PART III
PHONETIC EXPRESSIVE MEANS AND STYLISTIC DEVICES GENERAL NOTES
The stylistic approach to the utterance is not confined to its structure and sense, There is another thing to be taken into account which, in a certain type of communication, viz. belles-lettres, plays an important role. This is the way a word, a phrase or a sentence sounds. The sound of most words taken separately will have little or no aesthetic value. It is in combination with other words that a word may acquire a desired phonetic effect, The way a separate word sounds may produce a certain euphonic impression, but this is a matter of individual perception and feeling and therefore subjective. For instance, a certain English writer expresses the opinion that angina [æn'dgainə], pneumonia [njuː'məunɪə], and uvula ['ju:vjulə] would make beautiful girl's names instead of what he calls "lumps of names like Joan, Joyce and Maud". In the poem "Cargoes" by John Masefield he considers words like ivory, sandal-wood, cedar-wood, emeralds and amethysts as used in the first two stanzas to be beautiful, whereas those in the 3rd stanza "strike harshly on the ear!"
"With a cargo of Tyne coal,
Road-rails, pig-lead,
Fire-wood, iron-ware and cheap tin trays."
As one poet has it, this is "...a combination of words which is difficult to pronounce, in which the words rub against one another, interfere with one another, push one another."
Verier, a French scientist, who is a specialist on English versification, suggests that we should try to pronounce the vowels [a:, i:, u:] in a strongly articulated manner and with closed eyes. If we do so, he says, we are sure to come to the conclusion that each of these sounds expresses a definite feeling or state of mind. Thus he maintains that the sound [u:] generally expresses sorrow or seriousness; [i:] produces the feeling of joy and so on.
L. Bloomfield, a well-known American linguist says:
"...in human speech, different sounds have different meaning. To study the coordination of certain sounds with certain meanings is to study language."1
An interesting statement in this regard is made by a Hungarian linguist, Ivan Fonagy:
"The great semantic entropy (a term from theory of communication denoting the measure of the unknown, I.G.) of poetic language stands in contrast to the predictability of its sounds. Of course, not even in the case of poetry can we determine the sound of a word on the basis of its meaning. Nevertheless in the larger units of line and stanza, a certain relationship can be found between sounds and content."2
The Russian poet B. Pasternak says that he has
"...always thought that the music of words is not an acoustic phenomenon and does not consist of the euphony of vowels and consonants taken separately. It results from the correlation of the meaning of the utterance with its sound."3
The theory of sound symbolism is based on the assumption that separate sounds due to their articulatory and acoustic properties may awake certain ideas, perceptions, feelings, images, vague though they might be. Recent investigations have shown that "it is rash to deny the existence of universal, or widespread, types of sound symbolism."4 In poetry we cannot help feeling that the arrangement of sounds carries a definite aesthetic function. Poetry is not entirely divorced from music. Such notions as harmony, euphony, rhythm and other sound phenomena undoubtedly are not indifferent to the general effect produced by a verbal chain. Poetry, unlike prose, is meant to be read out loud and any oral performance of a message inevitably involves definite musical (in the broad sense of the word) interpretation.
Now let us see what phonetic SDs secure this musical function.
Onomatopoeia
Onomatopoeia is a combination of speech-sounds which aims at imitating sounds produced in nature (wind, sea, thunder, etc), by things (machines or tools, etc), by people (sighing, laughter, patter of feet, etc) and by animals. Combinations of speech sounds of this type will inevitably be associated with whatever produces the natural sound. Therefore the relation between onomatopoeia and the phenomenon it is supposed to represent is one of metonymy.
There are two varieties of onomatopoeia: direct and indirect. Direсt onomatopoeia is contained in words that imitate natural sounds, as ding-dong, buzz, bang, cuckoo, tintinabulation, mew, ping-pong, roar and the like.
These words have different degrees of imitative quality. Some of them immediately bring to mind whatever it is that produces the sound.
Others require the exercise of a certain amount of imagination to decipher it.
Onomatopoeic words can be used in a transferred meaning, as for instance ding-dong, which represents the sound of bells rung continuously, may mean 1) noisy, 2) strenuously contested. Examples are:
a ding-dong struggle, a ding-dong go at something.
In the following newspaper headline:
DING-DONG ROW OPENS ON BILL, both meanings are implied.
Indirect onomatopoeia is a combination of sounds the aim of which is to make the sound of the utterance an echo of its sense. It is sometimes called "echo-writing". An example is:
'And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain' (E. A. Poe),
where the repetition of the sound [s] actually produces the sound of the rustling of the curtain.
