Scavella,
In regard to your exerpts (and I'm only thinking of the first one presently, as the second one is much better, I think), I recall reading somewhere (and agreeing with it) that when people use modifiers they have a tendency to use very common ones, like 'large' 'big', 'small', 'little', 'dark', 'old', and color-words. In the Wordsworth passage I see quite a bit of those kinds of words. I also see some that are redundant, which Eric has already pointed out, like 'craggy' and 'rocky'. Then there's 'sparkling', which probably sparkled a great deal more for readers two hundred years ago. But I will say that if I were to read the passage without some special focus on something in particular, I doubt I would have thought anything at all about the presence or absence of modifiers, or about the particular ones Wordsworth uses. I should also say that I like Wordsworth a great deal, but could never get through the "Prelude". Some of his shorter pastoral poems in blank verse I like considerably more.
All I know is: I have nothing against the use of modifiers unless they begin to call attention to themselves unfavorably, as in: if there are too many, if they seem to function mainly as padding, if they are cliched or redundant, or if someone is overloading his or her lines for some sort of musical effect and doing it badly. I think there's not much worse than a fourth or fifth-rate Poe or Swinburne. I decided to sit and think of a poem or a passage of verse which I think is outstanding, and one of the first bits that came to mind for me was the opening of Shakespeare's Richard III:
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings;
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now,—instead of mounting barbed steeds,
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,—
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to see my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Going through it, I see there are a lot of modifiers, mostly adjectives which strike me as being, on average, just as purposeful as the words they are modifying. 'deep' is sort of useless sense-wise, but very strong sonically; 'glorious' 'victorious' 'bruised', 'merry', 'dreadful' and 'delightful' are more than pulling their weight sense-wise, and of course, this is Shakespeare: this stuff is a treat for the ear. 'bruised' echoes 'brows', and then there's the alliterative 'merry meetings', and the alliterative (not to mention sarcastically disparate), 'dreadful/delightful'--'marches/measures'. 'sportive tricks' sounds great, as does 'wanton ambling nymph'. And sometimes the adjectives assist in showing N's contemptuous and jealous mindset, in phrases like 'lascivious pleasing', 'dissembling nature', 'weak piping-time of peace' 'idle pleasures of these days'.
Shakespeare is light on the adverbs, and the ones he uses work well: "capers nimbly in a lady's chamber" is a great line. And later, 'rudely' and 'lamely' both work in stark contrast to 'nimbly'. The word 'breathing' in L21 is a mystery to me, and 'fair' works well once, but not as well the second time. Other than that, without going through the whole passage, I think Shakespeare demonstrates that he is thinking very carefully about all of the words he's using, to hark back to what Donner said.
When I try to think of famous poems which I think could be examples of the disadvantageous use of modifiers, the only one that really pops into my head is "London Snow" by Robert Bridges. Here's the opening bits of that (first, fourth, and seventh lines are indented in the text I copied):
When men were all asleep the snow came flying,
In large white flakes falling on the city brown,
Stealthily and perpetually settling and loosely lying,
Hushing the latest traffic of the drowsy town;
Deadening, muffling, stifling its murmurs failing;
Lazily and incessantly floating down and down:
Silently sifting and veiling road, roof and railing;
Hiding difference, making unevenness even,
Into angles and crevices softly drifting and sailing.
All those adverbs, Ack!-- It's too much. Now, I know this is a beloved poem by a famous poet, a Laureate no less, and I do admire quite a few of Bridges' poems, but I really can't stand the passage I quoted, and it's mainly because of all the adverbs. We won't even go into the "ings". And no, I don't mean I can even hold a candle to Bridges, even in his worst moments, myself. I just don't particularly care for this poem very much (although it gets better later on), and the reason why just happens to be on topic.
In regard to your exerpts (and I'm only thinking of the first one presently, as the second one is much better, I think), I recall reading somewhere (and agreeing with it) that when people use modifiers they have a tendency to use very common ones, like 'large' 'big', 'small', 'little', 'dark', 'old', and color-words. In the Wordsworth passage I see quite a bit of those kinds of words. I also see some that are redundant, which Eric has already pointed out, like 'craggy' and 'rocky'. Then there's 'sparkling', which probably sparkled a great deal more for readers two hundred years ago. But I will say that if I were to read the passage without some special focus on something in particular, I doubt I would have thought anything at all about the presence or absence of modifiers, or about the particular ones Wordsworth uses. I should also say that I like Wordsworth a great deal, but could never get through the "Prelude". Some of his shorter pastoral poems in blank verse I like considerably more.
All I know is: I have nothing against the use of modifiers unless they begin to call attention to themselves unfavorably, as in: if there are too many, if they seem to function mainly as padding, if they are cliched or redundant, or if someone is overloading his or her lines for some sort of musical effect and doing it badly. I think there's not much worse than a fourth or fifth-rate Poe or Swinburne. I decided to sit and think of a poem or a passage of verse which I think is outstanding, and one of the first bits that came to mind for me was the opening of Shakespeare's Richard III:
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings;
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now,—instead of mounting barbed steeds,
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,—
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to see my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Going through it, I see there are a lot of modifiers, mostly adjectives which strike me as being, on average, just as purposeful as the words they are modifying. 'deep' is sort of useless sense-wise, but very strong sonically; 'glorious' 'victorious' 'bruised', 'merry', 'dreadful' and 'delightful' are more than pulling their weight sense-wise, and of course, this is Shakespeare: this stuff is a treat for the ear. 'bruised' echoes 'brows', and then there's the alliterative 'merry meetings', and the alliterative (not to mention sarcastically disparate), 'dreadful/delightful'--'marches/measures'. 'sportive tricks' sounds great, as does 'wanton ambling nymph'. And sometimes the adjectives assist in showing N's contemptuous and jealous mindset, in phrases like 'lascivious pleasing', 'dissembling nature', 'weak piping-time of peace' 'idle pleasures of these days'.
Shakespeare is light on the adverbs, and the ones he uses work well: "capers nimbly in a lady's chamber" is a great line. And later, 'rudely' and 'lamely' both work in stark contrast to 'nimbly'. The word 'breathing' in L21 is a mystery to me, and 'fair' works well once, but not as well the second time. Other than that, without going through the whole passage, I think Shakespeare demonstrates that he is thinking very carefully about all of the words he's using, to hark back to what Donner said.
When I try to think of famous poems which I think could be examples of the disadvantageous use of modifiers, the only one that really pops into my head is "London Snow" by Robert Bridges. Here's the opening bits of that (first, fourth, and seventh lines are indented in the text I copied):
When men were all asleep the snow came flying,
In large white flakes falling on the city brown,
Stealthily and perpetually settling and loosely lying,
Hushing the latest traffic of the drowsy town;
Deadening, muffling, stifling its murmurs failing;
Lazily and incessantly floating down and down:
Silently sifting and veiling road, roof and railing;
Hiding difference, making unevenness even,
Into angles and crevices softly drifting and sailing.
All those adverbs, Ack!-- It's too much. Now, I know this is a beloved poem by a famous poet, a Laureate no less, and I do admire quite a few of Bridges' poems, but I really can't stand the passage I quoted, and it's mainly because of all the adverbs. We won't even go into the "ings". And no, I don't mean I can even hold a candle to Bridges, even in his worst moments, myself. I just don't particularly care for this poem very much (although it gets better later on), and the reason why just happens to be on topic.
No comments:
Post a Comment