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I Got Rhythm
Featured poems
The Man in the Moon Stayed Up Too Late by J. R. R. Tolkien
From a Railway Carriage by R. L. Stevenson
Extracts from The Song of Hiawatha by H. W. Longfellow
The Pancake by Christina Rossetti
Cool Cat by Mike Jubb
White Knuckle Ride by Jane Clarke
The Last Mermaid by Liss Norton
Daffodils by William Wordsworth
āPoetry is to prose as dancing is to walking.ā (John Wain)
Rhythm is basic ā itās programmed into us. As individuals, we were enveloped by the rhythms within our motherās body (her heartbeat was iambic, as a matter of interest). And we are still surrounded by rhythm, and its cousin ⦠pattern.
We Got Rhythm
Rhythm in your breathing, rhythm in your heartbeat,
Rhythm in your clapping and the tapping of your feet;
Rhythm when you swim, rhythm when you run;
Rhythm in the rising and the setting of the Sun;
Rhythm in the rain, and the chattering of teeth,
Rhythm in a caterpillar measuring a leaf;
Rhythm in a clock, and a telephone ringing;
Rhythm in a waterfall, and songbirds singing;
Rhythm in the wavelets lapping on a beach,
Rhythm in writing, rhythm in speech.
A rhythm may be noisy, or it may not make a sound,
Like the Rhythm of the Stars as they slowly dance around. M.J.
This chapter aims to build on the rhythm work started in A Poetry Teacherās Toolkit Book 1, āWords and Wordplayā: in the āSyllablesā section of Chapter 2 and in the āOnomatopoeiaā section of Chapter 3.
āRhythmā isnāt synonymous with āmeterā, of course. Meter is rhythm with rules; it establishes a pattern. But poetry was spoken yonks before any rules were written down. So I donāt think we need to bother Key Stage 2 children with meter in the technical sense: iambs and youambs and pentathingies (especially as Iām not too hot on that stuff myself!). Anyway, it would stifle youngsters, which hopefully is why the National Literacy Strategy doesnāt even mention the word āmeterā.
John Clareās Pleasant Sounds (p. 103) is a good example of a non-rhyming poem that revels in the natural rhythm of words, but has no formal meter. However, if kids absorb a āfeelā for meter along the way (which of course they do) then all well and good. Absorption is the best way of learning. The more they hear and perform poetry, the more the children will absorb. The more they absorb, the better writers they will be (see A Poetry Teacherās Toolkit Book 4, Ch. 4).
Here is an example of a āfoundā poem:
Education, Education, Education
It looks as if my āoldā school has fallen
into the Blunkett Pit.
The new Head has,
as I expected,
removed all hope
of a humanitarian, joyous
creative, loving
caring, reflective
experimental, peaceful environment,
in favour of
a point-scoring, rigid,
false, regimented ā¦,
Oh how I could go on.
I got out in time,
and so have half the staff,
but the children canāt.
Those words were written to me by a friend, before the 2001 General Election, as part of an e-mail. All I have done is to set them out so that they look like a poem, and Iāve added the title. When I first read the passage, it ācalledā to me to be a poem. And I believe that it does work as a poem, partly because it came from the heart, but also because ordinary everyday English has a natural rhythm.
Itās this natural rhythm, and not meter or rhyme, that is the essence of all English poetry (see A Poetry Teacherās Toolkit Book 3, Ch. 2 for more information about āfoundā poetry and āfreeā verse).
But, of course, meter and rhyme do join forces to create the sound patterns in many thousands of poems.
J. R. R. Tolkien was a master of rhythm and rhyme. This is the start of a poem called Errantry from his collection The Adventures of Tom Bombadil (see Further Reading):
There was a merry passenger,
a messenger, a mariner:
he built a gilded gondola
to wander in, and had in her
a load of yellow oranges
and porridge for his provender;
he perfumed her with marjoram
and cardamon and lavender.
To me, that is exquisite. Without any full rhymes, it contains so much that Iām trying to encourage throughout this series, and to achieve as a writer myself. Apart from its perfectly flowing rhythm, it has near-rhymes, half-rhymes, assonance, alliteration, enjambment (a line running into the next, see below) and a mid-line caesura (the pause after āwander inā, see below).
But listing the separate devices doesnāt tell the half of it, does it? Notice how the word āgildedā has both assonance, echoing the earlier ābuiltā, and alliteration with āgondolaā. This is craftsmanship of the highest order. We havenāt reproduced the whole of this poem in our anthology, but we have included Tolkienās The Man in the Moon Stayed Up Too Late (p. 35).
Before I talk about that poem, however, I want to mention two important terms: enjambment and caesura. If youāre not familiar with the words, please donāt be put off by the sound of them ā theyāre dead easy, and they can make all the difference to the writing, the appreciation, and the performance of poetry.
Enjambment and caesura
Enjambment is the continuation of a sentence, without pause, beyond the end of a line; in the fragment from Errantry above, for example, āhe built a gilded gondola/to wander inā. Caesura means a pause or break; it is often highlighted by punctuation, b...