Indirect onomatopoeia, unlike alliteration, demands some mention of what makes the sound, as rustling (of curtains) in the line above. The same can be said of the sound [w] if it aims at reproducing, let us say, the sound of wind. The word wind must be mentioned, as in:
"Whenever the moon and stars are set,
Whenever the wind is high,
All night long in the dark and wet
A man goes riding by."
(R. S. Stevenson)
Indirect onomatopoeia is sometimes very effectively used by repeating words which themselves are not onomatopoetic, as in Poe's poem "The Bells" where the words tinkle and bells are distributed in the following manner:
"Silver bells... how they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle"
and further
"To the tintinabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells –
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells."
Alongside obviously onomatopoetic words as tinkle, tintinnabulation and jingling the word bells is drawn into the general music of the poem and begins to display onomatopoetic properties through the repetition.
Here is another example:
"Mostly he moved in urgent, precise, clipped movements –
go, go, go – and talked the same way – staccato sentences."
The onomatopoetic effect is achieved by the repetition of the unonomatopoetic word 'go' the pronunciation of which is prompted by the word 'clipped', suggesting short, quick, abrupt motions. One seems even to hear the sound of his footsteps.
A skilful example of onomatopoetic effect is shown by Robert Southey in his poem "How the Water Comes down at Ladore." The title of the poem reveals the purpose of the writer. By artful combination of words ending in -ing and by the gradual increase of the number of words in successive lines, the poet achieves the desired sound effect. The роеm is rather too long to be reproduced here, but a few lines will suffice as illustrations:
"And nearing and clearing,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
And falling and crawling and sprawling,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
And in this way the water comes down at Ladore."
Alliteration
Apt Alliteration's Artful Aid.
Charles Churchill
Alliteration is a phonetic stylistic device which aims at imparting a melodic effect to the utterance. The essence of this device lies in the repetition of similar sounds, in particular consonant sounds, in close succession, particularly at the beginning of successive words:
The possessive instinct never stands still. Through florescence and feud, frosts and fires it follows the laws of progression."
(Galsworthy)
or:
"Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
fearing,
"Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream
before."
(E. A. Poe)
Alliteration, like most phonetic expressive means, does not bear any lexical or other meaning unless we agree that a sound meaning exists as such. But even so we may not be able to specify clearly the character of this meaning, and the term will merely suggest that a certain amount of information is contained in the repetition of sounds, as is the case with the repetition of lexical units.
However, certain sounds, if repeated, may produce an effect that can be specified.
For example, the sound [m] is frequently used by Tennyson in the poem "The Lotus Eaters" to give a somnolent effect.
"How sweet it were,...
To lend our hearts and spirits wholly
To the music of mild minded melancholy;
To muse and brood and live again in memory,"
Therefore alliteration is generally regarded as a musical accompaniment of the author's idea, supporting it with some vague emotional atmosphere which each reader interprets for himself. Thus the repetition of the sound [d] in the lines quoted from Poe's poem "The Raven" prompts the feeling of anxiety, fear, horror, anguish or all these feelings simultaneously.
Sometimes a competent reader, if unable to decipher the implied purpose of the alliteration, may grow irritated if it is overdone and be ready to discard it from the arsenal of useful stylistic devices.
An interesting example of the overuse of alliteration is given in Swinburne's "Nephelidia" where the poet parodies his own style:
"Gaunt as the ghastliest of glimpses that gleam through the gloom of the gloaming when ghosts go aghast."
When the choice of words depends primarily on the principle of alliteration, exactitude of expression, and even sense may suffer. But when used sparingly and with at least some slight inner connection with the sense of the utterance, alliteration heightens the general aesthetic effect.
Alliteration in the English language is deeply rooted in the traditions of English folklore. The laws of phonetic arrangement in Anglo-Saxon poetry differed greatly from those of present-day English poetry. In Old English poetry alliteration was one, of the basic principles of verse and considered, along with rhythm, to be its main characteristic. Each stressed meaningful word in a line had to begin with the same sound or combination of sounds. Thus, in Beowulf:
Fyrst forð 3ewát: flota wæs on ŷðum,
bát under bеоr3е. Beornas 3earwe
on stefn sti3on: strēamas wundon,
sund wið sande; sec3as bærоn
on bearm nacan beorhte frætwe...
