It might be the woman two rows ahead of you on the bus.
Good poetry gives us ourselves as if we've never had who we were before. It also gives us each other, shortens the gap between one and another. And good poems give us the world as if for the first time.
A fine poem needs mystery too; it doesn't say everything. If you were to compare a poem to a simple math equation, say 1 + 1 = 2, then a poem is butterfly + jagged scar = his warm breath on your neck. It's another way of knowing that makes perfect sense, but not logical, linear, rational sense. It's the way the heart knows, and the soul, the logic of dreams. It's how we know when we love or when we are afraid.
Poetry works on us not only through content but through sound. And for a poem to be well written it must remember that element as well. It needs to sound right. There's not just one right sound, but many, and each poem has its own that needs to be incorporated in order to be a thing of strength and beauty.
Patrice Vecchione. Writing & the Spiritual Life: Finding Your Voice by Looking Within. Contemporary/McGraw-Hill, 2001. Truth & Lies. Holt, 2001.
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First, I'll mention that I consider a poem "good" if it stays with me; a memory of the words, images, feelings, or ideas will nudge me hours or even days later. "Great" poems are ones I somehow know I'll remember all of my life. For me, this singular magic happens when I sense that the poet wrote deeply and with great care about a strong emotion. Good poems, as well as great poems, vibrate with a passion and energy that can't be forgotten or ignored.
Kristine O'Connell George. Toasting Marshmallows: Camping Poems. Clarion, 2001. Little Dog and Duncan. Clarion, 2002.
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When I have my editor's hat on and I'm choosing selections for an anthology, I look for poems with energy but focus, poems with emotional weight, poems that tickle me with their word play and cleverness, poems that delight me in the way that structure and words have meshed, or poems whose content makes my mind tingle. When I'm writing my own poetry, I would love to incorporate all of these at once!
Betsy Franco. You Hear Me? Candlewick Press, 2000. Things I Have to Tell You. Candlewick Press, 2001.
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Assuming that all the technical things are done right, I guess the hallmarks of a good poem are a combination of freshness of vision—seeing the world in a new or unusual way, and being able to convey that to the reader—-as well as a fresh and unique use of language. Beyond that, it's all in the eye of the beholder, or reader, in this case.
Judy Whipple, former editor, Marshall Cavendish
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I want poetry that children can understand, that helps them to see something in a new way.
I like surprise endings that take their breath away or make them say,"Oh, that's the way it is."
I like poems that tell stories. I like poems with fascinating word play or words that jingle and bounce or words that ask a riddle.
A good poem for children is a poem children love.
Bee Cullinan, Consulting Editor, Wordsong, poetry imprint of Boyds Mills Press. Easy Poetry Lessons that Dazzle and Delight, with David Harrison. Scholastic, 1999. Literature and the Child, 5th Edition, with Lee Galda. Wadsworth, 2002.
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What makes a good poem? A good poet.
X. J. Kennedy. An Introduction to Poetry, 10th edition, with Dana Gioia. Longman 2002. Exploding Gravy: Poems to Make You Laugh. Little, Brown, 2002.
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My answer to your question comes in part from a poem of mine called "What Is A Poem?"
What is a poem?
Hard work.
Emotion surprised.
Throwing a colored shadow.
A word that doubles back on itself, not once but twice.
The exact crunch of carrots.
Precise joys.
A prayer that sounds like a curse until it is said again.
Crows punctuating a field of snow.
Hard work.
---By CalmSeaJane Yolen. Take Joy: A Book for Writers. Kalmbach/The Writer Press, 2003. Wild Wings. Boyds Mills, 2002.
Monday, 1. January 2007, 15:17:52
My friend's reading notes
Building Blocks of Old English Poetry
This worksheet is designed to give you some information about the structure of Old English (Anglo-Saxon) poetry and how this structure fits together. By the end of the class, I hope that you will have the necessary skills to compose an Old English-style poem.
First a word about the structure of Old English poetry. An Old English poetic line consists of two rhythmical half-lines that alliterate. Separating the two half-lines is a caesura, or pause, thought to be the place where the person reciting or chanting the poem strummed a harp. Here is a modern example:
Much have we heard of mighty Sceafa.
Modig the coward murdered that king;
The tribute-thane treasure coveted.
Let’s take these elements (alliteration, rhythm or meter, and how they work together) one at a time.
I.Alliteration
Old English poetry does not generally rhyme, as many more modern English poems do. Instead of rhyming, Old English poetry alliterates.
Alliteration, in Old English poetry, is the repetition of initial sounds in stressed syllables. Most tongue-twisters in Modern English alliterate. Here is a modern example of alliteration: Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.
