Language in Literaure Jakobson
Language in Literaure Jakobson
Language in Literaure Jakobson
LITERATURE
ROMAN JAKOBSON
Language in Literature
Jakobson) age twenty-three) summer I920) Prague
ROMAN JAKOBSON
Language in Literature
CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSE T TS
LONDON, ENGLAND
1987
Copyright 1987 by The Jakobson Trust
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 + 3 2 I
Notes 505
Index 537
Language in Literature
Editors) Note
nection between the study of language, written literature, and the oral
folk tradition. The three branches were considered and studied as one
domain, integrated by language as the basic object of investigation.
Jakobson's alma mater, Moscow University, was the center of this
method. The ties between art and linguistics, however, became far
more important in the theory that Jakobson himself developed . The
necessity to draw conclusions from the language of poetry for the sci
ence of language and, conversely, to apply methods elaborated in lin
guistics to the study of poetry became clear.for Jakobson during his
high-school years at the Lazarev Institute of Oriental Languages in
Moscow. The milieu in which Jakobson lived during his youth helped
him to form this conviction. In Dialogues) his scholarly autobiography,
he says: "I grew up among artists."2 As early as 1913 he was a friend of
leading painters and poets of the time: Kazimir Malevic, Pavel Filonov,
Velimir Xlebnikov, and Aleksej Krucenyx. Jakobson himself became an
ardent Futurist and wrote experimental "supraconscious" poems. In
his correspondence of these years with Krucenyx and Xlebnikov he
developed ideas bolder than those of Krucenyx and Xlebnikov them
selves. He proposed poetry made of consonants only and experi
mented with "visual poetry," graphic puzzles composed of "interlaced
letters" (splety bukv) . Under the pen name Aljagrov, Jakobson's supra
conscious poetry was published, jointly with Krucenyx, in a booklet
Zaumnajagniga (1915), illustrated by the renowned painter Olga Roza
nova. Zaumnajagniga was shown at the 1979 Paris exhibition "Paris
Moscow 1900-1930;' at the Centre George Pompidou, and it figures
as one of the most important items in the catalogue of the exhibition.
The scientific laboratories in which linguists and poets exchanged
experiences and knowledge were the Moscow Linguistic Circle,
founded in 1915, and the Prague Linguistic Circle, which initiated its
activities in 1926. Jakobson was the cofounder of both circles, and the
president and vice-president of each, respectively. In 1916, a group of
Petersburg literary scholars, later labeled the Formalists, founded the
Society for the Study of Poetic Language (OPOJAZ), with the Mos
cow Circle as their model. Jakobson became an active member and
supporter. As one of the more brilliant members of OPOJAZ, Jurij
Tynjanov, later said, without Jakobson "OPOJAZ would not exist."
Jakobson declares in the acknowledgments to his Seleaed Writings) vol.
II: "I still feel particularly attached to both congenial circles, two un
usual workshops of vigorous and ardent research in the science of lan-
2
Introduction
Thus poetry and visual art became for Jakobson the fundamental
spheres for observing how verbal phenomena work and for studying
how to approach them. Poetry as a system not belonging to ordinary
communication informed Jakobson's linguistic theory, especially his
view on the problem of meaning, in a way similar to that of language
pathology, to which he turned in later years. The extraordinary nature
of poetic language lies in its primarily semiotic aspect. Of the two in
dissoluble parts of the language which constitute a sign-signifier and
signified-it is the first that becomes most important in poetry. In a
way, the signifier plays an independent, self-sufficient role: for example,
4
Introductwn
6
Introduction
7
INTRODUCTION
myth and mythology, influenced and thus found support and confir
mation in modern anthropology, especially in the school of Claude
Levi-Strauss. The two men met for the first time in 1942, at the Ecole
Libre des Hautes Etudes, founded in New York by French and Belgian
scholars in exile. Between 1942 and 1946, during Jakobson's professor
ship at the Ecole Libre, the linguist and the ethnologist attended each
other's lectures and shared their thoughts. In a recent interview for Le
Nouvel Observateu1) Levi-Strauss said: "at the time I was a structuralist
without knowing about it. Like Monsieur Jourdan, who spoke in
prose. It was Jakobson, his lectures, which revealed to me that what I
tried to do myself ... had existed already in another discipline as a
school of thought." 8 In recent years this school of thought influenced
not only anthropology and psychoanalysis but history, conceived as
"metahistory;' according to the eloquent title of a book by Hayden
White.9
The historical perspective is intrinsic to Jakobson's theory, according
to which the time factor is omnipresent in language phenomena.The
acknowledgment of ever-present temporal processes, in its turn, abol
ishes the absolute and endows any system under investigation with
particular dynamism. Jakobson was concerned with these questions
since at least 1919, when he wrote his article "Futurism;' originally pub
lished in the Moscow journal Iskusstvo (Art). In later years he tested
principles of temporality and dynamism against the vast material of
linguistic phenomena, especially in the area of phonological systems.
In particular he argued with the theories of Ferdinand de Saussure,
who automatically divided phenomena of the past (diachrony), which
he considered dynamic, and those he called systemic (synchrony),
which he considered nondynamic.
Jakobson's scholarly environment, especially the Prague Circle, was
for him a natural support.The year 1928 became a culmination point
in Jakobson's and the Circle's efforts to introduce a historical perspec
tive into linguistics and verbal art . Here is the scholar's personal ac
count of those times and works, from the perspective of half a century:
8
Introduction
9
INTRODUCTION
order to explain the link that united the different cultural levels
without appeal to the confusing idea of a mechanistic sequence of
cause and effect. 10
Among elements whose relations constitute the dynamic system of
language and art, some are more steady than others, and they play a
specific role in the stabilization and balance of a system.The compo
nents of language do not constantly change but remain steady for
longer periods, or else two components, the new and the old one, may
coexist for some time; one finds the same process in the history of art.
Jakobson attaches the most important role to the generation as a mech
anism for producing, retaining, and conveying artistic and, by the
same token, spiritual values.Moreover, he sees definite distributional
regularities in specific types of art produced by different generations.
In his preface to the anthology La Poesie Russe (1965), Jakobson offers
a "table of generations," using the traditional Russian term as well as
examples from his native Russia's art of the nineteenth and twentieth
centuries.ll The table of generations demonstrates how some decades
were dominated by poets, for example, the I880s, when Blok, Belyj,
Axmatova, and Xlebnikov (to mention names of primary importance)
were born; other periods favored prose writers. One finds a similar
regularity in the birthdates of great musicians as opposed to painters.
Focusing on a dynamic group rather than on approximately dated
trends, Jakobson points toward a clearer, more realistic, and more
functional historical mechanism.
V. V. Ivanov, a leading contemporary scholar, said in 1983: "Jakobson
belongs to that powerful trend in our culture that is larger than just
linguistics and literary studies, one to which the names of Baxtin and
Vygotskij also belong. This trend-at a time when no one even
thought about it-interpreted culture in a completely new way ... The
Futurism and avant-gardism of Jakobson's beginnings remained for
ever an essential part of him.But not in the sense that he would remain
for long in the same place.He very quickly departed from his own self.
This was a special manifestation of his Futurism.He once said that he
was like the Baron von Miinchhausen, who pulled himself up by his
own hair. He always wanted to be unidentical with himsel" Uner
ringly, Ivanov pointed to the core: "Roman Jakobson ... always
thought about the most general matters in concrete terms, with refer
ence to particular examples, and always spoke about this clearly and
understandably. We shall always remember Jakobson as the man who
10
Introduction
proved that one can do scientific work with joy, without pedantry or
routine, that one can do it as something great and meaningful, under
any circumstances, even in the face of catastrophes-and success
fully." 12
II
PART I
Questions of
Literary Theory
The chief characteristic of Roman Jakobson's literary theory is
his integrated and interdisciplinary approach to the work of art. His
starting point is the interdependence between verbal art and language.
In the early essay "On Realism in Art" (1921), Jakobson shows that
realistic fiction, like any other style, depends on the medium of lan
guage and the conventions it implies. "Realism" does not represent the
extraliterary world as it really is; rather, it follows certain rules whose
goal is to create a particular illusion of reality. Jakobson's articles on
"Futurism" (1919) and "Dada" (1921) are akin to his study of realism .
The author links Cubism and Futurism in painting to the latest find
ings in science that clarify the discrepancy between the nature of a
physical object and our perception of it. Thus in avant-garde art the
"deformation" of an object is induced by a dynamic perception of its
physical shape, whereas the naive illusionism of traditional painting,
with its perspectival conventions, limited the reality it depicted. More
over, in modern art an object is not only mediated by a set of pictorial
devices, but the devices themselves are laid bare. Cubism and Futurism
led to the realization that, to paraphrase Braque, not things but the
15
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
16
On Realism in Art
17
CHAPTE R!
On Realism in Art
19
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
1. Realism may refir to the aspiration and intent of the author; i.e.)
a lvork is understood to be realistic if it is conceived by its author as a
display of verisimilitude) as true to life (meaning A).
2. A work may be called realistic ifI) the person judging it) perceive
it as true to life (meaning B).
20
On Realism in Art:
21
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
To put it in another way, when searching for a word which will revi
talize an object, we pick a farfetched word, unusual at least in its given
application, a word which is forced into service. Such an unexpected
word may, depending on current usage, be either a figurative or a di
rect reference to the object. Examples of this sort are numerous, partic
ularly in the history of obscene vocabulary. To call the sex act by its
own name sounds brazen, but if in certain circles strong language is
the rule, a trope or euphemism is more forceful and effective. Such is
the verb utilizirovat' (to utilize) of the Russian hussar. Foreign words
are accordingly more insulting and are readily picked up for such pur
poses. A Russian may use the absurd epithets gollandskij (Dutch) or
morZovyj (walruslike) as abusive modifiers of an object which has noth
ing to do with either Holland or walruses; the impact of his swearing
is greatly heightened as a result. Instead of the infamous oath involving
copulation with the addressee's mother, the Russian peasant prefers
the fantastic image of copulating with the addressee's soul-and, for
further emphasis, uses the negative parallelism: tvoju dU5U ne mat'
(your soul not your mother).
The same applies to revolutionary realism in literature. The words
of yesterday 's narrative grow stale; now the item is described by fea
tures that were yesterday held to be the least descriptive, the least
worth representing, features which were scarcely noticed. "He is fond
of dwelling on unessential details" is the classic judgment passed on
the innovators by conservative critics of every era. I leave it to the lover
of quotations to collect similar judgments pronounced on Puskin, Go
gol', Tolstoj, Andrej Belyj, and others by their contemporaries. To the
followers of a new movement, a description based on unessential de
tails seems more real than the petrified tradition of their predecessors.
But the perception of those of a more conservative persuasion contin
ues to be determined by the old canons; they will accordingly interpret
any deformation of these canons by a new movement as a rejection of
the principle of verisimilitude, as a deviation from realism. They will
therefore uphold the old canons as the only realistic ones. Thus, in
discussing meaning A of the term "realism" (the artistic intent to ren
der life as it is), we see that the definition leaves room for ambiguity:
22
On Realism in Art
In the latter case, only those artistic facts which do not contradict
my artistic values may be called realistic. But inasmuch as I hold my
own values (the tradition to which I belong) to be the most realistic,
and because I feel that within the framework of other traditions my
code cannot be fully realized even if the tradition in question does not
contradict it, I find in these traditions only a partial, embryonic, im
mature, or decadent realism. I declare that the only genuine realism is
the one on which I was brought up. Conversely, in the case of BI, my
attitude to all artistic formulas contradicting a particular set of artistic
values unacceptable to me would be similar to my attitude in the case
of B2 toward forms which are not in opposition. I can readily ascribe a
realistic tendency (realistic as understood by A I ) to forms which were
never conceived as such. In the same way, the Primitives were often
interpreted from the point of view of BI. While their incompatibility
with -the norms on which we were raised was immediately evident,
their faithful adherence to their own norms and tradition was lost from
view (A2 was interpreted as A I ) . Similarly, certain writings may be felt
and interpreted as poetry, although not at all meant as such. Consider
Gogol"s pronouncement about the poetic qualities of an inventory of
the Muscovite crown jewels, Novalis' observation about the poetic na
ture of the alphabet, the statement of the Futurist Krucenyx about the
poetic sound of a laundry list, or that of the poet Xlebnikov claiming
that at times a misprint can be an artistically valid distortion of a word.
The concrete content of A lJ A2J BI) and B2 is extremely relative.
Thus a contemporary critic might detect realism in Delacroix, but not
in Delaroche; in El Greco and Andrej Rublev, but not in Guido Reni;
in a Scythian idol, but not in the Laocoon. A directly opposite judg
ment, however, would have been characteristic of a pupil of the Acad
emy in the previous century. Whoever senses faithfulness to life in Ra
cine does not find it in Shakespeare, and vice versa.
In the second half of the nineteenth century, a group of painters
23
QUEST I O NS OF L I TERARY THEORY
25
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
in the drawing room and is green; what is it?" The answer: "A her
ring." -"Why in a drawing room?"-"Well, why couldn't they hang it
there ?" "Why green?"-"It was painted green." -"But why?" -"To
make it harder to guess." This desire to conceal the answer, this delib
erate effort to delay recognition, brings out a new feature, the newly
improvised epithet. Exaggeration in art is unavoidable, wrote Dos
toevskij ; in order to show an object, it is necessary to deform the shape
it used to have; it must be tinted, just as slides to be viewed under the
microscope are tinted. You color your object in an original way and
think that it has become more palpable, cleare1; more real (A 1 ) . In a
Cubist's picture, a single object is multiplied and shown from several
points of view; thus it is made more palpable. This is a device used in
painting. But it is also possible to motivate and justify this device in
the painting itself; an object is doubled when reflected in a mirror. The
same is true of literature. The herring is green because it has been
painted; a startling epithet results, and the trope becomes an epic mo
tif. "Why did you paint it?" The author will always have an answer,
but, in fact, there is only one right answer: "To make it harder to
guess."
Thus a strange term may be foisted on an object or asserted as a
particular aspect of it. Negative parallelism explicitly rejects metaphor
ical substitution for its proper term: "I am not a tree, I am a woman,"
says the girl in a poem by the Czech poet Sramek. This literary con
struction can be justified; from a special narrative feature, it can be
come a detail of plot development: "Some said, 'These are the foot
prints of an ermine'; others reported, 'No, these are not the footprints
of an ermine; it was Curila Plenkovic passing by.' " Inverted negative
parallelism rejects a normally used term and employs a metaphor (in
the S ramek poem quoted earlier: "I am not a woman, I am a tree;' or
the following from a play by another Czech poet, Capek: "What is
this ?-A handkerchief.-But it is not a handkerchief. It is a beautiful
woman standing by the window. She's dressed all in white and is
dreaming of love") .
I n Russian erotic tales, copulation is frequently stated in terms of
inverted parallelism; the same is true of wedding songs, with the dif
ference that in the latter, the constructions using metaphors are not
usually justified, while in the former these metaphors find motivation
as the means by which the cunning hero can seduce the fair maid, or
as an interpretation of human copulation by an animal incapable of
26
On Realism in Art
27
CHAPTE R 2
Futurism
28
Futurism
29
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
30
Futurism
of relativity and the Futurist "Down With ! " are destroying the garden
hedges of the old culture. The unity of the fronts of attack is aston
ishing.
"At the present time we are again experiencing a period in which the
old scientific edifice is crumbling, but the crumbling is so complete
that it is unprecedented in the history of science. But even that is not
all. Among the truths being destroyed are ones which were never even
uttered by anyone, which were never emphasized, so self-apparent did
they seem, so unconsciously were they used and posited as the basis
for every sort of reasoning." A particularly characteristic feature of the
new doctrine is the unprecedented paradoxical nature of many of even
its simplest propositions: they clearly contradict what is usually called
"common sense."
T he last sign of substance is vanishing from the physical world.