The repetition of the initial sounds of the stressed words in the line, as it were, integrates the utterance into a compositional unit. Unlike rhyme in modern English verse, the semantic function of which is to chain one line to another, alliteration in Old English verse was used to consolidate the sense within the line, leaving the relation between the lines rather loose. But there really is an essential resemblance structurally between alliteration and rhyme (by the repetition of the same sound) and also functionally (by communicating a consolidating effect). Alliteration is therefore sometimes called initial rhyme.
The traditions of folklore are exceptionally stable and alliteration as a structural device of Old English poems and songs has shown remarkable continuity. It is frequently used as a well-tested means not only in verse but in emotive prose, in newspaper headlines, in the titles of books, in proverbs and sayings, as, for example, in the following:
Tit for tat; blind as a bat, betwixt and between; It is neck or nothing; to rob Peter to pay Paul;
or in the titles of books:
"Sense and Sensibility" (Jane Austin); "Pride and Prejudice" (Jane Austin); "The School for Scandal" (Sheridan); "A Book of Phrase and Fable" (Brewer).
Rhyme
Rhyme is the repetition of identical or similar terminal sound combinations of words.
Rhyming words are generally placed at a regular distance from each other. In verse they are usually placed at the end of the corresponding lines.
Identity and particularly similarity of sound combinations may be relative. For instance, we distinguish between full rhymes and incomplete rhymes. The full rhyme presupposes identity of the vowel sound and the following consonant sounds in a stressed syllable, as in might, right; needless, heedless. When there is identity of the stressed syllable, including the initial consonant of the second syllable (in polysyllabic words), we have exact or identical rhymes.
Incomplete rhymes present a greater variety. They can be divided into two main groups: vowel rhymes and consonant rhymes. In vowel rhymes the vowels of the syllables in corresponding words are identical, but the consonants may be different, as in flesh – fresh – press. Consonant rhymes, on the contrary, show concordance in consonants and disparity in vowels, as in worth – forth; tale – tool – Treble – trouble; flung – long.
Modifications in rhyming sometimes go so far as to make one word rhyme with a combination of words; or two or even three words rhyme with a corresponding two or three words, as in upon her honour – won her; bottom – forgot'em – shot him. Such rhymes are called compound or broken. The peculiarity of rhymes of this type is that the combination of words is made to sound like one word – a device which inevitably gives a colloquial and sometimes a humorous touch to the utterance.
Compound rhyme may be set against what is called eye-rhyme, where the letters and not the sounds are identical, as in love – prove, flood – brood, have – grave. It follows therefore that whereas compound rhyme is perceived in reading aloud, eye-rhyme can only be perceived in the written verse.
Many eye-rhymes are the result of historical changes in the vowel sounds in certain positions. The continuity of English verse manifests itself also in retention of some pairs of what were once rhyming words. But on the analogy of these pairs, new eye-rhymes have been coined and the model now functions alongside ear-rhymes.
According to the way the rhymes are arranged within the stanza, certain models have crystallized, for instance:
couplets – when the last words of two successive lines are rhymed. This is commonly marked aa,
triple rhymes – aaa
cross rhymes – abab
framing or ring rhymes – abba
There is still another variety of rhyme which is called internal rhyme. The rhyming words are placed not at the ends of the lines but within the line, as in:
"I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers." (Shelley)
or:
"Once upon a midnight dreary while I pondered weak and weary." (Рое)
Internal rhyme breaks the line into two distinct parts, at the same time more strongly consolidating the ideas expressed in these two parts. Thus rhyme may be said to possess two seemingly contradictory functions: dissevering, on the one hand, and consolidating, on the other. As in many stylistic devices, these two functions of rhyme are realized simultaneously in a greater or lesser degree depending on the distribution of the rhymes. In aa rhymes the consolidating function is rather conspicuous. In aabaab rhymes the rhyming words bb may not immediately reveal their consolidating function.
The dissevering function of internal rhyme makes itself felt in a distinctive pause, which is a natural result of the longer line. This quality of internal rhyme may be regarded as a leading one.
The distinctive function of rhyme is particularly felt when it occurs unexpectedly in ordinary speech or in prose. The listener's attention is caught by the rhyme and he may lose the thread of the discourse.
Rhythm
Rhythm exists in all spheres of human activity and assumes multifarious forms. It is a mighty weapon in stirring up emotions whatever its nature or origin, whether it is musical, mechanical, or symmetrical, as in architecture.
The most general definition of rhythm may be expressed as follows:
"Rhythm is a flow, movement, procedure, etc., characterized by basically regular recurrence of elements or features, as beat, or accent, in alternation with opposite or different elements or features" (Webster's New World Dictionary).
