Hendecasyllabics: Discussion and Practice

[Tzara]

The word hendecasyllabic is derived from the Latin hendecasyllabus, which simply means "eleven syllables." So, by a strict interpretation of the word, hendecasyllabics are simply poems composed in lines of eleven syllables. To some poets (Bill Knott, for example) that seems to be what they mean when they say something is in hendecasyllables.

More commonly in prosody, the term refers to an eleven syllable line with a particular stress pattern (or patterns, as there are a couple of variants that seem fairly standard). The Poetry Foundation gives this definition: A Classical Greek and Latin metrical line consisting of 11 syllables: typically a spondee or trochee, a choriamb, and two iambs, the second of which has an additional syllable at the end.

So, first problem. Assuming we all know what a trochee is (a two syllable foot consisting of a more stressed syllable followed by a lesser stressed syllable), and we know what a spondee is (a two syllable foot where both of the syllables are relatively equally stressed), and we know what an iamb is (two syllables, first lesser, second greater stressed), what the heck is a choriamb? While the other three feet are standard elements of English prosody, the choriamb is not. It's a four syllable foot consisting of a stressed syllable, two unstressed syllables, and a stressed syllable (e.g. "under the hill"). Essentially, this is the same as a trochee/iamb combination.

So, by this definition, a hendecasyllabic line is:

´˘ / ´˘˘´ / ˘´ / ˘´˘​

or

´´ / ´˘˘´ / ˘´ / ˘´´​

This seems kind of a messy combination of feet, though, and Lewis Turco and others instead scan it as a trochee (or spondee), a dactyl, and three trochees (or two trochees and a spondee):

´˘ / ´˘˘ / ´˘ / ´˘ / ´˘​

or

´´ / ´˘˘ / ´˘ / ´˘ / ´´​

These have the same pattern of stresses, but seem simpler conceptually. (To simply this further, a hendecasyllabic line is trochaic pentameter with a dactylic substitution in the second foot.)

Whew! Excited now?

So let's take a look at that Frost poem I cited in the other thread:

For Once, Then, Something
Robert Frost

Others taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs
Always wrong to the light, so never seeing
Deeper down in the well than where the water
Gives me back in a shining surface picture
Me myself in the summer heaven godlike
Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs.
Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb,
I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture,
Through the picture, a something white, uncertain,
Something more of the depths—and then I lost it.
Water came to rebuke the too clear water.
One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple
Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom,
Blurred it, blotted it out. What was that whiteness?
Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.​

Does this poem actually follow the hendecasyllabic stress pattern? Each line of the poem, if I've counted correctly, is eleven syllables long. Here's how I would mark the feet in the first two lines:

Oth·ers / taunt me with / hav·ing / knelt at / well-curbs <-- or, perhaps, well-curbs (spondee)
Al·ways / wrong to the / light, so / nev·er / see·ing​

So, a trochee, a dactyl, and three trochees, as Turco's definition states. (It could also be scanned as a trochee, a choriamb, two iambs and an extra unstressed syllable, per the other definition.)

Here's another poem in the same meter:

Hendecasyllabics
Algernon Charles Swinburne

In the month of the long decline of roses
I, beholding the summer dead before me,
Set my face to the sea and journeyed silent,
Gazing eagerly where above the sea-mark
Flame as fierce as the fervid eyes of lions
Half divided the eyelids of the sunset;
Till I heard as it were a noise of waters
Moving tremulous under feet of angels
Multitudinous, out of all the heavens;
Knew the fluttering wind, the fluttered foliage,
Shaken fitfully, full of sound and shadow;
And saw, trodden upon by noiseless angels,
Long mysterious reaches fed with moonlight,
Sweet sad straits in a soft subsiding channel,
Blown about by the lips of winds I knew not,
Winds not born in the north nor any quarter,
Winds not warm with the south nor any sunshine;
Heard between them a voice of exultation,
"Lo, the summer is dead, the sun is faded,
Even like as a leaf the year is withered,
All the fruits of the day from all her branches
Gathered, neither is any left to gather.
All the flowers are dead, the tender blossoms,
All are taken away; the season wasted,
Like an ember among the fallen ashes.
Now with light of the winter days, with moonlight,
Light of snow, and the bitter light of hoarfrost,
We bring flowers that fade not after autumn,
Pale white chaplets and crowns of latter seasons,
Fair false leaves (but the summer leaves were falser),
Woven under the eyes of stars and planets
When low light was upon the windy reaches
Where the flower of foam was blown, a lily
Dropt among the sonorous fruitless furrows
And green fields of the sea that make no pasture:
Since the winter begins, the weeping winter,
All whose flowers are tears, and round his temples
Iron blossom of frost is bound for ever."​

Try reading it out loud. To me, it has a kind of distinctive sound.