"How do we picture time to ourselves ? As something flowing contin
uously and homogeneously, with an eternal, identical speed every
where. One and the same time flows in the entire world; it is quite
obvious that there cannot be two times which flow in different parts
of the universe at different speeds. Closely connected with this are our
conceptions of the simultaneity of two events, of 'before' and of 'after,'
for these three most elementary notions are accessible even to an in
fant; they have an identical sense, by whomever or wherever they are
used. The concept of time conceals for us something absolute, some
thing completely unrelative. But the new doctrine rejects the absolute
character of time, and therefore the existence of 'world' time as well.
Every identical self-moving system has its own time; the speed of time
flow is not identical in each such system." Does absolute peace of mind
exist, even if only in the form of an abstract concept which has no real
existence in nature? From the principle of relativity it follows that ab
solute peace of mind does not exist.
"Time gets involved in all spatial dimensions. We cannot define the
geometrical form of a body which is in motion in relation to us. We
define always its kinetic form. Thus our spatial dimensions occur in
reality not in a three-dimensional, but in a four-dimensional variety."
"These pictures in the field of philosophical thought should produce
a revolution greater than Copernicus' displacement of the earth from
the center of the universe . . . Does not the power of the natural sci
ences make itself felt in the transition from an undisputed experimental
fact-the impossibility of determining the absolute motion of the
31
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
32
Futurism
what letters they are, nor what they would mean. You would have
to go from one word to another and from line to line if you would
wish to know these letters, just as you would have to climb step
by step to reach the top of a building, or else never reach the top.
(Cited by Gleizes and Metzinger.)6
33
CHAPTE R 3
Dada
Dada means nothing.
Dada J) 1918
Dilettantes, rise up against art!
Poster at Dada exhibition) Berlin) June 1920
34
Dada
35
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
off the French, like any other. If you tremble, gentlemen, for the mor
als of your wives, for the tranquility of your cooks and the faithfulness
of your mistresses, for the solidity of your rockingchairs and your
nightpots, for the security of your government, you are right. But
what will you do about it? You are rotting, and the fire has already
begun" (Ribemont-Dessaignes) . "I smash;' exclaims Tzara somewhat
in the tone of Leonid Andreev, "skull cases and the social organization:
all must be demoralized."
There was a need to christen this "systemless" aesthetic rebellion,
"this Fronde of great international artistic currents;' as Huelsenbeck
put it. In 1916 "Dada" was named. The name, along with the commen
taries that followed, at once knocked out of the hands of critics their
main weapon-the accusation of charlatanism and trickery. "Futurism
sings of . . ." Marinetti used to write-and then came columns of ob
jects celebrated by Futurism. The critic would pick up a Futurist al
manac, leaf through its pages, and conclude: "I don't see it." "Futurism
concludes;' "Futurism bears with it;' "Futurism conceals;' wrote the
ideologists who had become infected with the exoterica of Symbolism.
"I don't see it! Ah, the frauds ! " answered the critic. " 'Futurism is the
art of the future; they say;' he would reflect, "why, it's a lie !" '' 'Expres
sionism is expressive art'-they lie !" But "Dada;' what does "Dada"
mean? "Dada means nothing;' the Dadaists hastened to reply, running
37
QUESTIONS OF LI TERARY THEORY
such! Only the canvas is removed, like an act in a sideshow one has
grown tired of.
Poetry and painting became for Dada one of the acts of the side
show. Let us be frank: poetry and painting occupy in our conscious
ness an excessively high position only because of tradition. "The En
glish are so sure of the genius of Shakespeare that they don't consider
it necessary even to read him:' as Aubrey Beardsley puts it. We are
prepared to respect the classics but for reading prefer literature written
for train rides : detective stories, novels about adultery, that whole area
of "belles-lettres" in which the word makes itself least heard. Dostoev
skij , if one reads him inattentively, quickly becomes a cheap best seller,
and it is hardly by chance that in the West they prefer to see his works
in the movies . If the theaters are full, then it is more a matter of tradi
tion than of interest on the part of the public. The theater is dying; the
movies are blossoming. The screen ceases bit by bit to be the equiva
lent of the stage; it frees itself of the theatrical unities, of the theatrical
mise en scene. The aphorism of the Dadaist Mehring is timely: "The
popularity of an idea springs from the possibility of transferring onto
film its anecdotal content." For variety's sake the Western reader is
willing to accept a peppering of self-valuable words .6 The Parisian
newspaper Le Siecle states : "We need a literature which the mind can
savor like a cocktail." During the last decade, no one has brought to
the artistic market so much varied junk of all times and places as the
very people who reject the past. It should be understood that the Da
daists are also eclectics, though theirs is not the museum-bound eclec
ticism of respectful veneration, but a motley cafe chantant program
(not by chance was Dada born in a cabaret in Zurich) . A little song of
the Maoris takes turns with a Parisian music-hall number, a sentimen
tal lyric-with the above-mentioned color effect. "I like an old work
for its novelty. Only contrast links us to the past:' Tzara explains.
One should take into account the background against which Dada
39
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
40
CHAPTE R 4
The Dominant
The first three stages of Formalist research have been briefly char
acterized as follows: ( I ) analysis of the sound aspects of a literary work;
(2) problems of meaning within the framework of poetics; (3) integra
tion of sound and meaning into an inseparable whole. During this
latter stage, the concept of the dominant was particularly fruitful; it was
one of the most crucial, elaborated, and productive concepts in Rus
sian Formalist theory. The dominant may be defined as the focusing
component of a work of art: it rules, determines, and transforms the
remaining components.It is the dominant which guarantees the integ
rity of the structure.
The dominant specifies the work. The specific trait of bound lan
guage is obviously its prosodic pattern, its verse form. It might seem
that this is simply a tautology: verse is verse.However, we must con
stantly bear in mind that the element which specifies a given variety of
language dominates the entire structure and thus acts as its mandatory
and inalienable constituent, dominating all the remaining elements and
exerting direct influence upon them. Verse in tum is not a simple con
cept and not an indivisible unit. Verse itself is a system of values; as
41
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
with any value system, it possesses its own hierarchy of superior and
inferior values and one leading value, the dominant, without which
(within the framework of a given literary period and a given artistic
trend) verse cannot be conceived and evaluated as verse. For example,
in Czech poetry of the fourteenth century the inalienable mark of verse
was not the syllabic scheme but rhyme, since there existed poems with
unequal numbers of syllables per line (termed "measureless" verses)
which nevertheless were conceived as verses, whereas unrhymed verses
were not tolerated during that period. On the other hand, in Czech
Realist poetry of the second half of the nineteenth century, rhyme was
a dispensable device, whereas the syllabic scheme was a mandatory,
inalienable component, without which verse was not verse; from the
point of view of that school, free verse was judged as unacceptable
arrhythmia. For the present-day Czech brought up on modem free
verse, neither rhyme nor a syllabic pattern is mandatory for verse; in
stead, the mandatory component consists of intonational integrity
intonation becomes the dominant of verse. If we were to compare the
measured regular verse of the Old Czech Alexandreis the rhymed verse
of the Realist period, and the rhymed measured verse of the present
epoch, we would observe in all three cases the same elements-rhyme,
a syllabic scheme, and intonational unity-but a different hierarchy of
values, different specific mandatory, indispensable elements; it is pre
cisely these specific elements which determine the role and the struc
ture of the other components.
We may seek a dominant not only in the poetic work of an individ
ual artist and not only in the poetic canon, the set of norms of a given
poetic school, but also in the art of a given epoch, viewed as a partic
ular whole. For example, it is evident that in Renaissance art such a
dominant, such an acme of the aesthetic criteria of the time; was rep
resented by the visual arts. Other arts oriented themselves toward the
visual arts and were valued according to the degree of their closeness
to the latter. On the other hand, in Romantic art the supreme value
was assigned to music. Thus, Romantic poetry oriented itself toward
music: its verse is musically focused; its verse intonation imitates mu
sical melody. This focusing on a dominant which is in fact external to
the poetic work substantially changes the poem's structure with regard
to sound texture, syntactic structure, and imagery; it alters the poem's
metrical and strophical criteria and its composition. In Realist aesthet
ics the dominant was verbal art, and the hierarchy of poetic values was
modified accordingly.
42
The Dominant
43
QUESTIONS O F LITERARY THEORY
tions within the poetic work. In the referential function, the sign has a
minimal internal connection with the designated object, and therefore
the sign in itself carries only a minimal importance; on the other hand,
the expressive function demands a more direct, intimate relationship
between the sign and the object, and therefore a greater attention to
the internal structure of the sign. In comparison with referential lan
guage, emotive language, which primarily fulfills an expressive func
tion, is as a rule closer to poetic language (which is directed precisely
toward the sign as such). Poetic language and emotive language often
overlap each other, and therefore these two varieties of language are
often quite erroneously identified. If the aesthetic function is the dom
inant in a verbal message, then this message may certainly use many
devices of expressive language; but these components are then subject
to the decisive function of the work, and they are transformed by its
dominant.
Inquiry into the dominant had important consequences for Formal
ist views of literary evolution. In the evolution of poetic form it is not
so much a question of the disappearance of certain elements and the
emergence of others as it is a question of shifts in the mutual relation
ship among the diverse components of the system, in other words, a
question of the shifting dominant. Within a given complex of poetic
norms in general, or especially within the set of poetic norms valid for
a given poetic genre, elements which were originally secondary be
come essential and primary. On the other hand, the elements which
were originally the dominant ones become subsidiary and optional. In
the early works of Sklovskij, a poetic work was defined as a mere sum
of its artistic devices, while poetic evolution appeared nothing more
than a substitution of certain devices. With the further development of
Formalism, there arose the accurate conception of a poetic work as a
structured system, a regularly ordered hierarchical set of artistic de
vices. Poetic evolution is a shift in this hierarchy. The hierarchy of ar
tistic devices changes within the framework of a given poetic genre;
the change, moreover, affects the hierarchy of poetic genres and, si
multaneously, the distribution of artistic devices among the individual
genres. Genres which were originally secondary paths, subsidiary var
iants, now come to the fore, whereas the canonical genres are pushed
toward the rear. Various Formalist works deal with the individual pe
riods of Russian literary history from this point of vie,, Gukovskij
analyzes the evolution of poetry in the eighteenth century; Tynjanov
44
The Dominant
45
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY.THEORY
oughly corrected their rhythm and style in order to improve them and
adjust them to the extant norm. Turgenev's editing of these poems
became the canonical version, and not until modern times have the
original texts been reinstated, rehabilitated, and recognized as an initial
step toward a new concept of poetic form. The Czech philologist J.
Kril rejected the verse of Erben and Celakovsk)T as erroneous and
shabby from the viewpoint of the Realistic school of poetry, whereas
the modern era praises these verses precisely for those features which
had been condemned in the name of the Realist canon. The works of
the great Russian composer Musorgskij did not correspond to the re
quirements of musical instrumentation current in the late nineteenth
century, and the contemporaneous master of compositional technique,
Rimskij-Korsakov, refashioned them in accordance with the prevalent
taste of his epoch; however, the new generation has promoted the
pathbreaking values saved by Musorgskij's "unsophisticatedness" but
temporarily suppressed Rimskij-Korsakov's corrections and has natu
rally removed those retouchings from such compositions as Boris Go
dunov.
The shifting, the transformation, of the relationship between indi
vidual artistic components became the central issue in Formalist inves
tigations. This aspect of Formalist analysis in the field of poetic lan
guage had a pioneering significance for linguistic research in general,
since it provided important impulses toward overcoming and bridging
the gap between the diachronic historical method and the synchronic
method of chronological cross section. It was the Formalist research
which clearly demonstrated that shifting and change are not only his
torical statements (first there was AJ and then A 1 arose in place of A)
but that shift is also a directly experienced synchronic phenomenon, a
relevant artistic value. The reader of a poem or the viewer of a painting
has a vivid awareness of two orders: the traditional canon and the ar
tistic novelty as a deviation from that canon. It is precisely against the
background of the tradition that innovation is conceived. The Formal
ist studies brought to light that this simultaneous preservation of tra
dition and breaking away from tradition form the essence of every new
work of art.
4-6
CHAPTERS
47
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
48
Language and Literature
49
CHAPTER 6
Language in Operation
Then the bird said "Nevermore."
Edgar Allan Poe
50
Language in Operation
that that one word uttered by the Raven had been caught from some
unhappy master, as the melancholy burden of his customary laments.
Thus the same single word was success"ively set in motion by the
hypothetical "master;' the Raven, the lover, the poet, the actor, the
radio station, the stranger on the train, and finally by the present au
thor. The "master" repeatedly exteriorized the elliptic one-word sen
tence of his inner speech, nevermore,. the bird mimicked its sound se
quence; the lover retained it in his memory and reported the Raven's
part with reference to its probable provenience; the poet wrote and
published the lover's story, actually inventing the lover's, Raven's, and
master's roles; the actor read and recited for a recording the piece as
signed by the poet to the lover with its nevermore attributed by the
lover to the Raven; the radio station selected the record and put it on
the air; the stranger listened, remembered, and quoted this message
with reference to its sources, and the linguist noted his quotation, re
constituting the whole sequence of transmitters and perhaps even mak
ing up the roles of the stranger, the broadcaster, and the actor.
This is a chain of actual and fictitious senders and receivers, most of
whom merely relay and to a large extent intentionally quote one and
the same message, which, at least to a few of them, was familiar be
forehand. Some of the participants in this one-way communication are
widely separated from each other in time and/or space, and these gaps
are bridged through various means of recording and transmission. The
whole sequence offers a typical example of an intricate process of com
munication. It is very different from the trivial pattern of the speech
circuit graphically presented in textbooks: A and B talk face to face so
that an imaginary thread goes from A's brain through his mouth to
the ear and brain of B and through his mouth back to A's ear and
brain.
"The Raven" is a poem written for mass consumption or, to use
Poe's own phrase, a poem created "for the express purpose of run
ning"; and it did indeed have a great "run."2 In this mass-oriented
poetic utterance, as the author well understood, the reported speech of
the avian title-hero is the "pivot upon which the whole structure might
turn" (p. 37). Actually, this message within a message "produced a sen
sation," and readers were reportedly "haunted by the Nevermore." The
key, afterwards revealed by the writer himself, lies in his bold experi
mentation with the procedures of communication and with its under
lying duality: "the great element of unexpectedness" combined with its
51
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
52
Language in Operatum
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
"Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
"Lenore!"6
53
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
dressed as "devil" by Ivan, as bird or devil by Poe's hero; both men are
uncertain whether they are asleep or awake. "No, you are not someone
apart, you are myself;' Ivan insists; "it's I, I myself speaking, not you";
and the intruder agrees: "I am only your hallucination ." The intermit
tent use of the first- and second-person pronouns by both "speakers"
reveals, however, the ambiguity of the theme. In Poe's view, without
such a tension between the "upper" and the "under current" of mean
ing, "there is always a certain hardness or nakedness, which repels the
artistical eye" (pp. 45-46). The two cardinal and complementary traits
of verbal behavior are brought out here: that inner speech is in essence
a dialogue and that any reported speech is appropriated and remolded
by the quoter, whether it is a quotation from an alter or from an earlier
phase of the ego (said I). Poe is right: it is the tension between these
two aspects of verbal behavior which imparts to "The Raven"-and,
let us add, to the climax of The Brothers !(aramazov-so much of its
poetic richness. This antinomy reinforces another, analogous tension
the tension between the poet's ego and the I of the fictitious story
teller: ! betook myself to linking fancy untofancy.
If in a sequence a prior moment depends upon a later one, linguists
speak about a regressive aaion. For instance, when Spanish and English
changed the first 11/ of the word colonel into Irl in anticipation of the
final 11/, this change exhibits a regressive dissimilation. R. G. Kent re
ports a typical slip by a radio announcer, in which "the convention was
in session" became "the confession was in session": the final word had
exerted a regressive assimilative influence upon the proper "conven
tion." 10 Likewise, in "The Raven" the question is dependent on the
reply. Moreover, the imaginary respondent is retrospectively deduced
from its response Nevermore. The utterance is inhuman, both in its
persistent cruelty and in its automatic, repetitive monotony. Hence an
articulate but subhuman creature is suggested as speaker, and in partic
ular a corvine bird, not only because of its gloomy appearance and
"ominous reputation" (p. 40) but also because in most of its phonemes
the noun raven is simply an inversion of the sinister never. Poe signals
this connection by adjoining the two words: Quoth the Raven "Never
more." The juxtaposition becomes particularly telling in the final
stanza:
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting; still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
54
Language in Operation
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted-nevermore!