There are a few simple rules about alliteration in Old English:
1.Alliteration always occurs on stressed syllables.
2.All vowels alliterate with each other. Eager alliterates with apple, both of which alliterate with owl. In general, however, when Old English poetry uses a vowel for the alliteration, it sticks to the same vowel.
3.A consonant alliterates with itself and with the consonant blends which it begins. In other words, s alliterates with sh, sk, sl , sw, etc.: serve, shield, skill, sleek, and swift are considered to alliterate.
Exercise 1: Give three words that alliterate with the following words. mead, water, ever, sword, grim
Exercise 2: Create 5 alliterative phrases. Examples: worthy warrior, mighty mountain, etc.
II.Meter
Old English poetry does not have the regular, heart-beatish rhythm or meter that most later English poetry does. Instead, Old English poetry has several specific metrical patterns for the half-lines. These are called Sievers’ types, from the scholar who classified them.
Here is the list of Sievers’ types, along with an example of each. The (/) means a stressed or accented syllable; the ( ) means an unstressed or unaccented syllable. The (`) is a secondary stress or accent.
A./ / Modig Murderer
B. / / the king enthroned
C. / / his word-weaving
D.(a) / / ` fierce death-bringer
(b) / / ` bold battle-man
E./ / skilled in the fight
Some important things to remember about composing a half-line:
1.You must have two accented syllables in each half-line. If you have only one, the half-line is incomplete. If you have three, you are writing hypermetric half-lines, which existed in Old English poetry, but are subject to more complicated rules.
2.While you must have two accented syllables, you may have as many unaccented syllables as you like. Don’t go overboard, however; keep the number of unaccented syllables between two and five as a general guideline.
3.Old English poetry tends to use Sievers’ types A, D, and E most often. Keep this in mind, but don’t let it restrict you too much.
Exercise 3: Compose a half-line using each of the Sievers’ types above.
III.Putting it all together
Here, things become complicated. As I told you above, Old English poetic lines consist of two half-lines put together. So to write an Old English poetic line, you must join two half-lines. Simple enough so far. However, you also have to make these lines alliterate in a certain way.
Once you put two half-lines together, you will have a poetic line with four stressed beats:
knights on horseback listened to the horn. (Types A and E)
Now, horseback and horn do alliterate. In Old English poetry, however, the third stressed syllable MUST alliterate with either the first or the second. This rule is iron-clad; if you break it, you are not doing Old English poetry correctly. A more correct version of the line above would be:
Knights on horseback heard war-soundings (Types A and Da)
Some things to remember when putting the poetic lines together:
1.Don’t use two half-lines of the same Sievers’ type in the same poetic line. It can be done—I’d be lying to you if I told you that it wasn’t done in Old English poetry—but it is considered to show a lack of poetic finesse.
2.Remember, the third stressed syllable of the line must alliterate with the first or second stressed syllable. You may alliterate the third stress with both the first and second—even with the first, second, third, and fourth, although neither is commonly done.
Exercise 4: Put some of your half-lines from Exercise 3 together to make full lines. If they don’t work together, try creating some new half-lines that will work.
IV.A Few Words about Style and Subject
Style first: Old English poetry is especially famous for two stylistic techniques: kennings and variations. A kenning is a poetic compound, sometimes puzzling, that substitutes for a simpler noun. Thus a king is a ring-lord or a treasure-giver; God is often called World-Shaper; and a fighter might be a sword-wielder, shield-breaker, spear-friend, war-companion, among numerous others.
A variation is simply another name for an object or person already named in a sentence. This technique actually works better in Old English because of its grammatical structure.
Now, what can you write Old English poetry about? Many of us know Beowulf, the heroic epic, but Old English poetry also includes laments, retellings of Biblical stories and saints’ lives, and praise poetry, including translations of the Psalms. Some of the Biblical and saints’ stories center on women (Elene, Juliana, and Judith), so feel no restriction on that account.
If you plan to write Old English poetry, it’s worthwhile to do some cultural research and to read at least some of the poetry so that you get a feel for the subject matter. One good place to find translations of Old English poetry is The Norton Anthology of English Literature, Volume I. You can get a copy in just about any college bookstore; it will probably run you about $35. My edition (which is an older one) has Beowulf, "The Wanderer," The Battle of Maldon, "The Dream of the Rood," and "Caedmon’s Hymn." The translations are in prose. The Norton Anthology of English Literature I also has an impressive collection of later medieval works (Chaucer in the original Middle English) as well as Renaissance ones, and the introductions are especially good. There are other good anthologies of Old English poetry—the best is the Anglo-Saxon Poetic Records, but it’s in Old English. There are even modern English verse translations of Old English poetry, but keep in mind that most of these do not follow the rules of Old English verse.