Rhythm can be perceived only provided that there is some kind of experience in catching the opposite elements or features in their correlation, and, what is of paramount importance, experience in catching the regularity of alternating patterns. Rhythm is primarily a periodicity, which requires specification as to the type of periodicity. According to some investigations, rhythmical periodicity in verse "requires intervals of about three quarters of a second between successive peaks of periods."1 It is a deliberate arrangement of speech into regularly recurring units intended to be grasped as a definite periodicity which makes rhythm a stylistic device.
Rhythm, therefore, is the main factor which brings order into the utterance. The influence of the rhythm on the semantic aspect of the utterance is now being carefully investigated and it becomes apparent that orderly phonetic arrangement of the utterance calls forth orderly syntactical structures which, in their turn, suggest an orderly segmenting of the sense-groups. The conscious perception of rhythms must be acquired by training, as must the perception of any stylistic device. Some people are said to be completely deaf to rhythm and whatever efforts are exerted to develop this sense in them inevitably fail. But this is not true. A person may not be able to produce a flow of rhythmical units, but he can certainly acquire a feeling for rhythm if he trains his ear.
Rhythm in language necessarily demands oppositions that alternate: long, short; stressed, unstressed; high, low; and other contrasting segments of speech. Some theoreticians maintain that rhythm can only be perceived if there are occasional deviations from the regularity of alternations. In this connection De Groot writes:
"It is very strange indeed that deviations from the theme (i.e. the accepted kind of periodicity, I. G.) in separate lines (called irregularities of the line) have been looked upon as deficiencies of the poem by such eminent scholars as Jespersen and Heusseler. On the contrary, they are indispensable, and have both a formal and expressive function. Harmony is not only a matter of similarity, but also of dissimilarity, and in good poetry, irregularities of lines are among the most important features of the poem both in their formal and their expressive functions. Actually, the beauty of a poem is less dependent upon the regularities than upon the irregularities of the poem."1
Academician V. M. Žirmunsky suggests that the concept of rhythm should be distinguished from that of metre. Metre is any form of periodicity in verse, its kind being determined by the character and number of syllables of which it consists. The metre is an ideal phenomenon characterized by its strict regularity, consistency and unchangeability.2 Rhythm is flexible and sometimes an effort is required to perceive it. In classical verse it is perceived at the background of the metre. In accented verse – by the number of stresses in a line. In prose-by the alternation of similar syntactical patterns. He gives the following definition of verse rhythm. It is "the actual alternation of stress which appears as a result of interaction between the ideal metrical law and the natural phonetic properties of the given language material."3 He holds the view that romantic poetry regards metrical forms as a conventional tradition, which hinders the vigorous individual creativity of the poet and narrows the potential variety of poetic material.
This trend in literature justifies all kinds of deviations from the metrical scheme as well as the dissimilarity of stanzas; it favours enjambment (see p. 257) because it violates the monotonous concurrence of the rhythmical and syntactical units of the metrical system; it makes ample use of imperfect rhymes, inasmuch as they violate the trivial exactness of sound correspondence. It follows then that the concept of rhythm should not be identified with that of metre, the latter, be it repeated, appearing only in classical verse as an ideal form, an invariant of the given scheme of alternation. However, the deviations (the variants) must not go so far as to obscure the consciously perceived ideal scheme. As has been pointed out before, stylistic effect can only be achieved if there is a clearcut dichotomy of the constituent elements. In the present case the dichotomy is perceived in the simultaneous materialization of the orthodox and free patterns of metrical alternation. J. Middleton Murry states:
"In order that rhythmic effects should be successful they must be differentiated with certainty; and to manage contrasts of rhythm-without contrast there is no differentiation – with so much subtlety that they will remain subordinate to the intellectual suggestion of the words, is the most delicate work imaginable."1
In his notes on Shakespeare's plays our Russian poet B. Pasternak expressed the same idea in the following words:
"...The metre (that of blank verse, I. G.) is not made conspicuous. This is not a recitation. The form with its self-admiration does not overshadow the content, which is infathomable and chaste. It is an example of sublime poetry which in its finest examples has always the simplicity and freshness of prose."2
V. Mayakovsky framed this idea in poetic form. "Rhythm", he writes, "is the foundation of every poetic work, and passes through it like a clamour." And further, "I get my metre by covering this clamour with words."3 The Russian poet A. Blok said that the poet is not one who writes verses, but the bearer of rhythm.