55
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
Six years ago, a wife, whom I loved as no man ever loved before
[in "The Raven" we read of terrors never felt before], ruptured a
blood-vessel in singing. Her life was despaired of. I took leave of
her forever and underwent all the agonies of her death. She recov
ered partially and I again hoped. At the end of a year the vessel
broke again-I went through precisely the same scene. Again in
Language in Operation
57
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
58
Language in Operation
59
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
60
Language in Operatum
61
CHAPTER 7
62
Linguistics and Poetics
I have been asked for summary remarks about poetics in its relation
to linguistics . Poetics deals primarily with the question, "What makes
a verbal message a work of art?" Because the main subject of poetics is
the differentia specijica of verbal art in relation to other arts and in rela
tion to other kinds of verbal behavior, poetics is entitled to the leading
place in literary studies.
Poetics deals with problems of verbal structure, just as the analysis
of painting is concerned with pictorial structure. Since linguistics is the
global science of verbal structure, poetics may be regarded as an inte
gral part of linguistics .
Arguments against such a claim must be thoroughly discussed. It is
evident that many devices studied by poetics are not confined to verbal
art. We can refer to the possibility of transposing Wuthering Heights
into a motion picture, medieval legends into frescoes and miniatures,
or Lpres-midi dJunJaune into music, ballet, and graphic art. However
ludicrous the idea of the Iliad and Odyssey in comics may seem, certain
structural features of their plot are preserved despite the disappearance
of their verbal shape. The question of whether W B. Yeats was right in
affirming that William Blake was "the one perfectly fit illustrator for
the Inftrno and the Purgatorio" is a proof that different arts are com
parable. The problems of the baroque or any other historical style
transgress the frame of a single art. When handling the surrealistic
metaphor, we could hardly pass by Max Ernst's pictures or Luis
Buftuel's films, The Andalusian Dog and The Golden Age. In short,
many poetic features belong not only to the science of language but to
the whole theory of signs, that is, to general semiotics. This statement,
however, is valid not only for verbal art but also for all varieties of
language, since language shares many properties with certain other
systems of signs or even with all of them (pansemiotic features) .
Likewise, a second objection contains nothing that would be spe
cific for literature : the question of relations between the word and the
world concerns not only verbal art but actually all kinds of discourse.
Linguistics is likely to explore all possible problems of relation be
tween discourse and the "universe of discourse": what of this universe
is verbalized by a given discourse and how it is verbalized. The truth
values, however, as far as they are-to say with the logicians-"extra
linguistic entities;' obviously exceed the bounds of poetics and of lin
guistics in general.
Sometimes we hear that poetics in contradistinction to linguistics, is
concerned with evaluation. This separation of the two fields from each
QUESTIONS O F LITERARY THEORY
CONTEXT
ADDRESSER MESSAGE ADDRESSEE
CONTACT
CODE
Each of these six factors determines a different function of language .
Although we distinguish six basic aspects of language, we could, how
ever, hardly find verbal messages that would fulfill only one function.
The diversity lies not in a monopoly of some one of these several func
tions but in a different hierarchical order of functions. The verbal
structure of a message depends primarily on the predominant func
tion. But even though a set (Einstellung) toward the referent, an ori
entation toward the context-briefly, the so-called REFERENTIAL, "de
notative;' "cognitive" function-is the leading task of numerous
messages, the accessory participation of the other functions in such
messages must be taken into account by the observant linguist.
The so-called EMOTIVE or "expressive" function, focused on the ad
dresser, aims a direct expression of the speaker's attitude toward what
he is speaking about. It tends to produce an impression of a certain
emotion, whether true or feigned; therefore, the term "emotive;'
launched and advocated by Marty,4 has proved to be preferable to
"emotional." The purely emotive stratum in language is presented by
the interjections. They differ from the means of referential language
both by their sound pattern (peculiar sound sequences or even sounds
66
Linguistics and Poetics
elsewhere unusual) and by their syntactic role (they are not compo
nents but equivalents of sentences) . "Tut! Tut! said McGinty" : the
complete utterance of Conan Doyle's character consists of two suction
clicks. The emotive function, laid bare in the interjections, flavors to
some extent all our utterances, on their phonic, grammatical, and lexi
cal level. If we analyze language from the standpoint of the informa
tion it carries, we cannot restrict the notion of information to the cog
nitive aspect of language. A man, using expressive features to indicate
his angry or ironic attitude, conveys ostensible information, and evi
dently this verbal behavior cannot be likened to such nonsemiotic, nu
tritive activities as "eating grapefruit" (despite Chatman's bold simile) .
The difference between [bIg] and the emphatic prolongation of the
vowel [bI: g] is a conventional, coded linguistic feature like the differ
ence between the short and long vowel in such Czech pairs as [vi]
''you'' and [vi : ] "knows;' but in the latter pair the differential infor
mation is phonemic and in the former emotive. As long as we are
interested in phonemic invariants, the English Iii and li :1 appear to be
mere variants of one and the same phoneme, but if we are concerned
with emotive units, the relation between the invariants and variants is
reversed: length and shortness are invariants implemented by variable
phonemes. Saporta's surmise that emotive difference is a nonlinguistic
feature, "attributable to the delivery of the message and not to the
message;' 5 arbitrarily reduces the informational capacity of messages.
A former actor of Stanislavskij's Moscow Theater told me how at
his audition he was asked by the famous director to make forty differ
ent messages from the phrase Segodnja veeerom (This evening) , by di
versifying its expressive tint. He made a list of some forty emotional
situations, then emitted the given phrase in accordance with each of
these situations, which his audience had to recognize only from the
changes in the sound shape of the same two words. For our research
work in the description and analysis of contemporary Standard Rus
sian (under the auspices of the Rockefeller Foundation) this actor was
asked to repeat Stanislavskij's test. He wrote down some fifty situa
tions framing the same elliptic sentence and made of it fifty corre
sponding messages for a tape recording. Most of the messages were
correctly and circumstantially decoded by Moscovite listeners . May I
add that all such emotive cues easily undergo linguistic analysis.
Orientation toward the addressee, the CONATIVE function, finds its
purest grammatical expression in the vocative and imperative, which
QUESTIONS O F LITERARY THEORY
68
Linguistics and Poetics
'Eeyop! Here we are.' 'Well!' she said. 'Well!' he said, 'well.' " The en
deavor to start and sustain communication is typical of talking birds;
thus the phatic function of language is the only one they share with
human beings. It is also the first verbal function acquired by infants;
they are prone to communicate before being able to send or receive
informative communication.
A distinction has been made in modem logic between two levels of
language: "object language" speaking of objects and "metalanguage"
speaking of language. lO But metalanguage is not only a necessary
scientific tool utilized by logicians and linguists; it plays also an impor
tant role in our everyday language. Like Moliere's Jourdain who used
prose without knowing it, we practice metalanguage without realizing
the metalingual character of our operations. Whenever the addresser
and/or the addressee need to check up whether they use the same code,
speech is focused on the code : it performs a METALINGUAL (i.e. , gloss
ing) function. "I don't follow you-what do you mean?" asks the ad
dressee, or in Shakespearean diction, "What is't thou say'st?" And the
adesser in anticipation of such recapturing question inquires : "Do
you know what I mean?" Imagine such an exasperating dialogue: "The
sophomore was plucked." 'But what is plucked?" "Plucked means the
same as flunked." "And flunked?" "To be flunked is tofail an exam." "And
what is sophomore?" persists the interrogator innocent of school vocab
ulary. "A sophomore is (or means) a second-year student." All these equa
tional sentences convey information merely about the lexical code of
English; their function is strictly metalingual. Any process of language
learning, in particular child acquisition of the mother tongue, makes
wide use of such metalingual operations; and aphasia may often be
defined as a loss of ability for metalingual operations.
I have brought up all the six factors involved in verbal communica
tion except the message itself. The set (Einstellung) toward the message
as such, focus on the message for its own sake, is the POETIC function
of language. This function cannot be productively studied out of touch
with the general problems of language, and, on the other hand, the
scrutiny of language requires a thorough consideration of its poetic
function. Any attempt to reduce the sphere of the poetic function to
poetry or to confine poetry to the poetic function would be a delusive
oversimplification. The poetic function is not the sole function of ver
bal art but only its dominant, determining function, whereas in all
other verbal activities it acts as a subsidiary, accessory constituent. This
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
70
Linguistics and Poetics
Now that our cursory description of the six basic functions of verbal
communication is more or less complete, we may complement our
scheme of the fundamental factors with a corresponding scheme of the
functions :
REFERENTIAL
METALINGUAL
71
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEO RY
72
Linguistics and Poetics
language. Poetics in the wider sense of the word deals with the poetic
function not only in poetry, where this function is superimposed upon
the other functions of language, but also outside poetry, when some
other function is superimposed upon the poetic function.
The reiterative "figure of sound;' which Hopkins saw as the consti
tutive principle of verse, can be further specified. Such a figure always
utilizes at least one (or more than one) binary contrast of a relatively
high and relatively low prominence effected by the different sections
of the phonemic sequence.
Within a syllable the more prominent, nuclear, syllabic part, consti
tuting the peak of the syllable, is opposed to the less prominent, mar
ginal, nonsyllabic phonemes. Any syllable contains a syllabic phoneme,
and the interval between two successive syllabics is, in some languages,
always and, in others, overwhelmingly carried out by marginal, non
syllabic phonemes . In so-called syllabic versification the number of
syllabics in a metrically delimited chain (time series) is a constant,
whereas the presence of a nonsyllabic phoneme or cluster between
every two syllabics of a metrical chain is a constant only in languages
with an indispensable occurrence of nonsyllabics between syllabics
and, furthermore, in those verse systems where hiatus is prohibited.
Another manifestation of a tendency toward a uniform syllabic model
is the avoidance of closed syllables at the end of the line, observable,
for instance, in Serbian epic songs. Italian syllabic verse shows a ten
dency to treat a sequence of vowels unseparated by consonantal pho
nemes as one single metrical syllable. 15
In some patterns of versification the syllable is the only constant unit
of verse measure, and a grammatical limit is the only constant line of
demarcation between measured sequences, whereas in other patterns
syllables in turn are dichotomized into more and less prominent, or
two levels of gramm atical limits are distinguished in their metrical
function: word boundaries and syntactic pauses.
Except the varieties of the so-called vers libre that are based on con
jugate intonations and pauses only, any meter uses the syllable as a unit
of measure at least in certain sections of the verse. Thus in purely ac
centual verse ("sprung rhythm" in Hopkins' vocabulary) , the number
of syllables in the upbeat (called "slack" by Hopkinsl6) may vary, but
the downbeat (ictus) constantly contains one single syllable.
In any accentual verse the contrast between higher and lower prom
inence is achieved by syllables under stress versus unstressed syllables.
73
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
74
Linguistics and Poetics
75
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
III
II
\
'-
2 3 4 5 6 7 8
I Ulica za panibrata
S ok6nnicej podslepovatoj,
Linguistics and Poetics
77
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
or, in logical terminology, any single verse instance. Design and instance
are correlative concepts. The verse design determines the invariant fea
tures of the verse instances and sets up the limits of variations. A Ser
bian peasant reciter of epic poetry memorizes, performs, and, to a high
extent, improvises thousands, sometimes tens of thousands of lines,
and their meter is alive in his mind. Unable to abstract its rules, he
nonetheless notices and repudiates even the slightest infringement of
these rules. Any line of Serbian epics contains precisely ten syllables
and is followed by a sy ntactic pause. There is furthermore a compul
sory word boundary before the fifth syllable and a compulsory absence
of word boundary before the fourth and the tenth sy llable. The verse
has, moreover, significant quantitative and accentual characteristics. 28
This Serbian epic break, along with many similar examples pre
sented by comparative metrics, is a persuasive warning against the er
roneous identification of a break with a syntactic pause. The obligatory
word boundary must not be combined with a pause and is not even
meant to be audible to the ear. The analy sis of Serbian epic songs pho
nographically recorded proves that there are no compulsory audible
clues to the break, and y et any attempt to abolish the word boundary
before the fifth sy llable by a mere insignificant change in word order is
immediately condemned by the narrator. The gr ammatical fact that the
Linguistics and Poetics
fourth and fifth syllables pertain to two different word units is suffi
cient for the appraisal of the break. Thus verse design goes far beyond
the questions of sheer song shape; it is a much wider linguistic phe
nomenon, and it yields to no isolating phonetic treatment.
I say "linguistic phenomenon" even though Chatman states that
"the meter exists as a system outside the language."29 Yes, meter ap
pears also in other arts dealing with ti me sequence. There are many
linguistic problems-for instance, syntax-which likewise overstep the
limit of language and are common to different semiotic systems. We
may speak even about the gram mar of traffic signals. There exists a
signal code, where a yellow light when combined with green warns
that free passage is close to being stopped and when combined with
red announces the approaching cessation of the stoppage; such a yel
low signal offers a close analogue to the verbal completive aspect. Po
etic meter, however, has so many intrinsically li nguistic particularities
that it is most convenient to describe it from a purely linguistic point
of view.
Let us add that no li nguistic property of the verse design should be
disregarded. Thus, for example, it would be an unfortunate mistake to
deny the constitutive value of intonation in English meters. Not to
mention its fundamental role in the meters of such a master of English
free verse as Whitman, it is hardly possible to ignore the metrical sig
nificance of pausal intonation ("final juncture"), whether "cadence" or
"anticadence"3o in poems like "The Rape of the Lock" with its inten
tional avoidance of enjambments. Yet even a vehement accumulation
of enjambments never hides their digressive, variational status; they
always set off the normal coincidence of syntactic pause and pausal
i ntonation with the metrical limit. Whatever is the reciter's way of
reading, the intonational constraint of the poem remains valid. The
intonational contour specifi c to a poem, to a poet, to a poetic school is
one of the most notable topics brought to discussion by the Russian
Formalists. 3 1
The verse design is embodied in verse instances. Usually the free
variation of these i nstances is denoted by the somewhat equivocal label
"rhythm." A variation of verse instances within a given poem must be
strictly distinguished from the variable delivery instances. The intention
"to describe the verse line as it is actually performed" is of lesser use
for the synchronic and historical analysis of poetry than it is for the
study of its recitation in the present and the past. Meanwhile the truth
79
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
is simple and clear: "There are many performances of the same poem
differing among themselves in many ways. A performance is an event,
but the poem itself, if there is any poem, must be some kind of endur
ing object." 32 This sage memento of Wimsatt and Beardsley belongs
indeed to the essentials of modern metrics.
In Shakespeare's verses the second, stressed syllable of the word "ab
surd" usually falls on the downbeat, but once in the third act ofHamlet
it falls on the upbeat: "No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp."
The reciter may scan the word "absurd" in this line with an initial stress
on the first syllable or observe the final word stress in accordance with
the standard accentuation. He may also subordinate the word stress of
the adjective in favor of the strong syntactic stress of the following
head word, as suggested by Hill : ''No, let the candied tongue lick ab
sUrd pomp," 33 as in Hopkins' conception of English antispasts-"re
gret never." 34 There is, finally, the possibility of emphatic modifications
either through a "fluctuating accentuation" (schwebende Betonung) em
bracing both syllables or through an exclamatory reinforcement of the
first syllable [ab-surd] . But whatever solution the reciter chooses, the
shift of the word stress from the downbeat to the upbeat with no an
tecedent pause is still arresting, and the moment of frustrated expecta
tion stays viable. Wherever the reciter puts the accent, the discrepancy
between the English word stress on the second syllable of "absurd"
and the downbeat attached to the first syllable persists as a constitutive
feature of the verse instance. The tension between the ictus and the
usual word stress is inherent in this line independently of its different
implementations by various actors and readers. As Hopkins observes,
in the preface to his poems, "two rhythms are in some manner running
at once." 35 His description of such a contrapuntal run can be reinter
preted. The superinducing of the equivalence principle upon the word
sequence or, in other terms, the mounting of the metrical form upon
the usual speech form necessarily gives the experience of a double, am
biguous shape to anyone who is familiar with the given language and
with verse. Both the convergences and the divergences between the
two forms, both the warranted and the frustrated expectations, supply
this experience.
