{"id":90,"date":"2012-12-05T15:47:00","date_gmt":"2012-12-05T15:47:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/2012\/12\/05\/rhyme-time\/"},"modified":"2015-05-23T23:17:09","modified_gmt":"2015-05-23T23:17:09","slug":"rhyme-time","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/2012\/12\/05\/rhyme-time\/","title":{"rendered":"Rhyme time"},"content":{"rendered":"

\nCongratulations to NaNoWriMo participants! You did it! Admirable!<\/p>\n

For those of you word nerds, this appeared in the New York Times<\/i>, and for those of you who are thinking about jobs to support you before you become literary super-stars, lexicographer may be a possibility (I don\u2019t know what the prospects are), but it\u2019s an interesting article: http:\/\/www.nytimes.com\/2012\/12\/03\/opinion\/lies-murder-lexicography-dictionary.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0<\/a>.<\/p>\n

And my husband found this interview with me on YouTube from my visit to the central library in Pittsburgh. It\u2019s long, and the visual quality is pretty bad, but if you\u2019re interested, here it is:
\nhttp:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=pB4ZZHLbJRc<\/a>.<\/p>\n

There’s this post and probably one more coming up on poetry. Then back to fiction. In her question last week, writeforfun asked about rhyme as well as meter, so that\u2019s what this post is about. And writeforfun also asked about rhythm. Rhyme contributes powerfully to rhythm.<\/p>\n

When I see rhyme or hear it, a pleasurable buzz runs through me, a little zzzt<\/i>! Almost any kind of rhyme does it, sometimes with the added fillip of thinking, \u201cAren\u2019t I clever?\u201d<\/p>\n

I say almost any kind of rhyme because there are quite a few. There\u2019s the kind we all know, called end rhyme<\/i>, obviously because it comes at the end of the line, like this:<\/p>\n

Hickory dickory dock,
\nthe mouse ran up the clock.<\/p>\n

Dock<\/i> and clock<\/i> are end rhymes. But there\u2019s another kind of rhyme in the first line of this nursery rhyme. Hickory dickory<\/i> is an example of internal rhyme<\/i>, because it happens inside the line, not at the end.<\/p>\n

Here\u2019s a poem (in a poem form called a triolet – see if you can figure out how it works) that I wrote for the poetry section of my new writing book:<\/p>\n

Bad Day<\/u><\/p>\n

When I enter the tall, tilting house on the hill
\nmy hands make fists. I wish it weren\u2019t Halloween,
\nwish the silence didn\u2019t stiffen with ill will.
\nWhen I enter the tall, tilting house on the hill
\nI hear a voice. \u201cAt last, a guest. Welcome, Bill,
\nbrave Bill, who won\u2019t live to turn fourteen.\u201d
\nWhen I enter the tall, tilting house on the hill
\nmy hands make fists. I wish it weren\u2019t Halloween.<\/p>\n

Ill will<\/i> in this poem is another example of internal rhyme. But for internal rhyme the rhyming words don\u2019t have to appear right next to each other. It\u2019s good enough for them to be in the same line or in a line nearby, and it’s more fun to discover them when they’re apart.<\/p>\n

Aside from their internalness, these rhymes – ill will<\/i> and hickory dickory<\/i> – are just like the end rhyme example, dock<\/i> and clock<\/i>, in that they rhyme exactly. In sound they\u2019re the same except at the very beginning. Such exact rhymes are called perfect<\/i>.<\/p>\n

There are a lot of technical terms in poetry! More even than I’m about to run through.<\/p>\n

Here\u2019s a bit of a ditty that used to excite and horrify me when I little. The versions I found online are different, but this is what I used to sing in a quivering voice:<\/p>\n

“The worms crawl in,
\nthe worms crawl out.
\nThey eat your guts
\nand they spit them out.”<\/p>\n

Poor starving worms, spitting everything out! The rhyme comes from the repetition of the word out<\/i>. When a word rhymes with itself, it\u2019s called identical rhyme<\/i>.<\/p>\n

Dock<\/i> and clock<\/i> above are examples of what’s known as masculine rhyme<\/i>. Another example is debate<\/i> and inflate<\/i>. Masculine rhyme (those sexist poets of yore!) means that the rhyming syllable is accented. An example of feminine rhyme<\/i> is mother<\/i> and rather<\/i>. The rhyming syllable here is unaccented.<\/p>\n

Another kind of rhyme is called slant rhyme<\/i>, and it may be my favorite. It\u2019s almost rhyme, like stink<\/i> and skunk<\/i>. Look at the fifth line of \u201cBad Day.\u201d<\/p>\n

I hear a voice. \u201cAt last, a guest. Welcome, Bill,<\/p>\n

Last<\/i> and guest<\/i> are (internal) slant rhymes – almost but no cigar. That\u2019s the kind of rhyme that makes me feel clever when I notice it. Hey! I think, this poem rhymes! And that little buzz of delight goes off. Last week I mentioned not being fond of forced rhyme, and the example I gave was:<\/p>\n

Then Jack did run
\nto have some fun.<\/p>\n

Another example would be:<\/p>\n

Jill did frown
\nwhen Jack fell down.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m here to tell you that frowned<\/i> is an absolutely completely acceptable rhyme for down<\/i>. The ear barely registers the ed<\/i>.<\/p>\n

