I like meters and junk in poetry. It's limiting, but it makes you feel good when you create something far-reaching with such narrow boundaries. It makes you work hard, too, because you have to think how best you can convey your meaning within a certain pattern. Your work becomes so structured sometimes, that you find meaning not only on the surface, but within the structure, too.

The following poem illustrates what I'm saying:


Tagalog is amphibrachic
Remember, remember that
An amphibrach
Remember, remember that
Tagalog is amphibrachic
Please don't you use a damn dactyll
Damn you who make it dactyllic
Remember, remember that
Tagalog is amphibrachic


I composed this poem on my way to the parking lot after class today. I was just thinking about one of my profs, who pronounced the word tagalog--which is the Filipino language--with the accent on the first syllable: TAG-a-log. I didn't say anything to her because a lot of people say it that way; it doesn't bother me, just makes me laugh. But some people hate when others pronounce it that way; it's supposed to be pronounced with the second syllable accented: tag-AH-log.

Hence this poem.

If you scan it correctly (i.e. - if you pronounce the word correctly and read the poem the way I intend for it to be read), this is what you get:


amphibrach - iamb - amphibrach
amphibrach - iamb - iamb
iamb - iamb
amphibrach - iamb - iamb
amphibrach - iamb - amphibrach
dactyll - dactyll - trochee
dactyll - dactyll - trochee
amphibrach - iamb - iamb
amphibrach - iamb - amphibrach


The structure itself is a poem. It is Tagalog subliminally telling the reader: "Iamb an amphibrach. Trash the damn dactyll you idiotic twit; Iamb an amphibrach."

The whole idea is probably pretty silly, but (forget false modesty) I thought that it was pretty clever myself.

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