 

[Angeline]

Well

This practice sounds like a whole bucket of fun.

(I thought I'd start with the Bill Knott method.)

Cause really I feel all

I think I should try the Turco variations, which sound like I might be able to understand. Or I'll just keep staring at the Frost lines, which seems to work for GM.

I need to have my headache for a while.

ETA: It does have a distinctive sound, more rhetorical than conversational--though the Frost certainly sounds more modern than the Swinburne.

 

[Tzara]

This practice sounds like a whole bucket of fun.

(I thought I'd start with the Bill Knott method.)

Cause really I feel all

I think I should try the Turco variations, which sound like I might be able to understand. Or I'll just keep staring at the Frost lines, which seems to work for GM.

I need to have my headache for a while.

ETA: It does have a distinctive sound, more rhetorical than conversational--though the Frost certainly sounds more modern than the Swinburne.

Turco isn't a variation, it's the same metrical line but scanned differently (i.e. broken into metrical feet differently).

Another way to think of the meter is to take some lines of Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha, which is in consistent trochaic tetrameter, and insert a dactyl (say, "wonderful") between the second and third syllables. The regular trochaic meter

By the / shore of / Git·che / Gum·ee,
By the / shin·ing / Big-Sea / -Wat·er,
At the / door·way / of his / wig·wam,
In the / pleas·ant / Sum·mer / morn·ing,​

becomes hendecasyllabic:

By the / won·der·ful / shore of / Git·che / Gum·ee,
By the / won·der·ful / shin·ing / Big-Sea / -Wat·er,
At the / won·der·ful / door·way / of his / wig·wam,
In the / won·der·f'ly / pleas·ant / Sum·mer / morn·ing,​

I'll post some less rhetorical examples tomorrow, perhaps with an example of Knott's hendecasyllabics for comparison.

 

[Angeline]

Turco isn't a variation, it's the same metrical line but scanned differently (i.e. broken into metrical feet differently).

Another way to think of the meter is to take some lines of Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha, which is in consistent trochaic tetrameter, and insert a dactyl (say, "wonderful") between the second and third syllables. The regular trochaic meter

By the / shore of / Git·che / Gum·ee,
By the / shin·ing / Big-Sea / -Wat·er,
At the / door·way / of his / wig·wam,
In the / pleas·ant / Sum·mer / morn·ing,​

becomes hendecasyllabic:

By the / won·der·ful / shore of / Git·che / Gum·ee,
By the / won·der·ful / shin·ing / Big-Sea / -Wat·er,
At the / won·der·ful / door·way / of his / wig·wam,
In the / won·der·f'ly / pleas·ant / Sum·mer / morn·ing,​

I'll post some less rhetorical examples tomorrow, perhaps with an example of Knott's hendecasyllabics for comparison.

Thanks. This does help.

 

[Tzara]

Here's a contemporary example of a poem in hendecasyllabics:

The Reemergence of the Noose
Patricia Smith

Some lamp sputters its dusty light across a
desk. Some hand, in a fever, works the fraying
brown hemp, twisting and knifing, weaving, tugging
tight this bellowing circle. Randy Travis
sings, moans, radio’s steamy twangs and hiccups,
blue notes backing the ritual of drooping
loop. Sweat drips in an awkward hallelujah.
God glares down, but the artist doesn’t waver—
wrists click rhythm, and rope becomes a path to
what makes saviors; the loop bemoans its need to
squeeze, its craving for a breath within the ring.

Source: Asheville Poetry Review​

For me, this poem has a more subtle, conversational sound to it, even than Frost's poem, brought about, I think, by the heavy enjambment of several of the lines. This pulls the reader through the poem so that the recurring rhythm becomes a little lost (i.e. isn't quite as obvious). It also, to my ear, has a couple of deviations from the Frost and Swinburne poems. I scan it this way:

Some lamp / sput·ters its / dust·y / light a / cross a
desk. Some / hand, in a / fe·ver, / works the / fray·ing
brown hemp, / twist·ing and / knif·ing, / weav·ing, / tug·ging
tight this / bel·low·ing / cir·cle. / Ran·dy / Trav·is
sings, moans, / ra·di·o’s / steam·y / twangs and / hic·cups,
blue notes / back·ing the / rit·u / al of / droop·ing
loop. Sweat / drips in an / awk·ward / hal·le / lu·jah.
God glares / down, but the / art·ist / does·n’t / wav·er—
wrists click / rhy·thm, and / rope be / comes a / path to
what makes / sav·iors; the / loop be / moans its / need to
squeeze, its / crav·ing for / a breath / with·in / the ring. <-- I'm tempted to say "for" is somewhat stressed as well.​

The first thing that's different about the metrics of this poem is that the lines all start (again, as I hear it) with spondees--two relatively stressed syllables of more or less equal stress. That is still pretty much in conformance with Turco's definition, though strictly speaking, he'd expect the ending foot to be a spondee as well, though others imply that the first and last feet are kind of "mix-and-match" spondees or trochees. What is a variation is the last line, which I hear as a spondee, a dactyl, and then three iambs, rather than three trochees. This end the poem on a rising rhythm and a changed rhythm, sort of the way an English sonnet ends on a couplet rather than continuing the quatrain structure of the first twelve lines.