Jill frowned
\nwhen Jack fell down<\/p>\n

One kind of slant rhyme is called consonant rhyme,<\/i> because the final consonants are the same but not the vowels, as in guest<\/i> and last<\/i>. If there\u2019s consonant rhyme, naturally there must be vowel rhyme<\/i>, also known as assonance<\/i>. An example would be elf<\/i> and spell <\/i>because of the short e<\/i>.<\/p>\n

Moving right along, there\u2019s rhyme that\u2019s apocopated<\/i> (I love the sound of this word – pronounced a-POCK-a – pay – ted – sounds to me like popcorn popping). Apocopated rhyme is a kind of slant rhyme, in this case when a syllable is missing, as in stinker<\/i> and clink<\/i>.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s even eye rhyme<\/i>, when the sounds aren\u2019t the same, but the letters are, as in lone<\/i> and gone<\/i> or dough<\/i> and cough<\/i>.<\/p>\n

A great online resource for finding rhymes is Rhyme Zone. Here\u2019s the link: http:\/\/www.rhymezone.com\/r\/rhyme.cgi?Word=boot&typeofrhyme=perfect&org1=syl&org2=l&org3=y<\/a>.<\/p>\n

My favorite kind of rhymed poem – I mean end-rhymed poem – is when the rhyming is so subtle and natural that I don\u2019t notice at first. A poet who\u2019s great at interesting and inventive rhyme is Molly Peacock (generally high school and above). Here are some end rhymes from her poem \u201cWidow\u201d about the sadness of a cat after the loss the other family cat: usual<\/i> with dull<\/i>, I let<\/i> with toilet<\/i>, and weight<\/i> with wait<\/i>. The last rhyme, weight<\/i> with wait<\/i> is called rich rhyme<\/i>, which I learned just this minute .<\/p>\n

Last of all, there\u2019s rhyme for pure pleasure in the words. Here\u2019s a poem by Edward Lear:<\/p>\n

How pleasant to know Mr. Lear<\/u><\/p>\n

How pleasant to know Mr. Lear,
\nWho has written such volumes of stuff.
\nSome think him ill-tempered and queer,
\nBut a few find him pleasant enough.<\/p>\n

His mind is concrete and fastidious,
\nHis nose is remarkably big;
\nHis visage is more or less hideous,
\nHis beard it resembles a wig.<\/p>\n

He has ears, and two eyes, and ten fingers,
\n(Leastways if you reckon two thumbs);
\nHe used to be one of the singers,
\nBut now he is one of the dumbs.<\/p>\n

He sits in a beautiful parlour,
\nWith hundreds of books on the wall;
\nHe drinks a great deal of marsala,
\nBut never gets tipsy at all.<\/p>\n

He has many friends, laymen and clerical,
\nOld Foss is the name of his cat;
\nHis body is perfectly spherical,
\nHe weareth a runcible hat.<\/p>\n

When he walks in waterproof white,
\nThe children run after him so!
\nCalling out, “He’s gone out in his night-
\nGown, that crazy old Englishman, oh!”<\/p>\n

He weeps by the side of the ocean,
\nHe weeps on the top of the hill;
\nHe purchases pancakes and lotion,
\nAnd chocolate shrimps from the mill.<\/p>\n

He reads, but he does not speak, Spanish,
\nHe cannot abide ginger beer;
\nEre the days of his pilgrimage vanish,
\nHow pleasant to know Mr. Lear!<\/p>\n

Runcible is a nonsense word Lear invented.<\/p>\n

Here are some prompts:<\/p>\n

\u2022 Pick a poem you\u2019ve written and look through it for rhymes you didn\u2019t know were there. Underline them. Look for synonyms you can switch in to add to the internal rhymes.<\/p>\n

\u2022 Go to a page of one of your stories. Look for places to add alliteration or assonance without changing meaning. When you’re done, read the page over. Try reading it out loud both ways. If you don\u2019t feel you\u2019ve improved your prose, change it back.<\/p>\n

\u2022 Try a bouts-rimes<\/i> (from French, pronounced boo ree may), which requires at least two people. Each person writes a list of rhymed words, like joke, flop, smoke, drop, inhale, plate, derail, great. They exchange lists and each has to write a poem using those end rhymes. Be wild. Poetry doesn’t have to be logical.<\/p>\n

\u2022 Use me as your bouts rimes partner and use my words: joke, flop, smoke, drop, inhale, plate, derail, great. Don’t worry about meaning. If you’re able to cobble together something that makes sense, fine, but go for the pleasure of the sounds.<\/p>\n

\u2022 Look at my triolet and follow the form (repeat lines and rhyme sequence) to write your own triolet.<\/p>\n

\u2022 Write a poem about yourself or about someone you know or about a dragon along the lines of Edward Lear’s poem about himself.<\/p>\n

Have fun, and save what you write!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Congratulations to NaNoWriMo participants! You did it! Admirable! For those of you word nerds, this appeared in the New York Times, and for those of you who are thinking about jobs to support you before you become literary super-stars, lexicographer may be a possibility (I don\u2019t know what the prospects are), but it\u2019s an interesting […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[102],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/90"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=90"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/90\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":368,"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/90\/revisions\/368"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=90"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=90"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=90"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}