How the given verse instance is implemented in the given delivery
instance depends on the delivery design of the reciter; he may cling to a
scanning style or tend toward proselike prosody or freely oscillate be
tween these two poles. We must be on guard against simplistic binar-
80
Linguistics and Poetics
ism which reduces two couples into one single opposition either by
suppressing the cardinal cli,stinction between verse design and verse
instance (as well as between delivery design and delivery instance) or
by an erroneous identification of delivery instance and delivery design
with the verse instance and verse design.
"But tell me, child, your choice; what shall I buy
You?"-"Father, what you buy me I like best."
81
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
82
Linguistics and Poetics
The translation is literal; the verbs, however, take the final position in
both Russian clauses (Dobroj malodec k senickam privoracivalJ / Vasilij k
teremu prixazival). The lines wholly correspond to each other syntac
tically and morphologically. Both predicative verbs have the same pre
fixes and suffixes and the same vocalic altemant in the stem; they are
alike in aspect, tense, number, and gender; and, moreover, they are
synonymous. Both subjects, the common noun and the proper name,
refer to the same person and form an appositional group. The two
modifiers of place are expressed by identical prepositional construc
tions, and the first one stands in a synechdochic relation to the second.
These verses may occur preceded by another line of similar gram
matical (syntactic and morphologic) makeup: ''Not a bright falcon was
flying beyond the hills" or ''Not a fierce horse was coming at gallop to
the court." The "bright falcon" and the "fierce horse" of these variants
are put in metaphorical relation with the "brave fellow." This a tradi
tional Slavic negative parallelism-the refutation of the metaphorical
state (vehicle) in favor of the factual state (tenor) . The negation ne
may, however, be omitted: Jasjon sokol za gory zalj'otyval
(A bright falcon
was flying beyond the hills) or Retiv kon ko dvoru priskakival (A fierce
I
horse was coming at a gallop to the court) . In the first of the two
examples the metaphorical relation is maintained: a brave fellow ap
peared at the porch like a bright falcon from behind the hills . In the
other instance, however, the semantic connection becomes ambiguous .
A comparison between the appearing bridegroom and the galloping
horse suggests itself, but at the same time the halt of the horse at the
court actually anticipates the approach of the hero to the house. Thus,
before introducing the rider and the manor of his fiancee, the song
evokes the contiguous, metonymical images of the horse and of the
courtyard: possession instead of possessor, and outdoors instead of
inside. The exposition of the groom may be broken up into two con
secutive moments even without substituting the horse for the horse
man: "A brave fellow was coming at a gallop to the court, / Vasilij was
walking to the porch." Thus the "fierce horse;' emerging in the preced
ing line at a similar metrical and syntactic place as the "brave fellow,"
figures simultaneously as a likeness to and as a representative posses
sion of this fellow, properly speaking-pan pro toto for the horseman.
The horse image is on the border line between metonymy and synec
doche. From these suggestive connotations of the "fierce horse" there
ensues a metaphorical synecdoche : in the wedding songs and other
Linguistics and Poetics
85
QUESTIONS OF LITE RARY THEORY
The perch of the raven, "the pallid bust of Pallas;' is merged through
the "sonorous" paronomasia Ip:EhxiJ-/p:EIsl into one organic whole
(similar to Shelley's molded line "Sculptured on alabaster obelisk"
Isk.lp/-/l.b.st/-/b .l.sk/) . Both confronted words were blended earlier
in another epithet of the same bust-placid Ipl:ESId/-a poetic port
manteau, and the bond between the sitter and the seat was in turn
fastened by a paronomasia : "bird or beast upon the . . . bust." The bird
"is sitting I On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;'
and the raven on his perch, despite the lover's imperative "take thy
form from off my door;' is nailed into place by the words 13Ast bAv/,
both of them blended in IbAst!.
The never-ending stay of the grim guest is expressed by a chain of
ingenious paronomasias, partly inversive, as we would expect from
such a deliberate experimenter in anticipatory, regressive modus oper
andi, such a master in ''writing backwards" as Edgar Allan Poe. In the
introductory line of this concluding stanza, "raven;' contiguous to the
86
Linguistics and Poetics
drimIlJ/-/:)rIm strimIlJ/. "That shadow that lies Iliyz/" pairs with the
raven's "eyes" liyzl in an impressively misplaced echo rhyme.
In poetry, any conspicuous similarity in sound is evaluated in respect
to similarity and/or dissimilarity in meaning. But Pope's alliterative
precept to poets-"the sound must seem an echo of the sense" -has a
wider application. In referential language the connection between sig
nans and signatum is overwhelmingly based on their codified contigu
ity, which is often confusingly labeled "arbitrariness of the verbal sign."
The relevance of the sound-meaning nexus is a simple corollary of the
superposition of similarity upon contiguity. Sound symbolism is an
undeniably objective relation founded on a phenomenal connection
between different sensory modes, in particular between the visual and
the auditory experience. If the results of research in this area have
sometimes been vague or controversial, it is primarily due to an insuf
ficient care for the methods of psychological and linguistic inquiry.
Particularly from the linguistic point of view the picture has often been
distorted by lack of attention to the phonological aspect of speech
sounds or by inevitably vain operations with complex phonemic units
instead of with their ultimate cornponents. But when on testing, for
example, such phonemic oppositions as grave versus acute we ask
whether Iii or lui is darker, some of the subjects may respond that this
question makes no sense to them, but hardly one will state that Iii is
the darker of the two.
Poetry is not the only area where sound symbolism makes itself felt,
but it is a province where the internal nexus between sound and mean
ing changes from latent into patent and manifests itself most palpably
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
88
Linguistics and Poetics
the study of poetic tropes has been directed mainly toward metaphor
and that so-called realistic literature, intimately tied to the metonymic
principle, still defies interpretation, although the same linguistic meth
odology that poetics uses when analyzing the metaphorical style of
romantic poetry is entirely applicable to the metonymical texture of
realistic prose.62
Textbooks believe in the occurrence of poems devoid of imagery,
but actually a scarcity of lexical tropes is counterbalanced by gorgeous
grammatical tropes and figures. The poetic resources concealed in the
morphological and syntactic structure of language-briefly, the poetry
of grammar and its literary product, the grammar of poetry-have
been seldom known to critics and mostly disregarded by linguists but
skillfuly
l mastered by creative writers.
The main dramatic force of Antony's exordium to the funeral ora
tion for Caesar is achieved by Shakespeare's playing on grammatical
categories and constructions. Mark Antony lampoons Brutus' speech
by changing the alleged reasons for Caesar's assassination into plain
linguistic fictions. Brutus' accusation of Caesar, "as he was ambitious,
I slew him;' undergoes successive transformations . First Antony re
duces it to a mere quotation which puts the responsibility for the state
ment on the speaker quoted: "The noble Brutus / Hath told you."
When repeated, this reference to Brutus is put into opposition to An
tony's own assertions by an adversative "but" and further degraded by
a concessive ''yet.'' The reference to the alleger's honor ceases to justify
the allegation when repeated with a substitution of the merely copu
lative "and" instead of the previous causal "for;' and when finally put
into question through the malicious insertion of a modal "sure" :
90
Linguistics and Poetics
The last two lines of Antony's exordium display the ostensible inde
pendence of these grammatical metonymies . The sterotyped "I mourn
for so-and-so" and the figurative but still stereotyped "so-and-so is in
the coffin and my heart is with him" or "goes out to him" give place in
Antony's speech to a daringly realized metonymy; the trope becomes
a part of poetic reality:
91
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THEORY
In poetry the internal form of a name, that is, the semantic load of
its constituents, regains its pertinence. "Cocktails" may resume their
obliterated kinship with plumage. Their colors are vivified in Mac
H ammond's lines, "The ghost of a Bronx pink lady / With orange
blossoms afloat in her hair;' and the etymological metaphor attains its
realization: "0, Bloody Mary, / The cocktails have crowed not the
cocks ! " (''At an Old Fashion Bar in Manhattan") . In T. S. Eliot's
comedy The Cocktail Party, the evocation of cocktails is interwoven
with sinister wological motifs. The play begins with Alex's exclama
tion:
Julia recollects the only man she ever met "who could hear the cry of
bats." A moment later she announces: "Now I want to relax. Are there
any more cocktails ?" And in the last act of the play Julia once more
asks Alex, "You were shooting tigers ?" And Alex answers :
92
Lin guistics and Poetics
The adjective "New" of the city name is laid bare through the concat
enation of opposites:
93
QUESTI ONS OF LITERARY THEORY
94
CHAPTER 8
95
QUEST I O NS OF LITE RARY THE O RY
stance, one book, dealing to a great extent with the complex and intri
cate problems of infantile aphasia, calls for a coordination of various
disciplines and appeals for cooperation to otolaryngologists, pediatri
cians, audiologists, psychiatrists, and educators; but the science of lan
guage is passed over in silence, as if disorders in speech perception had
nothing whatever to do with language. 5
Linguists are also responsible for the delay in undertaking a joint
inquiry into aphasia. Nothing comparable to the minute linguistic ob
servations of infants of various countries has been performed with re
spect to aphasics. Nor has there been any attempt to reinterpret and
systematize from the point of view of linguistics the multifarious clin
ical data on diverse types of aphasia. That this should be true is all the
more surprising in view of the fact that, on the one hand, the amazing
progress of structural linguistics has endowed the investigator with
efficient tools and methods for the study of verbal regression and, on
the other, the aphasic disintegration of the verbal pattern may provide
the linguist with new insights into the general laws of language.
The application of purely linguistic criteria to the interpretation and
classification of aphasic facts can substantially contribute to the science
of language and language disturbances, provided that linguists remain
as careful and cautious when dealing with psychological and neurolog
ical data as they have been in their traditional field. First of all, they
should be familiar with the technical terms and devices of the medical
disciplines dealing with aphasia; then, they must submit the clinical
case reports to thorough linguistic analysis; and, further, they should
themselves work with aphasic patients in order to approach the cases
directly and not only through a reinterpretation of prepared records
which have been quite differently conceived and elaborated.
There is one level of aphasic phenomena where amazing agreement
has been achieved between those psychiatrists and linguists who have
tackled these problems, namely the disintegration of the sound pat
tern.6 This dissolution exhibits a time order of great regularity. Aphasic
regression has proved to be a mirror of the child's acquisition of speech
sounds: it shows the child's development in reverse. Furthermore,
comparison of child language and aphasia enables us to establish sev
eral laws of implication. The search for this order of acquisitions and
losses and for the general laws of implication cannot be confined to
the phonemic pattern but must be extended also to the gr ammatical
system. 7
Two Aspects ofLanguage
97
QUEST I O NS OF LITE RARY THEO RY
units and/or finds its own context in a more complex linguistic unit.
Hence any actual grouping of linguistic units binds them into a supe
rior unit: combination and contexture are two faces of the same oper
ation.
( 2 ) Selection. A selection between alternatives implies the possibility
of substituting one for the other, equivalent in one respect and differ
ent in another. Actually, selection and substitution are two faces of the
same operation.
The fundamental role which these two operations play in language
was clearly realized by Ferdinand de Saussure. Yet of the two varieties
of combination-concurrence and concatenation-it was only the lat
ter, the temporal sequence, which was recognized by the Geneva lin
guist. Despite his own insight into the phoneme as a set of concurrent
distinctive features (elements differentiels des phonemes) , the scholar suc
cumbed to the traditional belief in the linear character of language
"which excludes the possibility of pronouncing two elements at the
same time. " 10
In order to delimit the two modes of arrangement we have de
scribed as combination and selection, de Saussure states that the for
mer "is in presentia: it is based on two or several terms jointly present
in an actual series;' whereas the latter "connects terms in absentia as
members of a virtual mnemonic series. " That is to say, selection (and,
correspondingly, substitution) deals with entities conjoined in the code
but not in the given message, whereas, in the case of combination, the
entities are conjoined in both or only in the actual message. The ad
dressee perceives that the given utterance (message) is a combination of
constituent parts (sentences, words, phonemes) selected from the re
pository of all possible constituent parts (the code). The constituents
of a context are in a state of contiguity) while in a substitution set signs
are linked by various degrees of similarity which fluctuate between the
equivalence of synonyms and the common core of antonyms.
These two operations provide each linguistic sign with two sets of
interpretants) to utilize the effective concept introduced by Charles
Sanders Peirce. II There are two references which serve to interpret the
sign-one to the code and the other to the context; whether coded or
free, and in each of these ways the sign is related to another set of
linguistic signs, through an alternation in the former case and through
an alignment in the latter. A given significative unit may be replaced by
other, more explicit signs of the same code, whereby its general mean-
99
QUEST I O NS OF LITERARY THE O RY
100
TwoAspects ofLanguage
IOI
QUESTIONS OF LITERARY THE O RY
102
TwoAspects ofLanguage
about its use: "To write." If one of the synonymic signs is present (for
instance, the word bachelor or the pointing to the pencil) then the other
sign (such as the phrase unmarried man or the word pencil) becomes
redundant and consequently superfluous. For the aphasic, both signs
are in complementary distribution: if one is performed by the exam
iner, the patient will avoid its synonym: "I understand everything" or
"Ich weiss es schon " will be his typical reaction. Likewise, the picture
of an object will cause suppression of its name: a verbal sign is sup
planted by a pictorial sign. When the picture of a compass was pre
sented to a patient of Lotmar's, he responded: "Yes, it's a ... I know
what it belongs to, but I cannot recall the technical expression ...Yes
... direction ... to show direction ... a magnet points to the
north."15 Such patients fail to shift, as Peirce would say, from an index
or icon to a corresponding verbal symbol.16
Even simple repetition of a word uttered by the examiner seems to
the patient unnecessarily redundant, and despite instructions received
he is unable to repeat it.Told to repeat the word "no:' Head's patient
replied ''No, I don't know how to do it." While spontaneously using
the word in the context of his answer ("No, I don't ..."), he could not
produce the purest form of equational predication, the tautology
a = a: Inol is Inol.
One of the important contributions of symbolic logic to the science
of language is its emphasis on the distinction between object language
and metalanguage. As Carnap states, "in order to speak about any object
language) we need a metalanguage."17 On these two different levels of
language the same linguistic stock may be used; thus we may speak in
English (as metalanguage) about English (as object language) and in
terpret English words and sentences by means of English synonyms,
circumlocutions, and paraphrases. Obviously such operations, labeled
metalinguistic by the logicians, are not their invention: far from being
confined to the sphere of science, they prove to be an integral part of
our customary linguistic activities.The participants in a dialogue often
check whether they are using the same code. "Do you follow me?Do
you see what I mean?" the speaker asks, or the listener himself breaks
in with "What do you mean?" Then, by replacing the questionable
sign with another sign from the same linguistic code or with a whole
group of code signs, the sender of the message seeks to make it more
accessible to the decoder.
The interpretation of one linguistic sign through other, in some re-
103
QUESTI ONS OF LITE RARY THEO RY
104
Two Aspe cts ofLangu age
105
QUEST I O NS OF LITERARY THEORY
106
TwoAspects ofLanguage
107
QUEST I O NS OF LITE RARY THE O RY
but were unable to grasp or say than ks and giving or b atter and sea)
have often been cited As long as the sense of derivation is still alive,
so that this process is still used for creating innovations in the code,
one can observe a tendency toward oversimplification and automatism:
if the derivative word constitutes a semantic unit which cannot be en
tirely inferred from the meaning of its components, the Gestalt is mis
understood. Thus the Russian word mokr-ica signifies ''wood-louse;'
but a Russian aphasic interpreted it as "something humid;' especially
"humid weather;' since the root mokr- means "humid" and the suffix
-ica designates a carrier of the given property, as in nelepica (something
absurd), svetlica (light room), temnica (dungeon, literally dark room).