Annotated Bibliography for Old English Poetry
Abrams, M.H., ed. The Norton Anthology of English Literature. Volume I. 4th ed. New York: Norton,
1979.
The Norton Anthlogy, if you don’t know it, is probably the handiest source of period poetry around. Selections from the Old English are in translation and include such classics as Beowulf, "The Dream of the Rood," "Caedmon’s Hymn," and "The Wanderer." Later sections have medieval border ballads, selections from Chaucer and other medieval poets (newer editions also have excerpts from Julian of Norwich and Margery Kempe), and even later, selections from the best Renaissance poets, including Shakespeare, Spenser, Marlowe, Walter Raleigh, Sidney, and Wyatt.
Chickering, Howell. "Guide to Reading Aloud." Beowulf: A Dual-Language Edition. New York:
Doubleday, 1977. 29-38.
Chickering gives a good introduction to the structure of Old English poetry. The introduction is pretty good too. Also, the bi-lingual edition is a real help if you’re studying Beowulf in the original.
Robertson, D. W. The Literature of Medieval England. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1970.
Another good source of medieval English literature in general. Robertson includes some works that the Norton does not, such as "The Seafarer" (called "The Soul’s Voyage" in his edition). The translations are in poetry. Robertson also includes translations of Anglo-Latin literature and Old English prose as well. This book may, unfortunately, be out of print..
Scragg, Donald. "The Nature of Old English Verse." The Cambridge Companion to Old English
Literature. Ed. Malcolm Godden and Michael Lapidge. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991. 55-70.
Explains the structure of Old English poetry, including hypermetrics.
Whitelock, Dorothy, ed. Sweet’s Anglo-Saxon Reader in Prose and Verse. 15th Edition. Oxford:
Clarendon, 1967.
Sweet’s contains lots of great Old English poetry and prose, including excerpts of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, Judith, and Beowulf. It’s all in Old English; however, it includes a decent glossary.
Friday, 1. December 2006, 15:23:12
My friend's reading notes
Scansion
Let's start off by talking about meter, as it's one of the absolute fundamental requirements of successful sonnet writing. While there are several meters that have been used in sonnet writing over the centuries, iambic pentameter is the standard and by far the most common. For that reason, beginners are always encouraged to first master iambic pentameter (referred to as IP for short) before moving on to the others. So that's what we'll look at in relation to your sonnet.
Iambic pentameter means that there will normally be 10 syllables per line (under certain special circumstances, there can be 9 or 11 instead of 10), with the accents or stresses falling on the even-numbered syllables, as in the following two lines from a sonnet by Keats:
"When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen can glean my teeming brain. . . ."
These lines scan as follows (all-capitalized syllables are those which are stressed):
/ when I/ have FEARS/ that I/ may CEASE/ to BE/
/ be FORE/ my PEN/ has GLEANED/ my TEEM/ ing BRAIN/
and this pattern translates into:
/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/
/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/
That is, five iambs per lines, hence iambic pentameter.
Of course, not every line can or should have exactly just 5 iambs; such writing would quickly become monotonous. For that reason, there are certain other feet which may be substituted at times for iambs. Here's a detailed list of the 14 standard substitutions in iambic pentameter (this is a fairly lengthy and detailed discussion--sorry, but there's no way around it):
*****
There are 14 basic substitutions which are considered acceptable in standard iambic pentameter in current practice (all the examples of trochees, spondees, and double iambs are from Shakespeare's sonnets; the Roman numeral following each example identifies which sonnet):
1. trochee--substituted in 1st, 2nd, 3rd, or 4th foot of a pentameter line. There are problems with a trochee substituted as the 5th foot in rhyming poetry, because it throws off the rhyme, but 5th foot trochees do occur occasionally in blank verse.
Trochee Substitutions:
a. 1st foot: Wishing me like to one more rich in hope (XXIX)
/ WISH ing/ me LIKE/ to ONE/ more RICH/ in HOPE/
/ trochee/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/
b. 2nd foot: Might I not then say, "Now I love you best" (CXV)
/ might I/ NOT then/ SAY NOW/ i LOVE/ you BEST/
/ iamb/ trochee/ spondee/ iamb/ iamb/
c. 3rd foot: And trouble deaf heav'n with my bootless cries (XXIX)
/ and TROUB/ le DEAF/ HEAV'N with/ my BOOT/ less CRIES/
/ iamb/ iamb/ trochee/ iamb/ iamb/
d. 4th foot: Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive (IV)
/ THOU of/ thy SELF/ thy SWEET/ SELF dost/ de CEIVE/
/ trochee/ iamb/ iamb/ trochee/ iamb/
2. spondee--substituted in any foot in a pentameter line.
