| | A poetry lesson for BartleSeptember 6th, 2008 |
Richard Bartle has a little piece on the rhyming structure of this lovely poem by Carol Ann Duffy.
Mrs Schofield’s GCSE
You must prepare your bosom for his knife,
said Portia to Antonio in which
of Shakespeare’s Comedies? Who killed his wife,
insane with jealousy? And which Scots witch
knew Something wicked this way comes? Who said
Is this a dagger which I see? Which Tragedy?
Whose blade was drawn which led to Tybalt’s death?
To whom did dying Caesar say Et tu? And why?
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark – do you
know what this means? Explain how poetry
pursues the human like the smitten moon
above the weeping, laughing earth; how we
make prayers of it. Nothing will come of nothing:
speak again. Said by which King? You may begin.
Sez Bartle,
Maybe I’m missing something, or I’m not reading this with the right internal accent, but calling this “rhyming” is a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?
Not at all! In fact, this is a nice Shakespearean sonnet. Loosely, this can be termed half rhyme or slant rhyme, and she’s not even using all that aggressively. For example
- tragedy/why I would call a stretch because it is dependent on accent. “Wha-ee” is a valid pronunciation for “why” but part of rhyming in print, honestly, lies in the eye and people don’t “hear” the word that way when read.
- you/moon is a classic case of assonance, with a full rhyme on the vowels and not on the consonants. So is said/death; a trick with the “ed” and “deh” sounds — reversing them. Cute.
- nothing/begin. Again, if you say it more as “nuthin’” it rhymes fine, but is again somewhat accent-dependent. It’s also an imperfect rhyme because the rhyme is between a stressed and an unstressed syllable
More interesting to me was the way that internal rhyme and consonance is used in the poem to supplement the loose rhyming. For example, the tragedy/why rhyme is greatly helped by the internal rhymes, the hammering on the “which” sound — almost Manley Hopkins, there — and the lovely parellelism of “which I see? Which tragedy?” And of course, the actual flight of poetic language, the smitten moon. That doesn’t even get into what the poem is about.
In August 2008, her poem ‘Education for Leisure’ was removed from the AQA GCSE poetry anthology following a complaint from an external examiner. The complaint was on the grounds that it could prompt or glorify knife crime; in the poem, the narrator kills a fly and a goldfish (there are hints about the cat being threatened), and finally goes out onto the street with a breadknife – “… I touch your arm”. Schools were urged to destroy copies of the unedited anthology. Duffy countered this removal with a poem [this one] discussing how the teaching of fiction about violent themes does not necessarily spark copycat behaviour.
For every field there is its craft; guitarists seek percussive players or the careful bend, and coders elegance of algorithm. At this point, the few who play with formal verse are perhaps the only ones who can appreciate the way she broke her third quatrain, to place her prayer on the all-important couplet’s opening line; her sonnet’s structure, not Petrarchan, to do justice to the topic; or the way in which this paragraph is made of iambs.

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