Verse did not become entirely divorced from music when it began to live as an independent form of art. As is known, verse has its origin in song; but still the musical element has never been lost; it has assumed a new form of existence – rhythm.
It follows then that rhythm is not a mere addition to verse or emotive prose, which also has its rhythm, and it must not be regarded as possessing "phonetic autonomy amounting to an 'irrelevant texture', but has a meaning."4 This point of view is now gaining ground. Many attempts have been made to ascribe meaning to rhythm and even to specify different meanings to different types of metre. This is important, inasmuch as it contributes to the now-prevailing idea that any form must make some contribution, to the general sense. Rhythm intensifies the emotions. It also specifies emotions. Some students of rhythm go so far as to declare that "...one obvious agency for the expression of his (a poet's) attitude is surely metre"5 and that "...the poet's attitude toward his reader is reflected in his manipulation – sometimes his disregard – of metre."6
So divergence from the ideal metrical scheme is an inherent quality of rhythm in verse.7 The range of divergence must, however, have its limits. Deviations from the metrical theme are free within the given frame of variation, but they cannot go beyond that frame lest the rhythmical pattern should be destroyed. Permissible deviations from the given metre are called modifications of the rhythmical pattern. Some of them occur so frequently in classical verse that they become, as it were, constituents of the rhythm.
"If violations of the metre take root," writes R. Jakobson, "they themselves become rules..." and further,
"...these are allowed oscillations, departures within the limits of the law. In British parliamentary terms, it is not an opposition to its majesty the metre, but an opposition of its majesty."1
It has already been pointed out that if rhythm is to be a stylistic category, one thing is required – the simultaneous perception of two contrasting phenomena, a kind of dichotomy. Therefore rhythm in verse as an SD is defined as a combination of the ideal metrical scheme and the variations of it, variations which are governed by the standard.2 There are, however, certain cases in verse where no departures are allowed and the rhythm strikes the ear with its strict regularity. These are cases where the rhythm contributes to the sense. Thus in Robert Southey's "How the Water Comes Down at Ladore" (see p. 126) the rhythm itself is meant to interpret the monotonous roar of the waterfall; or in Edward Lear's poem "The Nutcrackers and the Sugar-tongs" where the rhythm reproduces the beat of galloping horses' feet, or in march rhythm where the beat of the lines suggests a musical foundation. In short, wherever there is a recognizable semantic function of the rhythm few, if any, deviations are evident.
Rhythm reveals itself most conspicuously in music, dance and verse. We have so far dealt with verse because the properties of rhythm in language are most observable in this mode of -communication. We shall now proceed to the analysis of rhythm in prose, bearing in mind that the essential properties of prose rhythm are governed by the same general rules, though not so apparent, perhaps, as in verse, and falling under different parameters of analysis.
Much has been said and written about rhythm in prose. Some investigators, in attempting to find rhythmical patterns of prose, superimpose metrical measures on prose and regard instances which do not fall under the suggested metrical scheme as variants. But the parameters of the rhythm in verse and in prose are entirely different. R. Jakobson states: "... any metre uses the syllable as a unit of measure at least in certain sections of the verse."3 The unit of measure in prose, however, is not the syllable but a structure, a word-combination, a sequence of words, that is, phrases, clauses, sentences, even supra-phrasal units.4 The structural pattern, which in the particular case is the rhythmical unit, will be repeated within the given span of prose. The rhythm will be based not on the regular alternation of opposing units, i.e. a regular beat, but on the repetition of similar structural units following one another or repeated after short intervals. The peculiar property of prose rhythm, particularly in 20th century prose, is that it occurs only in relatively short spans of text, and that it constantly changes its patterns and may suddenly drop to a normal, almost unapparent rhythmical design or to no rhythm at all.
It must be made clear that metrical or accented rhythm, which is an internal and indispensable property of verse, is incidental in prose, which in its very essence is arhythmical. A prose passage interpolated into a work written in verse, a device so favoured by some poets, has its significance in the acute opposition of the two modes of expression: rhythmical versus arhythmical.
The most observable rhythmical patterns in prose are based on the use of certain stylistic syntactical devices, namely, enumeration, repetition, parallel construction (in particular, balance) and chiasmus. The beginning of Dickens's "A Tale of Two Cities" (see p. 223) may serve as an illustration of prose rhythm. Here the rhythm is easily discernible.
In the following passage it is more difficult to catch the rhythm, though when the passage is read aloud, the rhythm is clear.
"The high-sloping roof, of a fine sooty pink was almost Danish, and two 'ducky' little windows looked out of it, giving an impression that very tall servants lived up there."
