Although not strictly a formalist, Moore arranged her poems in intricate patterns with a poetic craftsmanship of the highest order. Why did she keep rewriting her poems? Because she was never satisfied. A meticulous, even fastidious poet, she agonized over each piece, not only while she was writing it but for decades afterwards.

Consider the construction of “Poetry,” the poem of the day, and then consider all the labor that went into it:

The poem consists of five stanzas, four with six lines and one with five lines (the third). Why does one stanza have one line fewer than the other stanzas? I'm not sure, but I suspect this discrepancy never ceased to torment her.

As far as I can tell, the first line of each stanza consists of 19 syllables. The second line has 21 or 22 syllables; the third line either 11 or 12; the fourth line five or eight; the fifth line also five or eight; and the sixth line 13 or 14.

So we can see that, within the rules she made, she allowed herself a little freedom, or at least the illusion of freedom. But in addition to being a master of syllabic verse, Moore was a consummate rhymer. In fact, there is a tension between the rhymes and the syllable count, as if she had to compromise one in order to accommodate the other. This would explain the discrepancies, as well as the compulsive need to revise.

At any rate, the rhymes in “Poetry” come in several varieties, including end rhymes (in/genuine, eyes/rise, hand/and, of/above, we/be/poetry), slant rhymes (fiddle/unintelligilbe, what/bat/not) and internal rhymes (all/ball, place/base, I/high, tree/flea/triviality). And this is but a partial count.

In the battle between expedience and ecstasy, let us hope that Marianne Moore always had a surplus of the latter.

A fine commentary, Enginist. I always overlook the technical stuff, like rhymes, beats, etc., so I'm glad you brought it to my attention.

Since you say that Moore is "not strictly a formalist," I'd be interested in your definition of a formalist.

Very nice analysis. I'm particularly glad that you called attention to this third stanza that does not quite fit the structure of the rest, which I'll take up in a moment.

Another important technical note to make is the place where the end-rhymes occur: the shorter third and fourth lines of each stanza. It gives the whole thing a peculiar rhythm, almost a kind of spring-like effect in which the lines stretch out, compress, and then stretch out again. This works particularly well in the first stanza where she beings with an almost expository anti-poetic statement that is immediately contradicted by the clipped, rhymed, and image filled shorter stanzas. The push and pull of the rhythms work perfectly to compliment the internal push and pull of her hard, rational disdain and her easily seduced imagination that anchor her wonderfully paradoxical statement on poetry.

Now, this third stanza is tough. If one wanted to read this as deliberate failure on Marianne Moore's part, rather than an actual failure, one could argue that the poor third stanza who is unable to fit the structure of the rest of the poem contains the imagery associated with the "half poets" who drag up the images, but are unable to make real poetry of them.

On the other hand, Moore follows this attack on half-poets by arguing that no one can really achieve actual poetry. I'm not sure anyone can achieve "imaginary gardens with real toads in them." One cannot fuse the imaginary with the literal (hence the push and pull of her poem). "In the meantime," we can be only interested in poetry, strive for poetry, but never achieve it. Hence, the breakdown in the third stanza becomes justified because the perfect, ideal poem is impossible for mere mortals. But maybe I'm reading too literally.

Good question, Mary Ann. Perhaps I should have said “not a strict formalist.” Because the effects of syllabic verse are almost imperceptible, I have an unfortunate tendency to discount it. As someone once said, basing a metric exclusively on the number of syllables is about the same as basing it on the number of letters. For all of Moore’s accomplishment, the ear’s appreciation of her method may not be equal to the effort she expended on it.

Right you are, SV. All the stanzas are characterized by what you call a push and pull, an expansion and compression, from long lines to shorter to longer again. But stanzas like this are prevalent. Take Donne for example: “Thou, when thou return’st wilt tell me/All strange wonders that befell thee/And swear/No where/Lives a woman true and fair.” Or James Shirley: “Death lays his icy hand on kings/Scepter and crown/Must tumble down/And in the dust be equal made/With the poor crooked scythe and spade.”

I don’t know whether Moore’s failure is actual or deliberate. But I do know that, as eccentric as her method was, it was firmly in the tradition.

In the real "original version" of "Poetry" Moore worked out her stanza with a rigor already obscured by revision in the 1924 Observations text, the one substantially copied in her 1967 note, & here.

Moore's description of the longer version of "Poetry" in her Notes to the
1967 Complete Poems as the "original version" needs qualification. The
first published version of "Poetry" appears in Others magazine (5.6) in July
1919.

Moore revised this 1919 text in 1924 when she included the poem in her first
authorized collection, Observations. She made cuts in every stanza except
the first, obliterating several rhymes, changed one word, and deleted the
4th verse of the 3rd stanza entirely.

This original 1919 text is the only published version that exactly
replicates the rhymed syllabic stanza of the first stanza in the other four.

This 6-verse stanza goes (syllable count, rhyme):

19 x, 22 A, 11 A, 5 B, 8 B, 13 y.



The 1919 text differs from the 1967 "original version" as follows:


1919 stanza 2

... to become unintelligible, the / same thing ...


1919 stanza 3

... the statistician--case after case
could be cited did
one wish it; nor is it valid
to discriminate ...


1919 stanza 4 3rd verse

nor till the autocrats among us can be


1919 stanza 5, 2nd verse

it. In the meantime, if you demand on one hand, in defiance of their
opinion--



These alterations are typical of the revisions Moore made in her stanzaic
poems of 1915-1924 as she collected them in Selected Poems (1935), Collected
Poems (1951) and Complete Poems (1967). They suggest impatience with
phrasing that in retrospect seemed too talky.

The more radical revisions of "Poetry" (to 11 verses in the 1925 2nd edition
of Observations, and famously to 3 in 1967) are atypical and probably
reflect impatience with the poems downright overt address of its topic.

Moore's most extensive revisions focused on her extended poems in large
elaborate stanzas of the 30s. The Steeple Jack, the most winning and
readily-grasped of them, is deservedly well-known because Eliot put it first
when he arranged the contents of Selected Poems (1935). For the 1951
Collected Poems Moore cut it from 13 to 8 stanzas. In 1967 she reverts to a
13-stanza version, labeled "revised, 1961."

Hello, The Enginist (and Mary Ann and Jim and others here) --

In my post on the "real toads" thread, I meant to thank you too for all you pointed out about Moore's versification here.