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Been a while since I posted some bad poetry. How about Pocahontas: A Poem by Virginia Carter Castleman. The Gutenberg edition gives no date, but bibliographic searches reveal that the undated first edition was published in 1907 -- where for "first" read "deservedly only." Here's the opening:
Unfortunately, our poet did not have very good control over her meter -- in particular of her mid-line pauses, which all too frequently come after a stress or, worse, before what should be a stress but is actually a weak syllable, throwing the line for a stumble. Nor did she have the control to otherwise vary her rhythms, which combined with her longer lines gives a plodding monotony compared to Longfellow's brisk verses.
All of which would be forgivable if there was one spark of poetry, just one, in those lines.
But alas, dear people, the whole thing is like that extract. Every one of the 900-odd lines of versified biography, or "descriptive narrative" as the table of contents would have it, is as blandly informative as the opening. Begin as you mean to continue with a vengeance.
Mind, this is not wretched stuff. It isn't even very bad. You can recite it with a straight face for as long as you like. But your audience will not thank you for it -- only for stopping.
* Borrowed, of course, from the Kalevala via a German translation.
---L.
Many dark-eyed children played among the rushesYou will carefully note that our poet has not fallen into the trap of writing in the same meter as that model for verse narratives about Indians, The Song of Hiawatha. Longfellow used trochaic tetrameter,* with four falling-rhythm beats to the line, while Castleman used trochaic hexameter, with six beats -- which is of course completely different.
By the waters of the inland, plain-like marshes,
Made them water babies of the tall brown cattails,
Cradled in the baskets of the plaited willows.
Of them all was none more gleeful, none more artless
Than the little Matoax, dearest of the daughters
Of the mighty Werowance, Powhatan the warrior
Ruler of the tribes, from whom was named the river
And the wigwam village and the dark-skinned natives.
Unfortunately, our poet did not have very good control over her meter -- in particular of her mid-line pauses, which all too frequently come after a stress or, worse, before what should be a stress but is actually a weak syllable, throwing the line for a stumble. Nor did she have the control to otherwise vary her rhythms, which combined with her longer lines gives a plodding monotony compared to Longfellow's brisk verses.
All of which would be forgivable if there was one spark of poetry, just one, in those lines.
But alas, dear people, the whole thing is like that extract. Every one of the 900-odd lines of versified biography, or "descriptive narrative" as the table of contents would have it, is as blandly informative as the opening. Begin as you mean to continue with a vengeance.
Mind, this is not wretched stuff. It isn't even very bad. You can recite it with a straight face for as long as you like. But your audience will not thank you for it -- only for stopping.
* Borrowed, of course, from the Kalevala via a German translation.
---L.