(Galsworthy)
Here the rhythmical pattern of the utterance is almost imperceptible to an untrained ear, but will clearly be felt by one with rhythmical experience. The paired attributes high-sloping, fine sooty, ducky little and likewise the attribute with an adverbial modifier very tall are all structurally similar word-combinations and therefore create the rhythm.
As a good example of oscillating prose rhythm hardly dissectable into rhythmical units is the following excerpt from Somerset Maugham's "The Painted Veil":
"Walter, I beseech you to forgive me," she said, leaning over him. For fear that he could not bear the pressure she took care not to touch him. "I'm so desperately sorry for the wrong I did you. I so bitterly regret it."
He said nothing. He did not seem to hear. She was obliged to insist. It seemed to her strangely that his soul was a fluttering moth and its wings were heavy with hatred.
"Darling."
A shadow passed over his wan and sunken face. It was less than a movement, and yet it gave all the effect of a terrifying convulsion. She had never, used that word to him before. Perhaps in his dying brain there passed the thought, confused and difficultly grasped, that he had only heard her use it, a commonplace of her vocabulary, to dogs, and babies and motorcars. Then something horrible occurred. She clenched her hands, trying with all her might to control herself, for she saw two tears run slowly down his wasted cheeks.
"Oh, my precious, my dear, if you ever loved me – I know you loved me and I was hateful – I beg you to forgive me. I've no chance now to show my repentance. Have mercy on me. I beseech you to forgive."
She stopped. She looked at him, all breathless, waiting passionately for a reply. She saw that he tried to speak. Her heart gave a great bound."
The long passage is necessary in order that the fluctuating, rhythmical pattern of both the author's and the character's speech might be observed. The most obvious rhythmical unit here is the structural similarity of the sentences. The overwhelming majority of the sentences are short, simple, almost unextended, resembling each other in structural design: – 'He said nothing', 'He did not seem to hear', 'She was obliged to insist', 'A shadow passed over his wan and sunken face', 'She had never used that word to him before', 'She saw that he tried to speak', 'Her heart gave a great bound'.
Likewise the character's speech is marked by the same feature – the sentences are short, simple, resembling each other in their structural design: – 'Walter, I beseech you to forgive me', 'I beg you to forgive me', 'I've no chance now to show my repentance', 'I beseech you to forgive' and earlier 'I'm so desperately sorry... I so bitterly regret it.'
But it is not only the repetition of the structural design of the sentences that makes the rhythm: there are other elements contributing to it. With the increase of emotional tension the author almost slips into the iambic rhythm of blank verse. Dramatic feeling demands regular rhythm. As the emotion becomes tenser, the rhythmical beat and cadence of the words becomes more evident. Mark the sentence which begins with 'Perhaps in his dying brain....' Here a kind of metrical rhythm can easily be discerned –
"there passed the thought confused and
difficultly grasped
that he had only heard her use it, ...
and so it goes on until the phrase "then something horrible occurred." Of course this inter-correlation of the rhythmical units in the passage is open to discussion. There may be various delivery instances. In this connection R. Jakobson says that "a variation of verse instances within a given poem must be strictly distinguished from the variable delivery instances."1
Indeed, almost any piece of prose, though in essence arhythmical, can be made rhythmical by isolating words or sequences of words and making appropriate pauses between each. In order to distinguish the variable delivery instances of an utterance from its inherent structural and semantic properties, it is necessary to subject the text to a thorough analysis of the correlated component parts. The short survey of the passage above shows that the prose rhythm is interspersed with genuine metrical rhythm not devoid, of course, of the modifications which make the verse rhythm less conspicuous.
A very good example of prose rhythm can be seen in the chapter from Galsworthy's "Man of Property" entitled 'June's Treat' a passage from which is given later (see p. 266).
It must be noted that the irruption of prose into a metrical pattern is generally perceived as annihilation of rhythm, whereas the introduction of metrical pattern into prose aims at consolidating the already vaguely perceived rhythm of the utterance.
Prose rhythm, unlike verse rhythm, lacks consistency, as it follows various principles. But nevertheless a trained ear will always detect a kind of alternation of syntactical units. The task is then to find these units and to ascertain the manner of alternation. This is not an easy task because, as has already been pointed out, rhythm is not an essential property of prose, whereas it is essential in verse. Prose is the opposite of verse and this opposition is primarily structural, in this case, rhythmical structure versus arhythmical structure. The incursion of prose into poetry is a deliberate device to break away from its strict rhythm.
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