Spondee Substitutions:
a. 1st foot: No more be grieved at that which thou hast done (XXXV)
/ NO MORE/ be GRIEVED/ at THAT/ which THOU/ hast DONE/
/ spondee/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/
b. 2nd foot: Gilding pale streams with heav'nly alchemy (XXXIII)
/ GILD ing/ PALE STREAMS/ with HEAV'n/ ly AL/ che MY/
/ trochee/ spondee/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/
c. 3rd foot: From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate (XXIX)
/ from SUL/ len EARTH/ SINGS HYMNS/ at HEA/ ven's GATE/
/ iamb/ iamb/ spondee/ iamb/ iamb/
d. 4th foot: To say within thine own deep-sunken eyes (II)
/ to SAY/ with IN/ thine OWN/ DEEP SUNK/ en EYES/
/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/ spondee/ iamb/
e. 5th foot: For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings (XXIX)
/ for THY/ sweet LOVE/ re MEM/ ber'd SUCH/ WEALTH BRINGS/
/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/ spondee/
3. double iamb--the combination of a pyrrhic foot followed by a spondaic foot. This can be substituted anywhere in a pentameter line, as 1st & 2nd feet, 2nd & 3rd, 3rd & 4th, or 4th & 5th.
Double Iamb Substitutions:
a. 1st &2nd feet: When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover (XXXII)
/ when that/ CHURL DEATH/ my BONES/ with DUST/ shall COV/ [er]
{/ pyrrhic/ spondee/= double iamb} / iamb/ iamb/ iamb/ [hypermetrical unstressed syllable]*
*[hypermetrical syllables are extra--i. e., beyond the normal 10 syllables--which are unstressed; such extra unstressed syllables at the end of a line are considered perfectly acceptable]
b. 2nd & 3rd feet: Within thine own bud buriest thy content (I)
/ with IN/ thine own/ BUD BUR/ iest THY/ con TENT/
/ iamb/ {pyrrhic/ spondee = double iamb}/ iamb/ iamb/
c. 3rd & 4th feet: To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face (XXXIV)
/ to DRY/ the RAIN/ on my/ STORM BEAT/ en FACE/
/ iamb/ iamb/ {pyrrhic/ spondee = double iamb}/ iamb/
d. 4th & 5th feet: But as the marigold at the sun's eye (XXV)
/ but AS/ the MAR/ i GOLD/ at the/ SUN'S EYE/
/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/ { pyrrhic/ spondee = double iamb}
All three of these forms of substitution were known and practiced from the earliest days of sonnetwriting in English, in the second half of the 16th century. All three of them can be found regularly in Shakespeare. What's especially important to remember are two points:
(a) The "double iamb" (also called the "double ionic") is counted not as a substitution but as if it were actually two regular iambs.
(b) The number of substitutions must always be lower than the number of actual iambs in a line; that's why it's important to count a double iamb as two iambs, because you sometimes find lines such as Keats'
"Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain"
which scans as
/ HOLD like/ RICH GAR/ ners the/ FULL RI/ pen'd GRAIN/
/ trochee/ spondee/ {pyrrhic/ spondee/ = double iamb} iamb/
Our sense of this line is that it IS iambic, even though it contains only one actual iamb. However, in recognizing the double iamb occupying the 3rd & 4th feet, we see that there are actually 3 iambs here and only 2 substitutions, so the iambic normative meter is maintained.
There is a 4th substitution that is now also considered acceptable in strict IP, one that's been recognized only in the 20th century:
4. the acephalous or "headless" iamb--An iamb with the first unstressed syllable omitted.
"Running down the corridors of night"
This scans as:
/ ^ RUN/ ning DOWN/ the COR/ ri DORS/ of NIGHT/
/ headless iamb/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/
(the carat symbol ^ is used to denote the omitted syllable)
Headless Iamb Substitution:
The obsolete, redundant. We are sunk
Deep in things. That hermit crab, the soul (from "Moving Sale" by A. E. Stallings)
/ the OB/ so LETE/ re DUN/ dant WE/ are SUNK/
/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/
/ ^ DEEP/ in THINGS/ that HER/ mit CRAB/ the SOUL/
/ headless iamb/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/ iamb/
Additional examples:
Mark Jarman, "Unholy Sonnet 13":
Blessedness--not only in a face
/ ^ BLESS/ ed NESS/ not ON/ ly IN/ a FACE/
Hayden Carruth, Sonnets: "2":
Woman, I'm not sure of much. Are you?