When, before World War II, phonemics was the most controversial
area in the science of language, doubts were expressed by some lin
guists as to whether phonemes really play an autonomous part in our
verbal behavior. It was even suggested that the meaningful (significa
tive) units of the linguistic code, such as morphemes or rather words,
are the minimal entities with which we actually deal in a speech event,
whereas the merely distinctive units, such as phonemes, are an artificial
construct to facilitate the scientific description and analysis of a lan
guage. This view, which was stigmatized by Sapir as "the reverse of
realistic;' 24 remains, however, perfectly valid with respect to a certain
pathological type: in one variety of aphasia, which sometimes has been
labeled "atactic;' the word is the sole linguistic unity preserved. The
patient has only an integral, indissolvable image of any familiar word,
and all other sound-sequences are either alien and inscrutable to him,
or he merges them into familiar words by disregarding their phonetic
deviations.One of Goldstein's patients "perceived some words, but ...
the vowels and consonants of which they consisted were not per
ceived" (p. 218). A French aphasic recognized, understood, repeated,
and spontaneously produced the word cafe (coffee) or p ave (roadway)
but was unable to grasp, discern, or repeat such nonsensical sequences
as fica) fake) k ifa) p afi. None of these difficulties exists for a normal
French-speaking listener as long as the sound sequences and their com
ponents fit the French phonemic pattern. Such a listener may even
apprehend these sequences as words unknown to him but plausibly
belonging to the French vocabulary and presumably different in mean
ing, since they differ from each other either in the order of their pho
nemes or in the phonemes themselves.
If an aphasic becomes unable to resolve the word into its phonemic
lO8
Two Aspects ofL angu age
109
QUEST I O NS OF LITERARY THEORY
semantic lines: one topic may lead to another either through their sim
ilarity or through their contiguity. The metaphoric way would be the
most appropriate term for the first case and the metonymic way for the
second, since they find their most condensed expression in metaphor
and metonymy respectively. In aphasia one or the other of these two
processes is restricted or totally blocked-an effect which makes the
study of aphasia particularly illuminating for the linguist. In normal
verbal behavior both processes are continually operative, but careful
observation will reveal that under the influence of a cultural pattern,
personality, and verbal style, preference is given to one of the two pro
cesses over the other.
In a well-known psychological test, children are confronted with
some noun and told to utter the first verbal response that comes into
their heads. In this experiment two opposite linguistic predilections
are invariably exhibited: the response is intended either as a substitute
for or as a complement to the stimulus. In the latter case the stimulus
and the response together form a proper syntactic construction, most
usually a sentence. These two types of reaction have been labeled sub
stitutive and predicative.
To the stimulus hut one response was burnt out; another, is a poor
little house. Both reactions are predicative; but the first creates a purely
narrative context, while in the second there is a double connection
with the subject hut: on the one hand, a positional (namely, syntactic)
contiguity and, on the other, a semantic similarity.
The same stimulus produced the following substitutive reactions:
the tautology hut; the synonyms cabin and hovel; the antonym palace;
and the metaphors den and burrow. The capacity of two words to re
place one another is an instance of positional similarity, and, in addi
tion, all these responses are linked to the stimulus by semantic similar
ity (or contrast) . Metonymical responses to the same stimulus, such as
th atch) litte1; or poverty) combine and contrast the positional similarity
with semantic contiguity.
In manipulating these two kinds of connection (similarity and con
tiguity) in both their aspects (positional and semantic)-selecting,
combining, and ranking them-an individual exhibits his personal
style, his verbal predilections and preferences.
In verbal art the interaction of these two elements is especially pro
nounced. Rich material for the study of this relationship is to be found
in verse patterns which require a compulsory p arallelism between ad-
no
TwoAspeas ofLanguage
jacent lines, for example in biblical poetry or in the Finnic and, to some
extent, the Russian oral traditions. This provides an objective criterion
of what in the given speech community acts as a correspondence. Since
on any verbal level-morphemic, lexical, syntactic, and phraseologi
cal-either of these two relations (similarity and contiguity) can ap
pear-and each in either of two aspects, an impressive range of pos
sible configurations is created. Either of the two gravitational poles
may prevail. In Russian lyrical songs, for example, metaphoric con
structions predominate, while in the heroic epics the metonymic way
is preponderant.
In poetry there are various motives which determine the choice be
tween these alternants. The primacy of the metaphoric process in the
literary schools of Romanticism and Symbolism has been repeatedly
acknowledged, but it is still insufficiently realized that it is the predom
inance of metonymy which underlies and actually predetermines the
so-called Realist trend, which belongs to an intermediary stage be
tween the decline of Romanticism and the rise of Symbolism and is
opposed to both. Following the path of contiguous relationships, the
Realist author metonymic ally digresses from the plot to the atmo
sphere and from the characters to the setting in space and time. He is
fond of synecdochic details. In the scene of Anna Karenma's suicide
Tolstoj's artistic attention is focused on the heroine's handbag; and in
War an a Pe ace the synecdoches (Chair on the upper lip" and (Cbare shoul
ders" are used by the same writer to stand for the female characters to
whom these features belong.
The alternative predominance of one or the other of these two pro
cesses is by no means confined to verbal art. The same oscillation oc
curs in sign systems other than language.25 A salient example from the
history of painting is the manifestly metonymical orientation of Cub
ism, where the object is transformed into a set of synecdoches; the
Surrealist painters responded with a patently metaphorical attitude.
Ever since the productions of D. W Griffith, the art of the cinema,
with its highly developed capacity for changing the angle, perspective,
and focus of shots, has broken with the tradition of the theater and
ranged an unprecedented variety of synecdochic close-ups and meto
nymic set-ups in general. In such motion pictures as those of Charlie
Chaplin and Eisenstein,26 these devices in turn were overlayed by a
novel, metaphoric montage with its lap dissolves-the filmic similes. 27
The bipolar structure of language (or other semiotic systems) and,
III
QUEST I O NS OF LITE RARY THEORY
112
TwoAs pe cts ofLan guage
personality is the patient's inability to use two symbols for the same
thing, and it is thus a similarity disorder. Since the similarity disorder
is bound up with the metonymical bent, an examination of the literary
manner Uspenskij had employed as a young writer takes on particular
interest. And the study of Anatolij Kamegulov, who analyzed Uspen
skij's style, bears out our theoretical expectations. He shows that Us
penskij had a particular penchant for metonymy, and especially for syn
ecdoche, and that he carried it so far that "the reader is crushed by the
multiplicity of detail unloaded on him in a limited verbal space, and
is physically unable to grasp the whole, so that the portrait is often
lost."29
To be sure, the metonymical style in Uspenskij is obviously
prompted by the prevailing literary canon of his time, late nineteenth
century "realism"; but the personal stamp of Gleb Ivanovic made his
pen particularly suitable for this artistic trend in its extreme manifes
tations and finally left its mark upon the verbal aspect of his mental
illness.
A competition between both devices, metonymic and metaphoric, is
manifest in any symbolic process, be it intrapersonal or social. Thus in
an inquiry into the structure of dreams, the decisive question is
whether the symbols and the temporal sequences used are based on
contiguity (Freud's metonymic "displacement" and synecdochic "con
densation") or on similarity (Freud's "identification and symbolism") .
The principles underlying magic rites have been resolved by Frazer
into two types : charms based on the law of similarity and those
founded on association by contiguity. The first of these two great
branches of sympathetic magic has been called "homoeopathic" or
"imitative;' and the second, "contagious" magic.30 This bipartition is
indeed illuminating. Nonetheless, for the most part, the question of
the two poles is still neglected, despite its wide scope and importance
for the study of any symbolic behavior, especially verbal, and of its
impairments. What is the main reason for this neglect?
Similarity in meaning connects the symbols of a metalanguage with
the symbols of the language referred to. Similarity connects a meta
phorical term with the term for which it is substinited. Consequently,
when constructing a metalanguage to interpret tropes, the researcher
possesses more homogeneous means to handle metaphor, whereas me
tonymy, based on a different principle, easily defies interpretation.
Therefore nothing comparable to the rich literature on metaphor31 can
113
QUEST I O NS OF LITERARY THEORY
be cited for the theory of metonymy. For the same reason, it is gener
ally realized that Romanticism is closely linked with metaphor,
whereas the equally intimate ties of Realism with metonymy usually
remain unnoticed. Not only the tool of the observer but also the object
of observation are responsible for the preponderance of metaphor over
metonymy in scholarship. Since poetry is focused upon the sign, and
pragmatical prose primarily upon the referent, tropes and figures were
studied mainly as poetic devices. The principle of similarity underlies
poetry; the metrical parallelism of lines or the phonic equivalence of
rhyming words prompts the question of semantic similarity and con
trast; there exist, for instance, grammatical and antigramm atical but
never agr ammatical rhymes. Prose, on the contrary, is forwarded essen
tially by contiguity. Thus for poetry, metaphor-and for prose, meton
ymy-is the line of least resistance and consequently the study of po
etical tropes is directed chiefly toward metaphor. The actual bipolarity
has been artificially replaced in these studies by an amputated, unipolar
scheme which, strikingly enough, coincides with one of the two
aphasic patterns, namely with the contiguity disorder.
II4
PART I I
Grammar
in Poetry
T he nature of poetry in Jakobson's view lies in the repetition of
equivalent units: "on every level of language the essence of poetic ar
tifice consists in recurrent returns." Although this is obvious in the case
of meter or rhyme, it is less so when one turns from repeated "figures
of sound" to repeated "figures of grammar." In the 1960s and '70S Ja
kobson concentrated his study of verse on what he termed the poetry
of gr ammar and the gr ammar of poetry. His investigation into this new
domain resulted in rigorous linguistic analyses of some forty poems
written in over a dozen different languages (see Selected Writings III).
The broader perspectives and tasks to be confronted in this type of
analysis were announced in Jakobson's programmatic essay "Poetry of
Gr ammar and Gr ammar of Poetry" (1960). As the study of rhetoric
vividly illustrates, identical referential concepts can be conveyed in lan
guage by a wide variety of expressive devices that radically affect a
statement's nuances of meaning. In poetry, the most formalized use of
language, the suggestive possibilities of gr ammar are exploited fully,
and linguistic means become a vital component of poetic mythology.
This is particularly evident from Jakobson's analysis of such "image-
II7
G RAMMAR IN P O ETRY
less" poems as Puskin's "I Loved You;' where in the absence of the
traditional tropes and figures it is the play of gr ammatical concepts that
creates the poetic effect. More usual, however, is the interplay of im
agery and gr ammar, as demonstrated by Jakobson's analysis of Pus kin's
album verses, "What is there for you in my name?"
In his essay "Grammatical Parallelism and Its Russian Facet" (1966)
Jakobson presents in detail the history of scholarly investigations into
the marked types of canonic parallelism found in biblical verse, the
Vedas, and Chinese poetry. Parallelistic construction is almost universal
in the folk poetry of the world and is far from being a merely formal
feature of such verse. Jakobson subjects a Russian folksong to minute
analysis, arriving at the conclusion that "any word or clause when en
tering into a poem built on pervasive parallelism is, under the con
straint of this system, immediately incorporated into the tenacious ar
ray of cohesive gr ammatical forms and semantic values."
Grammar is never treated in isolation in Jakobson's structuralist
analyses of poetry: instead it is shown to be one of numerous elements,
including meter, rhyme, sound figures, lexicon, and imagery, that enter
into mutual relations across the span of the text to give it its unique
meaning. The complex interplay of elements that constitutes a poem is
exemplified by two of Jakobson's best-known analyses of the sonnet
form: "Baudelaire's 'Les Chats' " (1961) , written in collaboration with
Claude Levi-Strauss, and "Shakespeare's Verbal Art in 'Th'Expence of
Spirit' " (1968) , coauthored by L. G. Jones. In "Yeats' 'Sorrow of Love'
through the Years" (1977) , written jointly with Stephen Rudy, the in
sights that structural analysis provides in approaching individual texts
are extended to the historical dimension: the variables and invariants
of Yeats' poetic system are deduced from an analysis of two versions of
the same poem written some thirty years apart.
The question of whether the structures a linguist establishes
through painstaking analysis are conscious poetic devices was one that
Jakobson's critics and readers often raised. In "Subliminal Verbal Pat
terning in Poetry" (1970) he replies that poetic devices are always pur
posive, even if they remain totally unconscious on the poet's part. As
the example of Velimir Xlebnikov's "The Grasshopper" demonstrates,
poets themselves may later be astounded by the complex structuration
of even their most spontaneous creations. In "Supraconscious Turge
nev" (1979) Jakobson analyzes a seven-word formula that the Russian
writer uttered out of exasperation when confronted by the alien and
lIS
Poetry of Grammar and Grammar ofPoetry
II9
CHAPTER 9
1. Grammatical Parallelism
During the late 1930S, while editing Puskin's works in Czech
translation, I was struck by the way in which poems that seemed to
approximate closely the Russian text, its images and sound structure,
often produced the distressing impression of a complete rift with the
original because of the inability or impossibility of reproducing their
grammatical structure. Gradually, it became clear: in Pus kin's poetry
the guiding significance of the morphological and syntactic fabric is
interwoven with and rivals the artistic role of verbal tropes. Indeed, at
times it takes over and becomes the primary, even exclusive, vehicle of
the poems' innermost symbolism. Accordingly, in the afterword to the
Czech volume of Puskin's lyric poetry, I noted that "in Puskin a strik
ing actualization of grammatical oppositions, especially in verbal and
pronominal forms, is connected with a keen regard for meaning. Often
contrasts, affinities, and contiguities of tense and number, of verbal
aspect and voice, acquire a directly leading role in the composition of
particular poems. Emphasized by an opposition of grammatical cate-
121
G RAMMAR IN P O ETRY
gory, they function like poetic images, and, for instance, a masterful
alternation of grammatical categories of person becomes a means of
intense dramatization. There can hardly be an example of a more skill
ful poetic exploitation of morphological possibilities." 1
In particular, the experience gained during a seminar on Puskin's
The Bronze Horseman and its translation into other Slavic languages
allowed me to characterize an example of a consistent opposition of
the imperfective and perfective aspects. In the "Petersburg Tale" it
serves as a gr ammatically expressive projection of the tragic conflict
between the limitless and seemingly eternal power of Peter the Great,
"ruler of half the world;' and the fatal limitedness of all the actions
performed by the characterless clerk Eugene, who dared with his in
cantatory formula Uio tebt! (Just you wait! ) to proclaim the limit of
the miracle-working tsar and builder.2 Both these experiences con
vinced me that the question of the interrelations between grammar and
poetry demanded a systematic and detailed clarification.
According to Edward Sapir, the juxtaposition of such sequences as
the farmer kills the duckling and the m an takes the chick makes us "feel
instinctively, without the slightest attempt at conscious analysis, that
the two sentences fit precisely the same pattern, that they are really the
same fundamental sentence, differing only in their material trappings.
In other words, they express identical relational concepts in an identi
cal manner." Conversely, we may modify the sentence or its single
words "in some purely relational, nonmaterial regard" without altering
any of the material concepts expressed.3 When assigning to certain
terms of the sentence a different position in its syntactic pattern and
replacing, for instance, the word order ' kills B" by the inverse se
quence "B kills A)" we do not vary the material concepts involved but
uniquely their mutual relationship. Likewise a substitution of farmers
for farmer or killed for kills alters only the relational concepts of the
sentence, while there are no changes in the "concrete wherewithal of
speech"; its "material trappings" remain invariable.
