Poiesis Habitus II: Sound in Poetry
These installments explore poetry not merely as a literary form, but as a way of seeing, shaping, and inhabiting the world. Through close readings of poets such as Mary Oliver (with emphasis on her book “A Poetry Handbook”), Denise Levertov, Marianne Moore, and Robert Frost, among other 20th-Century Poets, the reader can expect reflections on sound, line, imagery, form, and freedom alongside personal meditations on writing habits, aesthetics, faith, and artistic formation. Blending literary criticism with spiritual and philosophical reflection, these short essays consider how poetry cultivates attentiveness to beauty, truth, and human experience while tracing the author’s own evolving understanding of poetic design and creative practice.
Sound is a critical tool in poetry that can distinguish the expert poets from the amateur. It is a tool meant to highlight the nuances of meaning beyond mere dictionary definitions. When writing, poets do not merely congeal words together in a way that “sounds nice,” like a hodgepodge of miscellaneous words rescued from the dusty corners of our vocabulary (though some might). Poets meticulously choose their words with both sound and meaning in mind, though practiced poets may do this without even thinking about it (Oliver 19, 28). For example, while definitionally, a rock and stone are the same, poetically, a rock conjures an image of jagged edges while a stone indicates something that has been smoothed and worn down by time and elements (Oliver 24). To illustrate the meaningful impact and nuance of well-executed sound, I will look at Jean Toomer’s “Reapers” and Marianne Moore’s “The Fish.”
Toomer’s poem “Reapers” not only features an exceptional use of rhythm but also uses plosives and sibilance to convey the feeling of violent, monotonous work. The opening line reads “Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones,” followed by, “Are sharpening scythes.” (Toomer 102) The B in “Black” and P in “reapers” introduce the poem with a sound that already feels sharp and metallic, like industrial machinery or something to be feared (Toomer 102). Moreover, “reapers” ending in an S is a consonance that introduces the alliteration “sound of steel on stones are sharpening scythes.” (Toomer 102) In this context, the repetitive alliteration of sibilance, i.e., the S sound, promotes a sinister feeling that heightens the stakes of the rest of the poem.
Throughout the poem, the rhythm drones on, only once breaking iambic pentameter. This use of meter raises tension even further as the fluidity of the reaper’s work is something the reader feels they cannot stop. This rhythm underlays the meaning of the poem. As the field rat has been cut and is bleeding on the ground, Toomer writes, “I see the blade, Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade.” (102) The rhythm of the reaping cannot be broken, even for the life of a little rat. I should lastly like to point out one detail that caught my eye. Toomer could have chosen to use any one-syllable word to describe the rat, but he chose to call it a field rat (102). The F in “field” serves as a fricative, a release of air that symbolizes the culmination of a great frustration, indicating to the reader that, after all this reasonless, unstoppable violence, something as small as a field rat pays the price and is forgotten (Toomer 102).
By contrast, Marianne Moore’s “The Fish” utilizes subtler sounds than Toomer’s poem, reflecting the nuance of her meditations on the underwater world. The repeated use of liquid consonants (L and R) alongside sonorants (M and N) provides the poem with a feeling of malleability and tranquility, like the ocean creatures beneath the waves are content to be swayed to and fro by swells and tides (Moore 73-74). It is almost ironic, considering the meditation of this poem, that these sounds are called liquid for their fluency (Oliver 22). Like Toomer, Moore also utilizes an alliteration of sibilance, but the effect it has on the meaning and feel of the poem is entirely different. Moore writes, “... the submerged shafts of the sun, split like spun glass, move themselves with spotlike swiftness into crevices...” (73) These sibilant lines contrast Toomer’s sinister sensation by using the same sounds to imitate the soothing feeling of waves crashing on the shore.
An Attempt at Using Sound to Enhance Meaning.
Finger on the Page (Original Version)
How slow the book closed
As the story slipped away
Villain yet to be deposed
So much to be said
So much to be done
So much to be lost
So much to be won
Finger on the page
Our hero must wait
The hour grows late
And soothing sleep
Has stolen over weary eyes
Principles of Psychology (Final Revision)
Crinkling curt words of discourse,
The finger flips and folds the furrowed page.
The unrelenting text blurs like hungry
Fog enveloping the unassuaged mind.
Principles of Psychology:
With crayoned lines embellished by students past,
No array of eccentric highlights
Could entreat the mind enough to hold fast
Against the weight of weary eyes.
Of the many battles fought
Whether in field or sea or psyche,
William James’s Principles
Could even fell the mighty.
