When a line gets to nine or ten syllables, there's a slight pause somewhere in the middle as you read it.

This pause is called the caesura (say ZYUR ah).

Usually, it happens at the end of a phrase, and is indicated by a comma, although not always.

"Men would be angels, # angels would be gods."

"Hope springs eternal # in the human breast:
Man never is, # but always to be blest."

You can move the caesura around, to emphasize a word or phrase:

"'Tis with our judgements as our watches, # none
Go just alike,# yet each believes his own."

In the first line, Alexander Pope emphasizes "none" by preceding it with the caesura.

In the second line, he emphasizes the contrast by preceding it with the caesura.


"So when you read my poems, # try not to laugh."

Stephen

SF,

Good to know. Thank you.

I'll try not to laugh at your Caesura

-Squire

"Hope springs eternal # in the human breast:

I'm not sure there is supposed to be one there. Note the clever caesuras in this one, how the author manages to get the reader to pause for breath midline, whether there is a comma or not.


Thaïs

One time in Alexandria, in wicked Alexandria,
Where nights were wild with revelry and life was but a game,
There lived, so the report is, an adventuress and courtesan,
The pride of Alexandria, and Thaïs was her name.

Nearby, in peace and piety, avoiding all society,
There dwelt a band of holy men who'd built a refuge there:
And in the desert's solitude they spurned all earthly folly to
Devote their days to holy works, to fasting and to prayer.

Now one monk whom I solely mention of this group of holy men
Was known as Athanael; he was famous near and far.
At fasting bouts or prayer with him no other could compare with him;
At ground and lofty praying he could do the course in par.

One night while sleeping heavily (from fighting with the devil he
Had gone to bed exhausted while the sun was shining still),
He had a vision Freudian, and though he was annoyed he an-
Alyzed it in the well-known style of Doctors Jung and Brill.

He dreamed of Alexandria, of wicked Alexandria;
A crowd of men were cheering in a manner rather rude
At Thaïs, who was dancing there, and Athanael, glancing there,
Observed her do the shimmy in what artists call The Nude.

Said he, 'This dream fantastical disturbs my thoughts monastical;
Some unsuppressed desire, I fear, has found my monkish Cell.
I blushed up to the hat o' me to view that girl's anatomy.
I'll go to Alexandria and save her soul from Hell.'

So, pausing not to wonder where he'd put his summer underwear,
He quickly packed his evening clothes, his toothbrush and a vest.
To guard against exposure he threw in some woollen hosiery,
And bidding all the boys goodbye, he started on his quest.

The monk, though warned and fortified, was deeply shocked and
mortified
To find, on his arrival, wild debauchery in sway.
While some lay in a stupor, sent by booze of more than two percent,
The others were behaving in a most immoral way.

Said he to Thaïs, Pardon me. Although this job is hard on me,
I gotta put you wise to what I came down here to tell.
What's all this sousin' gettin' you? Cut out this pie-eyed retinue;
Let's hit the trail together, kid, and save yourself from Hell.'

Although this bold admonishment caused Thaïs some astonishment,
She coyly answered, 'Say, you said a heaping mouthful, bo,
This burg's a frost, I'm telling you. The brand of hooch they're selling you
Ain't like the stuff we used to get, so let's pack up and go.'

So forth from Alexandria, from wicked Alexandria,
Across the desert sands they go beneath the blazing sun;
Till Thaïs, parched and sweltering, finds refuge in the sheltering
Seclusion of a convent, and the habit of a nun.

But now the monk is terrified to find his fears are verified:
His holy vows of chastity have cracked beneath the strain.
Like one who has a jag on he cries out in grief and agony,
'I'd sell my soul to see her do the shimmy once again.'

Alas! his pleadings clamorous, the passionate and amorous,
Have come too late; the courtesan has danced her final dance.
The monk says, 'That's a joke on me, for that there dame to croak on me.
I hadn't oughter passed her up the time I had the chance.'

-- Newman Levy (1888-1966)

OK Hugh, you're right. "Hope springs eternal # in the human breast:" is probably more naturally spoken allinonebreath!

This Newman Levy poem: could you explain something please?

In the first and third lines of each stanza, there's something going on.

(third lines only)
report is, an ... courtesan

solitude ... folly to

prayer with ... compare with him

Freudian ... annoyed he an-

dancing there ... glancing there

hat o' me ... anatomy

exposure he ... hosiery

stupor, sent ... two percent

gettin' you? ... retinue

telling you ... selling you

sweltering ... sheltering

jag on he ... agony

joke on me ... croak on me


Could you explain?

Stephen

Just internal rhymes. Some of the very best I have ever seen, though!

Oh, I forgot. Didja notice that the solitude/folly to is wrapped to the first word in the next line to get the final 'd' sound? Man's a genius.