Despite some borderline, transitional formations, there is in lan
guage a definite, clear-cut discrimination between these two classes of
expressed concepts-material and relational-or, in more technical
terms, between the lexical and gr ammatical aspects of language. The
linguist must faithfully follow this objective structural dichotomy and
thoroughly translate the gr ammatical concepts actually present in a
given language into his technical metalanguage, without any imposi-
122
Poetry of Grammar and Grammar ofPoetry
123
G RAMMAR IN P OETRY
124
Poetry of Gramm ar and Grammar ofPoetry
Parallelistic systems of verbal art give us a direct insight into the speak
ers' own conception of the gramm atical equivalences. The analysis of
various kinds of poetic license in the domain of parallelism, like the
examination of rhyming conventions, may provide us with important
clues for interpreting the makeup of a given language and the hierar
chical order of its constituents (e.g., the current equation between the
Finnish allative and illative or between the preterit and present against
the background of unpairable cases or verbal categories, according to
Steinitz's observations in his path-breaking inquiry into parallelism in
Karelian folklore) . 18 The interaction between syntactic, morphologic
and lexical equivalences and discrepancies, the diverse kinds of seman
tic contiguities, similarities, synonymies and antonymies, finally the
different types of functions of allegedly "isolated lines;' all such phe-
125
G RAMMAR I N P OETRY
126
Poetry of Grammar and Grammar ofPoetry
127
G RAMMAR IN P O ETRY
often condemn any deviation from the syllabic patterns of the epic
songs fronl the regular location of the break but do not know how to
define such a slip.
Often contrasts in the gr amnlatical makeup support the metrical di
vision of a poem into strophes and smaller sections, as for instance, in
the double trichotomy of the Hussite battle song of the early fifteenth
century, 26 or, even, they underlie and build such a stratified composi
tion, as we observe in Marvell's poem "To His Coy Mistress;' with its
three tripartite paragraphs, gramnlatically delimited and subdivided. 27
The juxtaposition of contrasting gramnl atical concepts may be com
pared with the so-called dynamic cutting in film montage, a type of
cutting which, as in Spottiswoode's definition, 2 8 uses the juxtaposition
of contrasting shots or sequences to generate in the mind of the spec
tator ideas that these constituent shots or sequences by themselves do
not carry.
Among gramnl atical categories utilized for parallelisms and con
trasts we actually find all the parts of speech, both mutable and im
mutable: numbers, genders, cases, grades, tenses, aspects, moods,
voices, classes of abstract and concrete words, animates and inani
mates, appellatives and proper names, affirmatives and negatives, finite
and infinite verbal forms, definite and indefinite pronouns or articles,
and diverse syntactic elements and constructions.
128
Poetry of Grammar and Grammar ofPoetry
129
G RAMMAR IN P O ETRY
of the second. fa (I) occurs here only in the nominative case, only as
the subject of the proposition, and, moreover, only in combination
with the accusative form vas (you) . The second-person pronoun,
which occurs exclusively in the accusative and dative (in the so-called
directional cases) , figures in the poem six times, once in each line, ex
cept for the second line of each quatrain, being, moreover, combined
with some other pronoun each time it occurs . The form vas (you) , a
direct object, is always dependent (directly or indirectly) on a pro
nominal subject. In four instances that subject is ja; in another it is the
anaphoric on a (she), lJubov' (love) on the part of the first
referring to
person subject. In contrast, the dative vam (you) , which appears in the
final, syntactically subordinated, line in place of the direct object vas) is
coupled with a new pronominal form, drugim ( another) . The latter
word, in a peripheral case, the "instrumental of the perpetrator of an
action:' 32 together with the equally peripheral dative, introduces at the
end of the concluding line the third participant in the lyric drama, who
is opposed to the nominative ja with which the introductory line
began.
The author of this eight-line verse epistle addresses the heroine six
times . Three times he repeats the key formulaja vas lJubil (I loved you) ,
which opens first the initial quatrain and then the first and second
couplets of the final quatrain, thus introducing into the two-stanza
monologue a traditional ternary division: 4 + 2 + 2. The ternary con
struction unfolds each time in a different way. The first quatrain devel
ops the theme of the predicate: an etymological figure replaces the verb
ljubil (loved) with the abstract noun lJubov' (love) , lending it the ap
pearance of an independent, unconditional being. Despite the orien
tation toward the past tense, nothing in the development of the lyric
theme is shown as being in a state of completion. Here Puskin, an
unsurpassed master at utilizing the dramatic collision between verbal
aspects, avoids indicative forms of the perfective aspect. The sole ex
ception- 1 lJubov' esce) byt' moiet) 2 V duse moej ugasla ne sovsem (love
has not yet, it may be, Died out completely in my soul) -actually sup
ports the rule, since the surrounding accessory words-esce (yet) , byt'
moiet (it may be, perhaps ) , ne sovsem (not completely) -bring to
naught the fictitious theme of the end. Nothing is completed, but the
placing into question of the completion implied by the perfective as
pect is answered, on the other hand, after the adversative no (but) , by
a negation of the present tense both in and of itself (ja ne xocu) I do
130
Poetry of Grammar and Grammar ofPoetry
I3I
G RAMMAR IN P O ETRY
To repeat, among the inflected words in Puskin's "1 loved you;' pro
nouns dominate. There are few nouns, and all of them belong to the
speculative sphere characterizing-except for the concluding appeal to
God-the psychic world of the first-person speaker. The word in the
text that occurs most frequently and that is distributed with the great
est regularity is the pronoun ry (you) : it alone appears in the accusative
and dative cases and, moreover, exclusively in those cases. Closely
linked with it, and second in frequency, is the pronoun ja (1) , which is
used exclusively as a subject and exclusively at the beginning of a line.
The share of the predicates that combine with this subject is allotted
to adverbs, whereas the accessory, nonpersonal verbal forms are ac
companied by complements in the instrumental case: 4 pelalit' vas ni
cem (sadden you in any way, lit. with anything) ; 6 To robost'juJ to rev
nost'ju tomim (Tormented now by shyness, now by jealousy) ; gljubimoj
byt' drugim (to be loved by another) . Adjectives, and adnominal forms
in general, do not appear in these quatrains. Constructions with prep
ositions are almost completely absent. The significance of the poetic
redistributions of the makeup, frequency, mutual interrelation, and ar
rangement of the various grammatical categories of the Russian lan
guage in this poem is so distinct that it hardly needs a detailed semantic
commentary. It is enough to read Julian Tuwim's Polish translation of
these verses-"kochalem pani,!-i miloSci mojejl Moze si jeszcze re
sztki w duszy tl'!" 35_to be immediately convinced that even such a
poetic virtuoso, the mmute he failed to render the grammatical struc
ture of Puskin's quatrains, could not help but reduce to nil their artistic
strength.
I32
Poetry of Grammar and Grammar ofPoetry
133
G RAMMAR IN PO ETRY
I34
Poetry of Grammar and Grammar ofPoetry
135
G RAMMAR IN P O ETRY
I SSay : there is memory of me,
16There is in the world a heart in which I live.
In this poem, in distinction to the lines of "I Loved You;' the pro
nouns, twelve in all, yield in quantity both to nouns (twenty) and ad
jectives (thirteen), but still continue to play a capital role. They consti
tute three of the four independent words of the first line: Cto v imeni
tebe moiim? (What is there for you in my name?) . In the authorial speech
encompassing all but the last two lines of the poem, all the subjects of
the main clauses are purely grammatical, consisting as they do of pro
nouns: l Cto (what), 2 0no (it), s Ono) 9CtO. However, in place of the
personal pronouns of "1 Loved You" interrogative and anaphoric
forms predominate here, whereas the second-person pronoun in the
first and third quatrains of the poem-whether personal or posses
sive-occurs exclusively in the dative case, thus remaining merely an
addressee, and not the direct theme of the epistle (1 tebe) for [lit. to]
YOU' ll Tvoej dufe) to your soul) . Only in the last quatrain does the
category of the second person emerge in the verbs, and then it is pre
cisely in the two paired forms of the imperative mood: 1 4 Proiznesi
(pronounce) , lsSkaii (say) .
Both poems begin and end with pronouns, but in contrast to "I
Loved You;' the addresser of this epistle is designated neither by a
personal pronoun nor by first-person verbs, but only by a possessive
pronoun, which relates exclusively to the author's name) and that,
moreover, in order to put into doubt any possible meaning the name
might have for the poem's addressee: 1 "What is there for you in my
name?" True, a first-person pronoun does appear in the penultimate
line of the poem, first in an indirect, mediated form: 1 5 est' pamjat' obo
mne (there is memory of me) . Finally, in the last, hypercatalectic syl
lable of the final line, the unexpected first-person subject with a corre
sponding verbal predicate-so sharply opposed to the preceding in
animate and indirect subjects ("what" and "it" )-appears for the first
time: 1 6Est' v mire serdce) gde iivu ja (There is in the world a heart in
which live I) . (Note that "I Loved You," on the contrary, begins with
the pronoun "I.") Yet even this final self-assertion by no means belongs
to the author but is thrust upon the addressee by the author: the con
cluding "I" is spoken by the heroine of the epistle at the author's
prompting, while the author himself is conveyed throughout in imper
sonal terms either of a metonymic (1 v imeni moiim) in my name) or
synecdochic nature ( 16 est' v mire serdce) there is in the world a heart),
137
G RAMMAR IN P O ETRY
139
G RAMMAR IN PO ETRY
introduces quoted speech, the twice repeated predicate est' (there is) ,
a first-person subject and object, a complete subordinate clause, and,
finally, the imperfective aspect of the verb following a string of perfec
tive forms.
Despite the quantitative disproportion of the first, indicative, and
the second, imperative parts (twelve initial lines against the final four) ,
both identically form three further degrees of subdivisions into para
tactic pairs of independent syntactic groups. The first three-stanza part
embraces two syntactically parallel question-answer constructions,
once again of unequal length (eight initial lines versus the four lines of
the third quatrain) . Correspondingly, the second half of the poem, its
final quatrain, contains two parallel sentences, which are closely related
thematically. The question-answer constructions of the first part both
consist of an identical interrogative sentence and of an answer with
one and the same anaphoric subject. To this secondary division of the
first part there corresponds in the second part the binary character of
the second imperative sentence, which includes direct speech and thus
breaks down into the introductory demand (skaii) say) and the quote
itself (est') there is) . Finally, the first of the answers breaks down into
two parallel sentences of a metaphoric stamp and closely related the
matically, both with an enjambement in the middle of the stanza (I
Ono umrety kak fum peeal'nyjlVolny . . II Ono . . . Ostavit mertvyj sled)
.
140
Poetry of Grammar and Grammar ofPoetry
141
G RAM MA R IN P O ETRY
answers the album's owner with an appeal: 14Proiznesi ego toskuja (Pro
nounce it while languishing) . In place of the nominative ono (it) , which
refers to the "name" in each of the first three quatrains (12 Ill, 1II 3 ),
'
one finds the accusative of the same anaphoric pronoun (IV2) as the
object of a second-person imperative addressed to the heroine, who
thus turns at the author's will from an inactive addressee (1 tebe) for
[lit. to] you) into a persona dramatis or, more accurately, a persona
who is called upon to act.
Echoing the triple ono of the first three quatrains and the phonic
variations on this pronoun in the third quatrain-a fourfold combina
tion of n with 0 and with a preceding or following v-the fourth qua
train, which eliminates this subject pronoun, opens in a punning way
with precisely the same combination:
142
Poetry of Grammar and Grammar ofPoetry
14-3
G RAMMAR IN P OETRY
144
CHAPTER 10
145
G RAMMAR IN P O ETRY
"Of the three different sorts of Parallels" viewed by Lowth, "every one
hath its peculiar character and proper effect" (XXVII) . Synonymous
lines "correspond one to another by expressing the same sense in dif
ferent, but equivalent terms ; when a Proposition is delivered, and it is
immediately repeated, in the whole or in part, the expression being
varied, but the sense entirely, or nearly the same" (XI) . Two antithetic
lines "correspond with one another by an Opposition . . . sometimes
in expressions, sometimes in sense only. Accordingly the degrees of
Antithesis are various; from an exact contraposition of word to word
Grammatical Parallelism
147
G RAMMAR IN POETRY
construction: the latter is often found without the former, while the
converse seldom takes place. It pervades Chinese poetry universally,
forms its chief characteristic feature, and is the source of a great deal
of its artificial beauty" (pp. 414-415) .6
These definitions and classificatory criteria underlie a number of
later studies which aimed primarily at an adequate translation of Chi
nese poetic works. 7 Today a need for more precise and minute descrip
tion has become obvious. Hightower has translated two Chinese
pieces from the fifth and sixth centuries which are composed in the so
called "parallel prose" or, strictly speaking, in verses of a fluid, sliding
meter, and studied their organizing principle. 8 Aware of the necessity
for discerning all the varieties of parallelism, the scholar consults the
native Chinese tradition of studies in this field, which surpass the for
eign observations in both age and acuity. In particular he cites KUkai's
ninth-century compilation from older Chinese sources, Bunkyo hifuronJ
a treatise on literary theory which enumerates twenty-nine modes of
parallelism.9 Hightower himself operates with six types of Simple Par
allelism-reiteration, synonymy, antonymy, "likes" (lexical and gram
matical similitude), 10 "unlikes" (gr ammatical without lexical simili
tude), and "formal pairs" ("far-fetched linkages" in lexical semantics
without gr ammatical similitude) . He also broaches the problems of
Complex Parallelism and the metrical, grammatical, and phonic paral
lels.
P. A. Boodberg's Sinological "Cedules" dealing with diverse aspects
of parallelism-grammatical, lexical, prosodic-and with the poly
semantic load of the matched words and lines, especially in connection
with the intricacies of translating Chinese verse, are penetrating pro
legomena to a still missing systematic linguistic inquiry into the frame
work of this magnificent poetic tradition. Boodberg has shown that a
function of the second line of a couplet is "to give us the clue for the
construction of the first" and to bring out the dormant primary mean
ing of the confronted words; he has made clear that "parallelism is not
merely a stylistic device of formularistic syntactical duplication; it is
intended to achieve a result reminiscent of binocular vision, the super
imposition of two syntactical images in order to endow them with
solidity and depth, the repetition of the pattern having the effect
of binding together syntagms that appear at first rather loosely
aligned." 1 1
This is basically tantamount to the evaluation of biblical parallelism
14-8
Grammatical Parallelism
I
Grammatical parallelism belongs to the poetic canon of numer
ous folk patterns. Gonda (pp. 28ff) referred to divers countries in dif
ferent parts of the world with prevalently "binary structures" of gram
matically and lexically corresponding lines in traditional prayers,
exorcisms, magic songs, and other forms of oral verse, and in particular
brought to the reader's attention the litanies and ballads of Nias (west
of Sumatra) , "expressed in the form of a pair of parallel, highly syno-
I49
G RAMMAR I N P O ETRY
18
nymic members." But our information about the distribution of par
allelism in the folklore of the world and its character in various lan
guages is still sparse and fragmentary, and hence, for the time being,
we must remain confined primarily to the results of inquiry into the
parallelistic songs of the Ural-Altaic area.
In his fundamental monograph about parallelism in Finnish
Karelian folk poetry, Steinitz has traced the beginnings of scholarly
interest in this problem. 1 9 It is noteworthy indeed that the earliest ref
erences to Finnish poetic parallelism proceeded from a comparison
with biblical poetry and that the first statements about the similarity
of these two patterns by Cajanus and Juslenius appeared long before
Lowth's Hebraica.20 Despite the growing enthusiasm for Finland's
folklore, from the beginning to the middle of the nineteenth century,
its verbal structure usually dropped out of the scope of local and West
ern scholarly interests, whereas the poet Longfellow, through Anton
Schiefner's German translation of the J(alevala (1852) , grasped the par
allelistic style of the original and applied it in his Song of Hiawatha
(1855) .