/ ^ WO/ man I'M/ not SURE/ of MUCH/ are YOU/
Dana Gioia, "Sunday Night in Santa Rosa":
Wind sweeps ticket stubs along the walk
/ ^ WIND/ sweeps TICK/ et STUBS/ a LONG/ the WALK/
Don Paterson, "The Thread":
All that trouble just to turn up dead
/ ^ ALL/ that TROUB/ le JUST/ to TURN/ up DEAD/
Karen Volkman, "Sonnet":
silence whitens every bright array
/ ^ SI/ lence WHIT/ ens EV/ ry BRIGHT/ ar RAY/
There are also a couple of points to remember about the use of the headless iamb:
(a) Its first use must be in line 2 or later or a poem; the reader has to be able to see its use against an established background of iambic pentameter or he may easily read the line as trochaic.
(b) Its use should be restricted only to the 1st foot of a given line, not in any later feet. There are those who disagree with this approach, but I've found very, very few headless iambs used anywhere else in a line that worked--such lines always limp, to my ear.
The situation is more complicated than this, of course, when you start taking differing stress levels into account, because not all stressed syllables are stressed equally, but as a basic outline what I've given here is useful. Timothy Steele's All the Fun's In How You Say a Thing: An Explanation of Meter and Versification is the current standard work, an indispensible one for any metrical poet.
Law of Nature
A wilting bloom was taken off her base,
which once a twig but now a dying branch.
Adieu, with her blue tears on glummer face,
and soon the dreamy world began to blanch.
For her who drives away the morning's cold
and warms her heart on every chilly night?
To where a cozy room can she behold
and who will take her home from sorry plight?
Without a winter rivers run in flood
The seasons' circle that brings up a year
Revive, when next spring lets all branches bud
The bloom will truly always have her dear
Is yet the former branch her beloved one
and still she calls the branch her only hon?
CalmSea - 2006-11-24
Scansion of 'Law of Nature'
A wilting bloom was taken off her base,
/ a WILT / ing BLOOM / was TAK / en OFF / her BASE /
/iamb/iamb/iamb/iamb/iamb/
which once a twig but now a dying branch.
/ which ONCE / a TWIG / but NOW / a DY / ing BRANCH /
/iamb/iamb/iamb/iamb/iamb/
Adieu, with her blue tears on glummer face,
/ a DIEU / with her / BLUE TEARS / on GLUM / mer FACE /
/iamb/pyrrhic/spondee(double iamb)/iamb/iamb/
pyrrich + spondee = double iamb
and soon the dreamy world began to blanch.
/ and SOON / the DREA / my WORLD / be GAN / to BLANCH /
/iamb/iamb/iamb/iamb/iamb/
For her who drives away the morning's cold
/ for HER / WHO DRIVES / a WAY / the MORN / ing's COLD /
/iamb/spondee/iamb/iamb/iamb/
spondee is one of the four standard iamb substitutions
and warms her heart on every chilly night?
/ and WARMS / her HEART / on EVE / ry CHILL / y NIGHT /
/iamb/iamb/iamb/iamb/iamb/
To where a cozy room can she behold
/to WHERE / a CO / zy ROOM / CAN SHE / be HOLD /
/iamb/iamb/iamb/spondee/iamb/
and who will take her home from sorry plight?
/ and WHO / WILL TAKE / her HOME / from SOR / ry PLIGHT /
/iamb/spondee/iamb/iamb/iamb/
Without a winter rivers run in flood
/ with OUT / a WIN / ter RIV / ers RUN / in FLOOD /
/iamb/iamb/iamb/iamb/iamb/
The seasons' circle that brings up a year
/ the SEA /sons CIR / cle that/ BRINGS UP / a YEAR /
/iamb/iamb/pyrrhic/spondee(double iamb)/iamb/
Revive, when spring lets all branches bud
/ re VIVE / when NEXT / SPRING LETS / ALL BRANCH / es BUT /
/iamb/iamb/spondee/spondee/iamb/
The bloom will truly always have her dear
/ the BLOOM / will TRU / ly AL /ways HAVE / her DEAR /
/iamb/iamb/iamb/iamb/iamb/
Is yet the former branch her beloved one
/ is YET / the FOR / mer BRANCH / her be / LOVE ONE /
/iamb/iamb/iamb/pyrrhic/spondee (double iamb)/
and still she calls the branch her only hon?