Revision Narrative
Finger on the Page underwent substantial revision, where it became Principles of Psychology out of a desire for more specificity and intrigue. The purpose of the original poem was to showcase the use of sound in poetry, and while it did this adequately, the poem itself suffered ambiguity. The stanza, “so much to be said / so much to be done...” served only to establish rhythm and did not serve the poem in any other way.
To capture the idea of someone falling asleep reading a book, I leaned into specificity and described a particular textbook. In this revision, I wanted to keep the emphasis on using sound tools. Instead of using a lot of sibilance, liquids, and long sounds, I shifted the tone to something harsher—something that could imply a battle with the mind to stay awake until, inevitably, the mind is overcome by sleep.
Since initial revisions, more subtle changes have been made to Principles of Psychology, which include improvements to diction and readability. For example, the line “No array of prismatic highlights” was changed to “No array of eccentric highlights” in order to capture a more vivid picture of how the crayoned lines look on the page. This change illustrates them to be messy and uneven rather than multicolored, which “crayoned” already implies. Likewise, reimagining “dazzle” to “entreat” shifts the meaning from trying to impress the mind to trying to persuade the mind to stay engaged.
A Song for the Sake of Singing (Original Version)
I shot a bird when I was young,
With nothing but a BB gun.
It hit the ground in misery—
Chirp, Chirp, then died abysmally.
Now I stand upon the lamb,
Looking down, bolt in hand,
Am I to take its years from it?
Raise the bolt—commit.
How quiet it got when I shot that bird.
One less life, one less song.
I need to keep my family strong.
It does not make this less absurd.
I pick the lamb up from its cradle.
I take it to the butcher’s table.
I clean it, wrap it, keep it, pack it;
I turn its wool to winter jacket.
It gave its life that we might live.
Could a lamb do this and still forgive
My part in its sad sacrifice—
To feed my family, to pay the price?”
The BB gun and bolt both play
A purpose that is much the same,
But to touch that gun burns like a flame,
‘Cause I shot that bird for fun that day.
A Song for the Sake of Singing (Final Revision)
I shot a bird when I was young,
With nothing but a BB gun.
It hit the ground in misery—
Chirp, Chirp, then died abysmally.
Now I stand upon the lamb,
Looking down, bolt in hand,
Who am I to take its years from it?
Raise the bolt—click.
Bleeting fades to bleeding blade,
Bird and lamb with cut-short years
And cut-short songs that suddenly fade
To a horrid, ringing cadence in my ears.
I pick the lamb up from its cradle.
I take it to the butcher’s table.
I bleed it, wrap it, keep it, pack it;
I turn its wool to winter jacket.
Chirp, Baa, Click, Thwoomp, Thud,
Like a percussive beat of blood,
Arrhythmic with the dying heart’s drumming
Out-swelling my futile humming.
The BB gun and bolt both play
A purpose that is much the same,
But to touch that gun burns like a flame,
‘Cause I shot that bird for fun that day.
Revision Narrative
In my original version of A Song for the Sake of Singing, I aimed at articulating a more abstract concept; the execution fell flat when trying to use tools of both diction and sound. Cutting the stanza about the forgiveness of the lamb was difficult but necessary. My original poem was crafted around the idea of wondering how Christ could forgive us, considering our being the reason for His death. In the end, I cut this because the rest of the poem did not deliver or support this theme. Instead of rewriting the poem around this stanza, I chose instead to lean into the use of sound and the idea of song, much like Toomer’s. This poem was ultimately reimagined by removing theological ambiguity and leaning into a more tangible sound.
The poem presents a consistent rhythm in every stanza except the fifth, which is meant to highlight a contrast between the sounds of an animal being slaughtered and its dying heartbeat. The rest of the poem integrates more sound words, such as “Chirp, Baa, Click, Thwoomp, Thud,” rhyme, assonance, and other sound tools. The length of the chosen words was also taken into account in this revision. A vast majority of the poem uses one-syllable words to get from point A to point B. The purpose of this is to draw the reader’s attention to the significance of the multisyllabic words.
Bibliography
Moore, Marianne. "The Fish." The Penguin Anthology of Twentieth-Century American Poetry, edited by Rita Dove, 1st ed., Penguin Books, 2013, pp. 73–74.
Oliver, Mary. A Poetry Handbook. 1st ed., Mariner, 1994.
Toomer, Jean. "Reapers." The Penguin Anthology of Twentieth-Century American Poetry, edited by Rita Dove, 1st ed., Penguin Books, 2013, p. 102.