In the sixties the essence of the Finnish poetic language reentered
the field of investigation. The grammatical composition of the J(ale
vala's parallelistic distichs was plotted in Ahlqvist's dissertation "Fin
nish Poetics from the Linguistic Standpoint;' at a time when no other
system of parallelism had undergone a similar treatment.21 But Steinitz
was the first to succeed, seventy years later, in completing a thoroughly
scientific "grammar of parallelism;' as the author himself defined the
task of his inquiry into the epic, lyric, and magic songs of the famed
Finnish-Karelian singer Arhippa Perttunen. This is a pioneer work not
only in the Finno-Ugric field but also, and foremost, in the method of
approach to the structural analysis of grammatical parallelism. The syn
tactic and morphologic aspects of this poetic pattern are succinctly out
lined in Steinitz's monograph, whereas their interconnections and the
diverse semantic associations between the parallelled lines and their
components are only glimpsed. The investigator revealed the variety
of grammatical relations between the parallelled verses, but the inter
connection of these structurally different distichs and their character
istic functions within a broader context calls for a self-contained and
integral treatment of a given song in its entirety, as a consequence of
which the presumably unpaired, isolated lines would also obtain a new
and more nuanced interpretation as to their place and role.
Stimulated by Steinitz's research,22 Austerlitz, in his careful study of
IS O
Grammatical Parallelism
II
The only living oral tradition in the Indo-European world that
uses grammatical parallelism as its basic mode of concatenating succes
sive verses is Russian folk poetry, both songs and recitatives . 29 This
lSI
G RAMMAR IN PO ETRY
The author adduces a few examples and comments on their partly met
aphorical, partly synonymic aspect; he adds that such constructions,
which might be drawn by the thousand from Russian folk poetry, form
its very essence. "It is neither vagary nor barbarism but a spirited ob
servance of an inner, indissoluble bond between thought and sound,
or perhaps rather an unconscious, instinctive, spontaneous sense of a
musical logic of thoughts and of a corresponding musical logic of
sounds." This paper is particularly memorable, since it belongs to an
epoch of general inattention toward Finnish parallelism, which in 1835
remained omitted even in Elias L6nnrot's preface to his first edition of
the J(alevala (cf. Steinitz, p. 17) .
Thirty years later, Olesnickij , writing on rhythm and meter in the
Old Testament, while discussing Lowth's theory of the parallelismus
membrorum., referred to other oriental instances of the same architec-
152
Grammatical Parallelism
153
G RAMMAR I N P OETRY
III
The famous eighteenth-century collection of Russian folk songs,
chiefly epics, written down somewhere in Western Siberia by or from
an otherwise unknown Kirsa Danilov, includes a succinct musical text
"Ox v gore zit' nekrucinnu byt'" (Oh, to live in grief, to be uncha
grined) which is transliterated here, without the spelling vacillations of
the manuscript, and provided with a translation that is as literal as
possible. 38
154
Grammatical Parallelism
ISS
G RAMMAR IN P OETRY
oral poetics, whereas in the Tale they are much more sporadic and
inconsistent, and the common passages are adapted to an alien context.
The folklore formulas in question must have been borrowed by sev
enteenth-century literati from the oral tradition. Some of these epi
grammatic formulas entered also into the repertory of folk proverbs.
Compare verses 1 and 2 of the song with the proverb adduced by Dal' :
Vgore zit' -nekrucinnu byt'; nagomu xodit' -ne soromit' sja. 41 Further
more, Kirsa's variant exhibits certain motifs shared with other folk
songs on the same theme, yet missing in the Povest' . The parallelistic
canon rigorously followed in these specimens of the grief folklore ob
viously suffers from the transfer of oral tradition into the frame of the
written tale, and shows many gaps, heterogeneous retouches, and de
viations from the customary forms of verses and their concatenation.42
Hightower's delineation of Chinese parallelism may be applied to
Russian folk poetry as well. In both languages the distich is the basic
structural unit, and "the first effect of the other varieties of parallelism
is to reinforce the repeated pattern. It is on this underlying pattern or
series of patterns that the more subtle forms of gr ammatical and
phonic parallelism introduce their counterpoint, a series of stresses and
strains" (pp . 61, 69) . The typical feature of Chinese parallelistic texts
analyzed by the quoted Sinologist-the occasional "isolated single
lines" which chiefly signal the beginning and end of an entire text or
of its paragraphs-is likewise shared by Russian folk poetry, and by
Kida's song in particular. Hightower designates as a paragraph a larger
structural unit ''which is significant both by marking stages in the de
velopment of a theme and also by determining to some extent the form
of the couplets [distichs] which go to make it up." Similar observations
on pairless verses in the Finnish-Karelian runes at the beginning of
songs or of their autonomous parts were made by Ahlqvist (p. 177) .
According to Steinitz ( II ) , ten of nineteen epic I(alevala songs re
corded in the 1830S from the foremost Karelian rhapsodist Arhippa
Perttunen begin with a nonparallel line. In biblical poetry, particularly
in the Psalms, "single lines, or rnonostichs)" as Driver states, "are found
but rarely, being generally used to express a thought with some em
phasis at the beginning, or occasionally at the end, of a poem."43
Kida's song contains 21 lines, three of which have no adjacent mate.
Of these three lines, I begins the song and 21 ends it, while 12 opens
the second paragraph, which is quite different from the first in both
theme and grammatical texture. Actually, lines 1 and 12, which carry the
Grammatical Parallelism
burden of the song, vary while still adhering to the parallelistic pattern
of the entire composition: the introductory verse of the first paragraph
does not cohere with any other line of the same paragraph, but is
matched by the nearly identical opening of the next paragraph.
Moreover, these two lines display an internal grammatical parallel
ism of their hemistichs, a device shared by the intermediate lines, i.e.
by all the lines of the first paragraph. The repeated apostrophe is sim
ilar to the predominant type of monostichs observed by Steinitz (
12, 14), which consist o f a noun i n the nominative with its apposition.
Most frequently such substantives are "proper names, personal or
mythological;' and gare gorevan' ice approaches the latter category. 44
The syntactic independence of lines I and 2 focuses attention on the
internal structure of the verse and primarily on the parallelism of its
hemistichs. The evocation of Grief, destined to become the chief actor
in the song, opens its first line, and the internal parallelism is rein
forced by the reduplication gore gore and by the etymological figure
(paregmenon) which links the apposition gorevan'ice to its head word
gare. 4 5 Tautological variations of this noun are usual in Russian emo
tive speech: gore gor' koe) gore gorjucee) gore gorjufko) etc. ; Povest' 296:
Govorit sero gore gorinskoe. The denominative verb gorevat' (to grieve)
fromgore (grief) gave in turn a deverbative noun gorevan e (grieving) ,
'
used here in its diminutive formgorevan' ice) which opposes to the vir
tual nomen agentis a somewhat softened or even caressing nomen ac
tionis. Thus the tinge of oxymoron evidenced by the following verses
is prompted from the beginning. Anyone who knows Sergej Esenin's
poetry can immediately grasp why this self-contradictory phrase was
to become his favorite catchword (eseninskoe slovco) . 46
The nominativegare) linked by a paregmenon with the derived, like
wise nominative formgorevan'ice of the same line, is on the other hand
connected by a polyptoton with the locative v gore) which occupies the
same metrical position in the second line as the initial gare in the first
line. Grief, to be portrayed as an invincible evil power in the finale of
the song, is rather minimized in its opening lines, which turn this ap
parition (garegore) first into a mere process (gorevan'ice) and then into
a simple adverbial modifier of manner (v gare) . This gradual weakening
of the sorrowful topic is used to justify the oxymoron 2 v gore iit' -
nekrucinnu bit' (to live in grief-to be unchagrined) .
Gore-krucina) s gorja-s kruciny frequently occur in Russian as
coupled synonyms (Povest' 3s8: ugorja u kruCiny) . The confrontation of
157
G RAMMAR IN P OETRY
15 9
G RAMMAR IN PO ETRY
160
Grammatical Parallelism
equate the child deprived of a mother with a precious cloth left with
out any master, and the sound texture underscores the intimacy of
both absent ties by a childishly tinged accumulation of palatalized den
tals-lnJe uesii dJia bz maerJiI5 3 -and by the paronomastic make
up of the second line: II InJeskROiT' aTIAs u b' ezmAsreRa/. Most prob
ably, the wording of line 408 in the Povest' -ISTO nJe KLAsT'i SKAR.LA.TU
ez mAsT'eRAI (that there is no way to cut scarlet without a master)
reflects the original wording of the verse in question. RZiga claims that
these two lines in Kida's song "by themselves are startling, because it
is incomprehensible why they refer to the child, to the mother, and to
satin" (p. 313) . He believes to have found the explanation in the Povest J '
161
G RAMMAR IN POETRY
tives and only one finite verb (the preterit s pojavilas') against nine
finite forms and no infinitives in the second paragraph (12-21) . There
are no pronouns in I, and five personal pronouns in II. Aside from
the three nominatives in the "anacrustic" introductory line to each of
the two paragraphs (I and 12) , ten nominatives-five substantival and
five pronominal-occur in II and only one in I : spojavilas' grivna (a
coin appeared) . Throughout the five couplets of I this is the only
clause which is not ostensively negative. The negative character of the
discourse gradually intensifies . The negated adjective at the end of 2 is
followed by the negated verb at the end of 3 (a special negation by a
nexal negative, in Otto Jespersen's terms) . In the first hemistich of 4
the negation netu functions as predicate, and 5, as mentioned earlier,
may be defined as implied negation. All the sentences of lines 6-II
begin with the negation ne; moreover lines 10 and II introduce their
second hemistich with the negative preposition bez (without) .
In I eight adjectives are used; six of them appear without any sub
stantive and two act as postposed predicative attributes, whereas all
three adjectives of II are prepositive epithets.
In I all seven verbs of the first three distichs are intransitive, in
contradistinction to the four transitive verbs of the other two distichs.
The four infinitives of the latter distichs are perfective, while all six
infinitives of the former distichs are imperfective. Each line of the five
distichs designates the relation between a certain condition and its re
sult, either patently, in the asyndetic conditional sentences of the first
two distichs, or latently, in the three further distichs marked by six
anaphoric negations (if one is bald, then . . . ; if the tree is dry-topped,
then . . .; if the child has no mother, then . . . ) . While all the lines of
the three initial distichs put the protasis into their first hemistich and
the apodosis into the second, the last two distichs invert this order.
The infinitive constructions of these two distichs omit the agent but
consistently designate the patient by the genitive case of substantives.
No substantives but only dative forms of adjectives are combined with
the intransitive infinitives of the preceding distichs.
Besides the nominative, the marked cases are differently distributed
in the two paragraphs of Kirsa's song. The accusative, absent from I,
is represented in II by three prepositional constructions with nouns
and their adjectival attributes. There is no dative in II, while in I this
case appears six times and is monopolized by independent adjectives,
which in turn occur solely in the dative case. The instrumental figures
I62
Grammatical Parallelism
ous songs of the same cycle surveyed by RZiga, whereas Povest' 361-362
violates the grammatical and lexical parallelism and weakens the por
trayal of the gare by substituting a negative clause for the suggestive
features which serve in folk poetry to achieve the personification of
grief: boso) nago) net nagare ni nitocki) I esce ljckom gare podpojasano.
Both paragraphs of Kirsa's song begin with the same monostich and
present an obvious correspondence between their initial distichs . In
particular, the merging of grief and poverty stressed in lines 2-3 in
spires the images of 13-14, where the misery of the griever is trans
ferred, however, by a metonymical trope from the griever to the grief
itself. Puskin, an attentive reader of Kirsa's songs, singled out the fig
urative expression ljkom gore podpojasalos' as a "striking representation
of misery."
The second line of this distich says, ambiguously, n6gi without any
possessive; "grief's feet" would create a violent catachresis, while
"griever'S feet" would hamper the gradual introduction of "fictio per
sonae." The personification actually proceeds step by step. Line 13 is
the first to present grief as an actor by providinggare with a predicate,
but this preterit of neuter gender underscores the neuter-a preemi
nently inanimate gender-of the subject. This gender is focused on by
all three words of this line, including the neuter modifier ljkom) against
the background of the pervading feminine in 14 mocalami n6gi izopu
tany. Only the further sentences with the subject gare will replace the
neuter reflexive 1 3 podpojasalos' by the masculine active 1 6, 1 8 zafel; as a
further step in this activation, the predicates to gare will be expressed
by transitive verbs, 20 vstrecaet (meets) and tafcit (draws) . The climax is
attained with the substitution of the masculine pronoun on for gare at
the very end of the final line.
The relation between lines 12 and 13 demands closer examination. In
the reduplicated gare gare which opens the introductory line to both
paragraphs, the first of the two identical words, 1 IG6R'E g6r'el stands
in positional correspondence to 2 Iv G6R'E/, whereas it is the second
occurrence in line 12 that corresponds to 1 3 llikom G6R'E/. This diver
gence prompts a different phrasing of lines 1 and 12. In 1 and the sub
sequent lines, the boundary (I) between the two "speech measures" 56
lies between the second and third of the three main accents, and thus
coincides with the boundary ( I ) of the two hemistichs : 1 a i gare gare
I I gorevan'ice! 11 2 a v gore iit' I I nekrucinnu bft') 11 3 nagomu xodit' I I ne
styditisja. II, etc. In 13 and 14, on the other hand, the boundary between
164
Grammatical Parallelism
the two speech measures does not coincide with the boundary between
the two hemistichs. In these lines the modifiers 13 lfkom and 1 4 moca
lami are placed before the subjects 13 gare and 14 nogi and thus are
separated from the predicates 13 podpojasalos' and 14 izoputany. This hy
perbaton (separation of two syntactically connected words) means that
the speech-measure boundary falls between the modifier and the sub
ject, i.e. between the first and the second of the three principal accents.
Such phrasing then spreads to the introductory line as well:
12 a gore) I gare I gorevan'ice) II 13 a i ljkom I gore I podpojasalos') II
14 mocalami I n6gi I izoputany. II
The root o fgare o r the whole word thrice repeated, either literally
or with synonymous variations, is customarily tied to the same context
within folk songs of like tenor. For instance, Sreznevskij's record of the
grief song states : I( emu gorjuJko) gare gar'koe) II iz-pod m6sticku gore) s
pod kalinovogo) I iz-pod kustyJku) s-pod rakitovogo) I vo otfJpockax gare vo
lozoven'kix) I vo oborockax gore vo mocal'nen'kix; II mocaloj gare prio
putavsi) I ono ljkom gore opojasavsi. 5 7 In one variant from the Saratov
region the corresponding passage reads : OJ ty) gare moe) gore) gare seroe)
II lfckom svjazannoe) podpojasannoe) and in a different Saratov variant:
Ox ti) gare) toska-peeal' . 5 8 Compare the traditional formula: Ax ja bed
naja gorjusa gore-gar' kaja. 5 9
While at the beginning of Kirsa's song the threefold evocation of
gare acts as a syntactically separate apostrophe, in II the same se
quence reappears as an anticipatory, repetitive subject in respect to the
clause 13 gore podpojasalos' . Whatever might have been the original
wording of line II, Kirsa's variant displays a paronomastic bond be
tween 1 1 /ATLA.SU/ and 13 /prrrpojAsAUJs/; bark supersedes the precious
satin.
Gare of line I was responded to by the degrading 2 v gare and re
mained unnamed in the further lines of I, whereas in II almost every
line is permeated with this noun. The metrical place of the nominative
gare) which line 13 shares with the second gore in 12, is maintained by
the genitive gOry'a in 15, 17, 19, while the nominative gore in 16, 18, 20 in
turn shares its position with the initial gore in 12.
A far-reaching symmetry interconnects both paragraphs. Their ini
tial distichs, in conformity with the terminal diminutive gorevan' ice of
the introductory line, attempt to minimize the grief. The griever and
pauper seems to disregard his grief and misery which are subject to
raillery (2-3) , and poverty is said to be just as transitory as wealthiness
165
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
(4--5) . It is not the griever but grief itself which turns out to be miser
able (13-14-) . These endeavors to dismiss the tragic topic yield in both
paragraphs to six -line groups with desperate avowals of ubiquitous
and perpetual damnation. An anaphoric constant fastens together all
the lines of each hexastich; in the string 6-11 every line begins with the
negation ne attached to an infinitive, and in the string 15-20 with the
repetitive conjunction a succeeded by a nominative. 60 The same con
nective a) alone or combined with i) opens the monostich of both par
agraphs and also each separate distich outside these serried hexastichs,
whereas the second line of every separate distich is devoid of connec
tives. The double connective a i and the single a display a regular alter
nation: 1 a i) 2 a) 4 a i) 1 2 a) 1 3 a i) 1 5; - 20 a.