/ and STILL / she CALLS/ the BRANCH / her ON / ly HON /
/iamb/iamb/iamb/iamb/iamb/
terms:
1) [ - + ] iamb - n. / iambic - adj. -- 抑扬格，长短格一个对称的音步，由一个重读的音节紧跟在一个不重读的音节后面，或一个长的音节跟在一个短的音节后面组成，即前轻后重，如 delay
2) [ + - ] trochee - n. / trochaic - adj. or invert -- 扬抑格音步两个音节的音步，其中第一个音节重读，第二个音节不重读，如在单词 season中，或第一个音节是长的，第二个音节是短的
3) [ - - ] pyrrhic - n. adj. -- 抑抑格，二短音步一种有节奏的步伐，有两个短或无重音的音节 如 在句子中的 for a ( I come for a ride.)
4) [+ +] spondee - n. / spondaic - adj. (double iamb) -- 扬扬格, 有两个长音节或重音节的韵脚
5) [ - - +] anapest - n. / anapestic - adj. (divided) -- 抑抑扬格，由两短一长的三音节组成的音步，如单词 seventeen
6) [+ - - ] dactylus – n. -- 扬抑抑格, 长短短格三音节音步一种三音节音步，在一个重读音节和两个非重读音节组成的音步，如：jealousy
7）[+ - +] amphimacer - n. -- 扬抑扬格，长短长三音节音步一种三音节音步，在两个重读音节或长音节之间有一个非重读音节或短音节，如 Peter Pan
8) [+ - - +] choriambi – n. -- 扬抑抑扬格
Tuesday, 21. November 2006, 16:44:10
My friend's reading notes
Katauta is an unrhymed three-line poem the following syllable counts: 5/7/7.
How to write: The Katauta
The Katauta was a specific form of Japanese poetry 19 onji in length that was written in three lines of 5-7-7 onji (approximately one breath length) each with a specific rhythm and in the form of either a question or an answer. Once thought to represent primitive songs, the Katauta is now believed to be a means of conveying a question and an answer among primitive people.
These Katauta are believed to have developed in primitive societies, as stated above, as part of spring festivals similar to the fertility rites and planting/harvesting rituals of other primitive societies and cultures. However Katauta, by themselves, may be interesting, when placed together with an answer following a question, they become even more interesting poetically.
Requirements:
1. To write a Katauta in English you need 19 syllables, divided in three lines of 5/7/7 syllables.
2. Each Katauta has its specific rhythm.
3. It has the form of a question, or an answer.
Placed together, the second Katauta answers the question of the first one.
An example:
Weather man's autumn
Starts sunny - earth is warming
Do seasons shift places?
The names stay the same
Nature' s rhythm is disturbed
Extremity - human's fault.
Sedoka and Mondo
It's very interesting that you can make Sedoka or Mondo when you know how to make two Katuata.
A single katauta was considered incomplete or a half-poem.
A pair of katautas of the 5,7,7 type were called a sedoka or Mondo;
The major difference between the Mondo and Sedoka was that the Mondo was written by two authors and the Sedoka was written by a single author.
Mondo
Why is there no rain
the land cries out for water
but cannot shed tears?
There will be no rain
because you wept times before
when there was some rain!
Juan and Chu
Sedoka
A small boy sees hills
then he will make them mountains
he will have to climb.
If he can climb them
what will he have overcome
that he did not make?
The Sedoka is a Japanese form poem. It is a variation of a form called a Mondo.
This form consists of two stanzas called Katauta.
A Katauta is a 3 line stanza with a syllable count of 5 - 7 - 7.
The first stanza of a Sedoka touches on one subject, and the second goes a little deeper into that subject.
Example:
A Katuata
Katuata in pair
make a piece of Sedoka
and we in pair -- one Mondo.
---By CalmSea
When soft voice is gone
Tone vibrates in memory
Shall love itself slumber on?
---By Alicelotus
When love doth not stay
the soft voice will turn into
a noise and never resound
---By calmSea
Tuesday, 21. November 2006, 16:34:32
My friend's reading notes
Beforehand, let me say, Haiku looks really easy, for it doesn't need rhyming, and only three short lines in all. But I wonder if you remembered I ever mentioned that for poem, the shorter the more difficult. One of the reason is that you are to write a poem, never a simple three line thing. That's to say, you have to make your poem meaningful, rather than three empty lines, readers can not understand its spirit. But if you need to inject a strong spirit in your three line work, it isn't that easy as you thought. Try, no matter how short it is, give it a soul, make it alive. Will you?
Though it looks simple, it's worth trying harder, because it asks you to write according to syllables. It's a foundation for our study metrical poems, without knowing syllables and practised, we can hardly learn to write metrical poems.
Requirements:
1. Three lines
2. No rhyme
3. Seventeen (17) syllables in all, Five (5) syllables in first line, Seven (7) syllables in second line, and Five (5) syllables in the third line.
