Zero to Hero, a Guide - 12. Poetry Prompt 8 – Quatrains

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Poetry Prompt 8

Let's Write some Quatrains!

Last chapter we took a major step forward, although it was so smooth you may not have noticed it. We went from lyric poetry, with its rhythms based on lines of 6 or 8 syllables to narrative poetry, where the line lengths are set at 10 or 12 syllables.

The Quatrain is a storytelling device, and unlike the simple heartstrings of the Lyric form, the narrative qualities of the Quatrain can move a reader along just like a story does: with a beginning, a middle (development) and an end. And although the term can be used to talk about any line 4-lined strophe of verse, for us it means something specific. It means four lines rhymed a-b-a-b, and having a total of 40 syllables, 10 per line.

The history of why 10 syllables became the standard storytelling form in English is a bit odd. Classical Latin and Greek poetry is remarkably consistent in favoring 12 beats per line, and even Chaucer wrote that way. The Earl of Surrey was the great innovator, for in his work in translating Italian sonnets into English, he fell into a natural 10 beat rhythm, which he later used un-rhymed and called 'Blank Verse.' Without him, we would not have the English Sonnet or the blank verse that folks like Marlowe and Shakespeare used so well.

Inspiration? Oh yeah, there are a lot of fantastic Quatrains in the English language, don't worry about that! Here is a little gem, and sorry about the carnage:

That drinks and still is dry. At last they perished –

His second son was levelled by a shot;

His third was sabred; and the fourth, most cherished

Of all the five, on bayonets met his lot.

(Canto Eight, Don Juan, Byron)

Byron rather smoothly uses the Quatrain in a conversational style to simply tell us what happened to this poor man's children. Other times nothing can surpasses the grandeur of the Quatrain to talk about our personal stories of love, like this one:

When wasteful war shall statues overturn,

And broils root out the work of masonry,

Not Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn,

The living record of your memory.

(W.H. Sonnets 55, Shakespeare)

For a contemporary poet using the Quatrain to great effect, check out the following link to a work by Gert Strydom.

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/if-there-is-something-more-wreathed-quatrains-in-answer-to-edgar-allan-poe/

So, if you are thinking of tackling your own Quatrain, how do you start? Start with the story you wish to tell, and it can be a simple one. How the coffee spilled in the car and made you late for work; how the puppy wags his tail and makes your blues disappear; how the flowers are blooming now because you laid mulch down last autumn. You get the picture – you can write about the Trojan War if you want to, but I'm sure you have your own stories, so use 'em!

Once you know what you want to story-tell about, I suggest you write out the first two lines. Review. Are they in the proper metre? Are the two words at the end of the lines easy to come up with a rhyme for? If so, write the next two lines. Done. If NOT, then tweak the first two lines until you have the rhythm, and have words that you can think of easy and natural rhymes for. Only then proceed to the last two.

The Prompt: write two poems with several stanzas of Quatrains. One inspired by the sights and emotions of a movie you love! Let the energy flow to ‘win over’ a convert to this film. And then in mirror image fashion, write a more rational criticism about a movie you thought was an utter waste of time. Try to conjur for the reader the elements of cliché, poor script-writing, bad acting/directing – any and everything that bugged you about the film. Keep the several Quatrains of each poem to four lines, rhymed a-b-a-b, and with 10 syllables per line. Don't get frustrated, just have fun with it.

As final inspiration, here’s a poem by Edwin Arnold.

Destiny

 

Somewhere there waiteth in this world of ours

For one lone soul another lonely soul

Each choosing each through all the weary hours

And meeting strangely at one sudden goal.

Then blend they, like green leaves with golden flowers,

Into one beautiful and perfect whole;

And life's long night is ended, and the way

Lies open onward to eternal day.

Self-Review: Now that you have written several stanzas of Quatrain, I ask you to perform a self-check against the following set of questions. If you answer ‘Yes’ to one or more of them, and this leads to feelings of dissatisfaction with your results, turn to the appendix List of Random Prompt Ideas and choose one to try the Quatrain challenge again. Check this list of questions with your second attempt and whittle those ‘Yes’s down to a comfortable level before going on to the Haiku prompt challenge.

Ask yourself DID I:

- Fail to make rhymes that seem smooth and natural?

- Make the four lines of each Quatrain choppy, or create hard stops at the end of the lines?

- Fall short in selecting rhymes that carry my intent forward? (This is a big one, and often this feeling of incompleteness leads a person to write better and better poems on the same theme.)

- Make my Quatrains a series of individual lines strung together? (As opposed to a smooth and flowing exposition of a complete sentence across four lines.)

- Fall short or go over on the syllable counts?

- Fail to place a personal or emotional POV in the Quatrains?

- Regress to haiku-speak?

- Sacrifice basic grammar to achieve syllable count?

Remember, this course is designed to build knowledge and confidence step by step, so please feel comfortable with Quatrains before you proceed.

For some final Quatrain inspiration, here are a few more gems from Shakespeare to his beloved boyfriend, W.H.

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power

Dost hold time’s fickle glass, his sickle’s hour:

Who hast by waning grown, and therein shows

Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grows.

(W.H. Sonnets, 126)

 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

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Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

(W.H. Sonnets, 116)

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