 

[butters]

i do believe i'm starting to hear it. i'll continue to listen till it sits easy in my ear.

 

[legerdemer]

Whoa! Tzara's breaking my brain. It's a good thing.

 

[Angeline]

Here's a contemporary example of a poem in hendecasyllabics:

The Reemergence of the Noose
Patricia Smith

Some lamp sputters its dusty light across a
desk. Some hand, in a fever, works the fraying
brown hemp, twisting and knifing, weaving, tugging
tight this bellowing circle. Randy Travis
sings, moans, radio’s steamy twangs and hiccups,
blue notes backing the ritual of drooping
loop. Sweat drips in an awkward hallelujah.
God glares down, but the artist doesn’t waver—
wrists click rhythm, and rope becomes a path to
what makes saviors; the loop bemoans its need to
squeeze, its craving for a breath within the ring.

Source: Asheville Poetry Review​

For me, this poem has a more subtle, conversational sound to it, even than Frost's poem, brought about, I think, by the heavy enjambment of several of the lines. This pulls the reader through the poem so that the recurring rhythm becomes a little lost (i.e. isn't quite as obvious). It also, to my ear, has a couple of deviations from the Frost and Swinburne poems. I scan it this way:

Some lamp / sput·ters its / dust·y / light a / cross a
desk. Some / hand, in a / fe·ver, / works the / fray·ing
brown hemp, / twist·ing and / knif·ing, / weav·ing, / tug·ging
tight this / bel·low·ing / cir·cle. / Ran·dy / Trav·is
sings, moans, / ra·di·o’s / steam·y / twangs and / hic·cups,
blue notes / back·ing the / rit·u / al of / droop·ing
loop. Sweat / drips in an / awk·ward / hal·le / lu·jah.
God glares / down, but the / art·ist / does·n’t / wav·er—
wrists click / rhy·thm, and / rope be / comes a / path to
what makes / sav·iors; the / loop be / moans its / need to
squeeze, its / crav·ing for / a breath / with·in / the ring. <-- I'm tempted to say "for" is somewhat stressed as well.​

The first thing that's different about the metrics of this poem is that the lines all start (again, as I hear it) with spondees--two relatively stressed syllables of more or less equal stress. That is still pretty much in conformance with Turco's definition, though strictly speaking, he'd expect the ending foot to be a spondee as well, though others imply that the first and last feet are kind of "mix-and-match" spondees or trochees. What is a variation is the last line, which I hear as a spondee, a dactyl, and then three iambs, rather than three trochees. This end the poem on a rising rhythm and a changed rhythm, sort of the way an English sonnet ends on a couplet rather than continuing the quatrain structure of the first twelve lines.

This is great (and local, I see). I did notice in your first post that Frost enjambed and Swinburne did not, and that affected the formality of the sound. So Swinburne's poem sounds like a speech and Frost's more--as you noted-- like conversation.

I think the thing that is most throwing me is that there are differing definitions. It's like grammar where the rules are the rules except when they're not.

I appreciate you putting the time into this and discussing it (of course teaching is the best way to learn imo). The more modern examples help, but I need to learn by trying to follow one definition first. I'm gonna try for two trochees, a dactyl, two trochees because that seems clearest to me for now.

 

[Angeline]

Whoa! Tzara's breaking my brain. It's a good thing.

He can usually be counted on for that imho. It's one of his many endearing qualities. Really! I mean that!

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

I find "bolding" my words as I write helps.......a bit.

 

[Magnetron]

When thrown cheese and tzaradactyls are flying about, I find ducking into the nearest hole in the ground is the most appropriate course of action.

 

[butters]

tzaradactyls

heh

 

[Tzara]

When thrown cheese and tzaradactyls are flying about, I find ducking into the nearest hole in the ground is the most appropriate course of action.

That's kind of the right idea, Magnetron. If you just tweak it a bit

Thrown cheese, gum, and tzaradactyls woven
Into something like pizza, in the oven.​

scans as

Thrown cheese, / gum, and t / zar·a / dac·tyls / wo·ven
In·to / some·thing like / piz·za, / in the / ov·en.​

which works.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

That's kind of the right idea, Magnetron. If you just tweak it a bit

Thrown cheese, gum, and tzaradactyls woven
Into something like pizza, in the oven.​

scans as

Thrown cheese, / gum, and t / zar·a / dac·tyls / wo·ven
In·to / some·thing like / piz·za, / in the / ov·en.​

which works.