Examples :
Green
In a summer rain
you come with emerald leaves
Dye me into jade
Butterfly
Colorful but brief
no complaint and no regret
For stay with flower
---By CalmSea
A flower withers
Its petals are healed a bed
Making him cosy
---By Alicelotus
Tuesday, 21. November 2006, 16:27:43
My friend's reading notes
Echo Verse
Echo Verse - A form of poem in which a word or two at the end of a line appears as an echo constituting the entire following line. The echo, either the same word or syllable or a homophone, often changes the meaning in a flippant, cynical or punning response
Echo Verse - Verse written so that the last few words or syllables can be used as a response to the line. The response might be a word with the same sound as the last few syllables, even though a different spelling. Many of these usages are written to heighten comedic or tragic effects in a poem, just as the repetition of the villanelle does.
Echo Verse - Verse in which the final words or syllables of a line or stanza are repeated as a response, often with an ironic effect.
This Echo Verse "A Gentle Echo on Woman:" by Jonathan is the best among all, enjoy it and try yours.
Shepherd. What most moves women when we them address?
Echo. A dress.
Shepherd. Say, what can keep her chaste whom I adore?
Echo. A door.
Shepherd. If music softens rocks, love tunes my lyre.
Echo. Liar.
Shepherd. Then teach me, Echo, how shall I come by her?
Echo. Buy her.
Collect such homophone words in your life, and put them in your works, you find life is so colorful.
An example of my own works happened to reply Lavendercc's message.
lavendercc:
This sea is not the sea we used to know;
We knew that sea isn't calm though;
The wind ripples the sea to his toes;
Somehow he hasn't been told.
Lavendercc : This sea is not the sea we used to know ...No
Lavendercc : How do you know the sea isn't calm?...Come
Lavendercc :To his toes the wind ripples the sea...See
Lavendercc :Come and let him told!...Toad!
Note: In order to make it funny, I changed the last line of lavendercc's work. Told and Toad are not neat as homophone
--- By CalmSea
Cool: how to be a flier
Echo:flyer?
Cool: if only I could have one wing
Echo: win?
Cool: so,you must be still in dreamland
Echo: dream land ?
Cool: when ,then you will be in sobriety
Echo: so briar-tea?
---By cool
Navigating in deep water how to save my life and go to dreamland? --- Dream Land
Illuminate my way to free from the ever plight --- light
What brings me light and makes my day which I want to adorn? --- A Dawn
To write 1000 percet Echo verses is a tuff job --- A tough Job
---Correction By CalmSea
Tuesday, 21. November 2006, 15:31:07
My friend's reading notes
Foot (prosody)
In verse, many meters use a foot as the basic unit in their description of the underlying rhythm of a poem. Both the quantitative meter of classical poetry and the accentual-syllabic meter of most poetry in English use the foot as the fundamental building block. A foot consists of a certain number of syllables forming part of a line of verse. A foot is described by the character and number of syllables it contains: in English, feet are named for the combination of accented and unaccented syllables; in other languages such as Latin and Greek, the duration of the syllable (long or short) is measured.
When scanning a line of verse, a poet looks at feet as the basic rhythmic unit rather than words. A foot can consist of multiple words and a single word can contain many feet; furthermore, a foot can and often does bridge multiple words, containing, for example, the last two syllables of one word and the first of the next. To scan for feet, one should focus on the stream of sound alone and forget that words exist at all.
The poetic feet in classical meter
Below are listed the names given to the poetic feet by classical metrics. The feet are classified first by the number of syllables in the foot (disyllables have two, trisyllables three, and tetrasyllables four) and secondarily by the pattern of vowel lengths (in classical languages) or syllable stresses (in English poetry) which they comprise.
The following lists describe the feet in terms of vowel length (as in classical languages). Translated into syllable stresses (as in English poetry), 'long' becomes 'stressed' ('accented'), and 'short' becomes 'unstressed' ('unaccented'). For example, an iamb, which is short-long in classical meter, becomes unstressed-stressed, as in the English word "betray."
The most common in English verse are the iamb, the trochee, the dactyl, and the anapest.
Disyllables
pyrrhus or dibrach: short-short
iamb: short-long
trochee or choree: long-short
spondee: long-long
Trisyllables
tribrach: short-short-short
anapest or antidactylus: short-short-long
amphibrach: short-long-short
bacchius: short-long-long
dactyl: long-short-short
amphimacer or cretic: long-short-long
antibacchius: long-long-short
molossus: long-long-long
Tetrasyllables
tetrabrach or proceleusmatic: short-short-short-short
quartus paeon: short-short-short-long
tertius paeon: short-short-long-short
minor ionic, or double iamb: short-short-long-long
secundus paeon: short-long-short-short
diamb: short-long-short-long
antispast: short-long-long-short
first epitrite: short-long-long-long
primus paeon: long-short-short-short
choriamb: long-short-short-long
ditrochee: long-short-long-short
second epitrite: long-short-long-long
major ionic, or double trochee: long-long-short-short
third epitrite: long-long-short-long
fourth epitrite: long-long-long-short
dispondee: long-long-long-long
Tuesday, 21. November 2006, 14:49:35
My friend's reading notes
双音节单词的音节划分方法可归纳为“两分手。一归前或一归后”。
1.“两分手”是指：当两个元音之间有两个辅音字母时，将两个辅音字母划分
在前后两个音节里。具体细节以及读音特点，分别介绍如下：
1a. 当两个辅音字母相同（包括字母 r ），且重读音节在词首时：
better 划分成 bet ter carry 划分成 car ry
yellow 划分成 yel low borrow 划分成 bor row
millet 划分成 mil let little 划分成 lit tle
第一个音节的元音按照“短元音”读，但是相邻的那一个辅音字母没有读音。注意：字
母 l, r在非重读音节中，有时起元音的作用。如在单词little, acre 中。
1b. 带前缀的单词，有时也有两个相同的辅音字母（包括字母 r ），如：
attack划分成at tack arrive划分成 ar rive
attend 划分成 at tend correct划分成 cor rect
effect划分成 ef fect support划分成 sup port
这样的单词，第一个音节是“非重读音节”，元音一般读“含糊元音”。
1c. 当两个辅音字母不同（不包括字母 r ）时：
sister 划分成 sis ter window 划分成 win dow
system 划分成 sys tem publish 划分成 pub lish
milky 划分成 mil ky (建议将这个单词的读音与millet 的读音相比较。)
第一个音节的元音按照“短元音”读，相邻的辅音字母有读音。
1d. 当两个辅音字母不同，并且第一个辅音字母为 r 时：
market 划分成 mar ket dirty 划分成 dir ty
certain 划分成 cer tain forty 划分成 for ty
surface 划分成 sur face purple 划分成 pur ple
第一个音节的元音按照“第四类音节的读音”读。
注意：不能够“两分手”的情况：
a. 辅音字符th, sh, ch, tch, ck等，是不允许分割的。这样的单词有：
fa ther oth er cash ier ma chine pock et
meth od moth er fash ion re charge butch er
b. 各种辅音连缀，如 cr, pr, bl, fl, 等，也是不允许分割的。这样的单词有：
April 只能划分成 A pril secret 只能划分成 se cret
apron只能划分成 a pron sacred 只能划分成 sa cred
包括带前缀的一些单词，如 degree, decrease, across, agree, afraid 等。
2.“一归前或一归后”是指：当两个元音之间只有一个辅音字母时，有时将这
个辅音字母划分在前面的音节里，有时划分在后面的音节里。
2a. 先说“一归后”的情况。在有些单词中是对的。如：
open 划分成 o pen able 划分成 a ble
even 划分成 e ven nation 划分成 na tion
fever 划分成 fe ver unit 划分成 u nit
tiny 划分成 ti ny student 划分成 stu dent
显然，第一个音节的元音按照“长元音”读。
2b. 带有以元音结尾的前缀的单词，自然是属于“一归后”的。如：
begin 划分成 be gin repeat 划分成 re peat
decide 划分成 de cide return 划分成 re turn
prepare 划分成pre pare repair 划分成 re pair
重读音节在第二个音节，其元音按照第二章中的诸多规则读音
。
2c. 再看“一归前”的情况。在有些单词中也是对的。如：
city 划分成 cit y minute 划分成 min ute
study 划分成 stud y second 划分成 sec ond
travel 划分成 trav el never 划分成 nev er
显然，第一个音节的元音按照“短元音”读。
另外，字母 x 永远是划归第一个音节的。并且第一个音节读“短元音”。如：
taxi划分成 tax i exit 划分成 ex it
Tuesday, 24. October 2006, 10:03:54
My friend's reading notes
1) Definition of Cinquain Poetry Type and Term
Cinquain Poetry Type has five lines.
Line 1 is one word (the title)
Line 2 is two words that describe the title.
Line 3 is three words that tell the action
Line 4 is four words that express the feeling
Line 5 is one word that recalls the title
American poet Adelaide Crapsey created the cinquain based on the Japanese haiku
2)Example of Cinquain Poetry Type
Tree
Strong, Tall
Swaying, swinging, sighing
Memories of summer
Oak
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