Tzaradactyl's a tricky word to include.....memo to self - DON'T.

 

[Tzara]

Here's a short example by Bill Knott, in straight syllabics (i.e. no fixed stress pattern):

KNOT (Hendecasyllabics)
Bill Knott

After you’ve sewn it, bite the thread off my grave—
Please leave no loose seam of me to wave above
The bones unknitting, the flesh unweaving love.

Source: Collected Short Poems (1960-2008)​

If you try and scan it, you'll see is isn't regular at all, though each line is eleven syllables and therefore "hendecasyllabic."

 

[Angeline]

Tzaradactyl's a tricky word to include.....memo to self - DON'T.

Here's a short example by Bill Knott, in straight syllabics (i.e. no fixed stress pattern):

KNOT (Hendecasyllabics)
Bill Knott

After you’ve sewn it, bite the thread off my grave—
Please leave no loose seam of me to wave above
The bones unknitting, the flesh unweaving love.

Source: Collected Short Poems (1960-2008)​

If you try and scan it, you'll see is isn't regular at all, though each line is eleven syllables and therefore "hendecasyllabic."

I think we should call this the Tzaradactyl Challenge. We simply must.

Way to go Mag!

 

[butters]

I think we should call this the Tzaradactyl Challenge. We simply must.

Way to go Mag!

indeedy

 

[butters]

ducking seems the thing; cheese can pack a knockout blow

 

[greenmountaineer]

That's kind of the right idea, Magnetron. If you just tweak it a bit

Thrown cheese, gum, and tzaradactyls woven
Into something like pizza, in the oven.​

scans as

Thrown cheese, / gum, and t / zar·a / dac·tyls / wo·ven
In·to / some·thing like / piz·za, / in the / ov·en.​

which works.

Tzaradactyls?

Can't wait to read this one.

 

[Angeline]

Ok. I tried. This sounds ok to me. Tell me if I've gone astray.

How the shimmering dream of Playa Carmen
rolls in vividly calling seashells, coral

I have dreamed of the falling turquoise seas the
time and timeless sand beaches before morning

This is how I hear it:

How the / shimmering / dream of Playa / Carmen
Rolls in / vividly / calling / seashells, / coral

I have / dreamed of the / falling / turquoise / seas the
time and / timeless sand / beaches / before / morning

This is hard. I get confused about pronunciation.

 

[Remec]

This is hard. I get confused about pronunciation.

My problem's never pronuciation, it's the stresses. Even when taking on Shakespeare for classes or doing scenes when I was in college, I found that if I tried to force myself to "hear" the stresses too hard, then everything came out all sing-song and nothing flowed the way it should have.

 

[Angeline]

My problem's never pronuciation, it's the stresses. Even when taking on Shakespeare for classes or doing scenes when I was in college, I found that if I tried to force myself to "hear" the stresses too hard, then everything came out all sing-song and nothing flowed the way it should have.

I only enjambed one line and it's the part I'm least sure of cause I fear the stress pattern combines and throws off how the two lines are supposed to be heard.

 

[Tzara]

Ok. I tried. This sounds ok to me. Tell me if I've gone astray.

How the shimmering dream of Playa Carmen
rolls in vividly calling seashells, coral

I have dreamed of the falling turquoise seas the
time and timeless sand beaches before morning

This is how I hear it:

How the / shimmering / dream of Playa / Carmen
Rolls in / vividly / calling / seashells, / coral

I have / dreamed of the / falling / turquoise / seas the
time and / timeless sand / beaches / before / morning

This is hard. I get confused about pronunciation.

The one thing I might quibble with is "sand" in the last line--I think I would stress it. other than that, this looks good.

 

[Tzara]

Here's an interesting example of contemporary (well, 1981) hendecasyllabics:

[Self-Descriptive Hendecasyllabics]
John Hollander

One more version of "classical" stressed meter
Called hendecasyllabics (which is Greek for
Having syllables numbering eleven)
Starts right out with a downbeat, always ending
Feminine, with a kind of hesitation
Heard just after the pair of syllables (the
fourth and fifth ones) which give the line its pattern.
Three stressed syllables sometimes open up this
Line, which, used in Latin by carping Martial
(Even more by fantastical Catullus)
Still holds onto its old, upbraiding cadence.

Source: An Exaltation of Forms: Contemporary Poets Celebrate the Diversity of Their Art​

Hollander was particularly interested in classical poetry, hence this poem.

 

[Angeline]

The one thing I might quibble with is "sand" in the last line--I think I would stress it. other than that, this looks good.

*passes out*

I shall try more as I want to sound less formal (and less cliched), but I must practice. This could actually be good for a 30/30...but maybe just a line at a time lol.