The hexastich 15-20 is built on the parallelism of three entire dis
tichs. "Parallel terms in alternate lines" occupy the second position in
KUkai's classification. All three odd lines of the hexastich share their
initial hemistich a ja otgorja and the grammatical pattern of the second
hemistich-the locational preposition 1 5 , 1 7 V or 1 9 na with a noun in
the accusative preceded by its epithet. All three even lines of the hex
astich begin with a gore and end with a finite verb : 1 6 zastl
1 8 sidit 20 tascit. Thus the three odd lines of the hexastisch on the one
hand and its three even lines on the other are tied together by two
kinds of correspondences : the anaphoric parallelism is literally repeti
tive, whereas the epiphoric parallelism is based on mere similarity of
grammatical and lexical meanings.
Lines 18 and 20 have a finite form at the end of both hemistichs and
thus display an internal parallelism; in 16 the end of the first hemistich
is apparently missing, and one may guess that here, as in the two other
even lines, the hemistich contained a complete clause, e.g., a gOre [ui
tam] . 6 1
This hexastich explicitly disjoins the griever and the grief. The first,
repeated hemistich of the odd lines-a ja ot gorja-suggests an inter
play of two different semantic interpretations : "affiicted by" and "away
from" grief. In the proverb Ot gorja beial) da v bedu popal (ran away
from grief but got into trouble) the abstract meaning of grief is sup
ported by its juxtaposition with trouble, and the concrete predicates
function here as verbal metaphors. The directional modifiers "into for
ests;' "to a feast;' "into a tavern" would still allow the conception of
grief as the griever'S status, but the even lines definitely impute per
sonality to gore. The polyptotic confrontation of the genitivus separa-
166
Grammatical Parallelism
349: Axti mneJ zlocastie gorinskoe! 350: do bedj menja m6lodca domjkaloJ
351: umorilo menja m6lodca smert'ju golodnoju. The shift from intransitive
to transitive verbs again draws together the ends of both paragraphs.
The middle one of the three main accents falls on /0 / in all verses
167
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
the first line of the hexastich with the first line of the separate distich
in their sound texture- 1 3ILikom G6R'e potpoJAsalosl 15 IJA odG6R?a
emnil. The last word of 13, paronomastically linked with II (as shown
above) , is echoed by the final words of the two following lines-
13 IpOTP OJAsLOsl -- 14lizoPUranil Is/LSAI.
The consistent gradation of grief's activity finds eloquent expression
in the lexical and phonemic distribution thoughout the hexastich. The
two margins of line I6-a gOre . . . zafel-are reiterated and condensed
in the first hemistich of I8-a gOre zafel-while the second hemistich,
united by the repetition of its stressed syllable-ijpJerJeDJi iD'ftl-is
echoed by the double Iii in the corresponding hemistich of 2o-IpJiva
tafCitl. The stressed vowels of the thrice repeated hemistich a ja otgOrja
are reversed in the second half of 19 na carev kabak and again in the
adj acent hemistich of 20 a gOre vstreeaet: laol loa l -- loa /.
168
Grammatical Parallelism
The motif of nakedness reappears for the third time : 3 nag6mu xodit'
(to walk naked) ; the imagery of undress in 13-14; and now 21 kak ja
IV
The verse of Kirsa's song implements the oral epic meter with its
traditional trochaic tendency and six downbeats interlaid with five up
beats.64 The initial downbeat with the following upbeat forms the on
set (anacrusis) of the line, the final downbeat with the preceding up
beat builds the offset (coda) , and the sequence from the first internal
downbeat to the last internal downbeat has been termed the verse
stem. The weak, external downbeats, that is, the final beat of the offset,
and especially the initial syllable of the onset, are for the most part
filled by unstressed or weakly stressed syllables. Of the internal (stem)
downbeats the heaviest are the first and the last, both of which are
almost constantly implemented by strongly stressed syllables . The re
gressive undulatory curve inherent in Russian verses regulates the dis
tribution of stresses among the internal downbeats, weakens the next
to last and reinforces the second from last, so that the third of the
internal downbeats very rarely carries a stressed syllable, and the sec
ond of these downbeats is predominantly supplied with a word stress.
Hence the first, the second, and the fourth internal downbeats carry
the three leading accents of the verse.
Line 1 of Kirsa's song-A i {gOre gOre gorevan'}ice (with the verse
stem enclosed in braces) -strictly follows the outlined metrical design.
Of the twenty-one lines, ten maintain the hendecasyllabic pattern, six
are reduced to ten syllables, and three to nine: in line 8 a twelfth syl
lable is inserted, while the octosyllabic line 16 is apparently defective.
In the overwhelming majority of lines (14 of 21) the third of the four
internal downbeats is immediately preceded by a word boundary;
these lines correspondingly terminate with a five-syllable segment (e.g.
gorevan 'ice) .
169
GRAMMAR IN P OETRY
The variations of the metrical design are closely linked with the com
position of the song and its division into parallelistic groups of lines.
As soon as grief is introduced by the first line, every new mention of
gOre or ofja in the close neighborhood ofgore at the beginning of the
verse stem emphatically reduces the onset to one syllable: 2 a vgore) 1 2,
1 6, 1 8, 1 9 a gore) 1 5 , 1 7, 1 9 a ja otgorja. The same reduction in 3 nagomu is
engendered by its phonemic parallelism with 2 a v gore. The rest of the
lines preserve the disyllabic onset. In this connection a peculiarity of
Russian verse is to be noted, frequent cases where the syllabic scheme
is retained but the stresses deviate from the metrical pattern: 3nagomu
xodit') 8 ne otrostit') 9 ne otkormit' konja; here, to be sure, the dialectal
accents otrostit') otkormit') and konja may be assumed, 65 but a contrived
discrepancy between the ictuses and verbal accents must be admitted
in such instances as 1 8 a gore zafel or the hendecasyllable 20 a gore vstre
cut) pva tafcit) where a scanning would require gore and piva.
The three opening distichs of the song are internally cemented and
differentiated by dissimilar endings of the initial hemistich. The entire
verse pattern of the introductory model line (I) is strictly followed by
the second of these three distichs (4--5) ; the preceding two lines curtail
their first hemistich by a masculine close-2 zit' 3 xodit' -and cor
respondingly in the verse end 2 bjt' . Conversely, the last of the three
distichs expands in the first hemistich of both lines to seven syllables
by a dactylic close encompassing the third, prefinal downbeat of the
verse stem, and correspondingly shortens the second hemistich to four
syllables. The following distich returns to the pentasyllabic pattern of
the final hemistich, but in 8 nonetheless it maintains the heptasyllabic
scheme of the initial hemistich, as prompted by lines 6 and 7, while
restoring its hexasyllabic measure in 9. Possibly the first hemistichs in
both lines of this distich display also a shift of stresses. In the last
distich of the first paragraph (10 -II) the even hemistich assumes the
same tetrasyllabic shape as in the second from last distich (6-7) ,
whereas the next to last (8-9) and third from last (4--5) distichs use
the pentasyllabic form. The rhythmic novelty of the distich la-II lies
in the end of the odd hemistich, which in 10 is the only one through
out the entire song to shift the word stress from the second internal
downbeat to the third (Ne utesiti ditja), whereas in II the syllable to
carry the third internal downbeat is omitted.
The initial, epically tinged distich of the second paragraph (13-14-)
170
Grammatical Parallelism
171
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
v
Hightower introduces his tentative translation of Chinese paral
lelistic compositions by qualifying their reading as an "exercise in ver
bal polyphony" (p. 69) . "The extraordinary exuberance in both quan
tity and variety of the repetitive parallelism of the Song of Deborah"
was pointed out in Albright's paper "The Psalm of Habakkuk" and
suspected of going back to a "Canaanite rococo . . . which we may
suppose to have been popular about the first half of the twelfth century
B . C. " The "excessiveness of parallelism and terminal sound correspon
dences" in the verbal mastery of the narrator (skazitel') Kalinin, whose
byliny were recorded by Hilferding, suggested to Zirmunskij an asso
ciation with the baroque style (p. 337) . Such examples could be easily
multiplied, and they clash with the fictitious but still indelible view of
parallelism as a survival of a primevally helpless, tongue-tied means of
expression. Even Miklosich explained the repetitive, parallelistic devices
in the Slavic epic tradition by the incapacity of the singer of the "nature
epic" to disengage himself immediately from an idea and by the con
sequent necessity to utter "a thought or a series of thoughts more than
once" and referred to the Finnish parallelism as a typical example.67
The search for the origin of parallelism in the antiphonal perform
ance of the paired lines is perplexed by the overwhelming majority of
parallelistic systems which show no trace of any amoebean technique.
The repeated attempts to derive parallelism from a mental automatism
which underlies any oral style and from mnemotechnical processes
upon which the oral performer is forced to rely68 are invalidated on
the one hand by the abundance both of entire folk traditions totally
unfamiliar with pervasive parallelism and of different poetic genres that
within one folklore system are opposed to each other by the presence
or absence of this device; on the other hand, such thousands-of-years
old written poetry as that of China adheres to the parallelistic rules
which are somewhat relaxed in the native folklore (Jablonski, p. 22) .
Herder, "the great advocate of parallelism" according to his own
expression (p. 24) , resolutely attacked the afterward repeatedly enun
ciated bias that "parallelism is monotonous and presents a perpetual
tautology" (p. 6) and that "if everything has to be said twice, then the
first saying must have been only half achieved and defective" (p. 21) .
Herder's succinct reply-"Haven't you ever seen a dance before?"
followed by a comparison of Hebrew poetry with such a dance, trans-
172
Grammatical Parallelism
173
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
174
Grammatical Parallelism
175
G RAMMAR IN P O ETRY
II III
23 43
177
G RAMMAR IN P O ETRY
179
CHAPTER n
181
G RAMMAR IN PO ETRY
r82
Baudelairs ((Les Chat)
(g S)ils pouvaient) ; that of the tercet is comparative (13 ainsi qu)un) . The
first is postpositive, whereas the second, incomplete, is an interpolated
clause.
In the 1847 Le Corsaire text, the punctuation of the sonnet corre
sponds to this division. The first tercet ends with a period, as does the
first quatrain. In the second tercet and in the second quatrain, the last
two lines are preceded by a semicolon.
The semantic aspect of the gramm atical subjects reinforces this par
allelism between the two quatrains on the one hand and the two tercets
on the other:
Thus, each of the four stanzas retains its own individuality: the ani
mate class, which is common to both subject and object in the first
quatrain, is peculiar to the subject only in the first tercet; in the second
quatrain this class characterizes either subject or object, whereas in the
second tercet, neither the one nor the other.
There are several striking correspondences in the grammatical struc
ture both of the beginning and of the end of the sonnet. At the end as
well as at the beginning, but nowhere else, there are two subjects with
only one predicate and only one direct object. Each of these subjects,
as well as their objects, has a modifier (Les anwureuxfervents) les savants
austeres-Les chats puissants et doux; des parcelles dJ un sablefin-leurs
prunelles mystiques) . The two predicates, the first and last in the sonnet,
are the only ones accompanied by adverbs, both of them derived from
adjectives and linked to one another by a deep rhyme: 2Aiment egale
ment-1 4E toilent vaguement. The second and penultimate predicates
are the only ones that comprise a copula and a predicative adjective,
the latter being emphasized in both cases by an internal rhyme: 4Qui
comme eux sont frileux; 12 Leurs reins feconds sont pleins. Generally
speaking, only the two exterior stanzas are rich in adjectives: nine in
the quatrain and five in the tercet; whereas the two interior stanzas
have only three adjectives in all (funebres) nobles) grands) .
As we have already noted, it is only at the beginning and at the end
of the poem that the subjects are of the same class as the objects : each
one belongs to the animate class in the first quatrain and to the inani
mate in the second tercet. Animate beings, their functions and their
activities, dominate the initial stanza. The first line contains nothing
but adjectives . Of these, the two substantival forms which act as sub
jects -les anwureux and les savants-display verbal roots: the text is in
augurated by "those who love" and by "those who knOw." In the last
line of the poem, the opposite occurs : the transitive verb etoilentJ
which serves as a predicate, is derived from a substantive. The latter is
related to the series of inanimate and concrete appellatives which dom
inate this tercet and distinguish it from the three anterior stanzas. . A
clear homophony can be heard between this verb and the members of
the series in question: /etesd/ -/e de parsd/-/etwa1/. Finally, the
subordinate clauses contained in the last lines of these two medial stan
zas each include an adverbal infinitive, these two object-complements
being the only infinitives in the entire poem: gSJils pouvaient . . . incli
ner; l lQui semblent sJendormir.
Baudelairs ((Les ChatJ
185
G RAMMAR IN P O ETRY
which is, in fact, the only one in the entire sonnet to adopt this
inanimate/animate order.
Several striking peculiarities clearly distinguish line 7 only, or the last
two lines of the second quatrain, from the rest of the sonnet. However,
it must be noted that the tendency for the medial distich to stand out
agrees with the principle of an asymmetrical trichotomy, which puts
the whole of the second quatrain in opposition to the first quatrain on
the one hand and in opposition to the final sestet on the other, thus
creating a kind of central strophe distinct in several respects from the
marginal strophic units. We have already shown that only in line 7 are
subject and predicate in the singular, but this observation can be ex
tended: only in the second quatrain do we find either subject or object
in the singular and whereas in line 7 the singularity of the subject
(L)Erebe) is opposed to the plurality of the object (les) , the adjoining
lines invert this relation, having a plural subject and a singular object
(611s cherchent le silence et Phorreur; gS)ils pouvaient . . . incliner leur
jierte) .
In the other stanzas, both object and subject are plural (1 _31es amou
reux . . . et les savants . . . Aiment . . . Les chats; 911s prennent . . . les . . .
attitudes; 1 3 - 1 4Et des parcelles . . . Etoilent . . . leurs prunelles) . It is no
table that in the second quatrain singularity of subject and object co
incides with the inanimate and plurality with the animate class. The
importance of grammatical number to Baudelaire becomes particularly
noteworthy by virtue of the role it plays in opposition relations in the
rhymes of the sonnet.
It must be added that the rhymes in the second quatrain are distin
guishable by their structure from all other rhymes in the poem. The
feminine rhyme tenebres -funebres in the second quatrain is the only
one which brings together two different parts of speech. Moreover, all
the rhymes in the sonnet, except those in the quatrain in question,
comprise one or more identical phonemes, either immediately preced
ing or some distance in front of the stressed syllable, usually reinforced
by a supportive consonant: 1 savants austeres-4 sedentaires) 2 mure sai
son - 3 maison) 9attitudes-solitudes) 1 1 un reve sans jin-13 un sable jin)
12 etincelles magiques- 14 prunelles mystiques. In the second quatrain,
neither the pair 5 volupte-g fierte) nor 6 tenebres- 7 funebres) offer any
correspondence in the syllable anterior to the rhyme itself On the
other hand, the final words in the seventh and eighth lines are allitera
tive, 7jimebres-gfierte, and the sixth and fifth lines are linked by the
repetition of the final syllable of 5volupte in 6 tenebres and by the inter-
186
nal rhyme sscience-6silence) which reinforces the affinity between the
two lines. Thus the rhymes themselves exhibit a certain relaxation of
the ties between the two halves of the second quatrain.
A salient role in the phonic texture of the sonnet is played by the
nasal vowels . These phonemes, "as though veiled by nasality," as
Granunont aptly puts it,2 occur very frequently in the first quatrain (9
nasals, from 2 to 3 per line) but most particularly in the final sestet (22
nasals with increasing frequency throughout the first tercet, 93-1 04-
u6: Qui semblent s'endormir dans un reve sans fin; and with decreas
ing frequency throughout the second tercet, 125-133-141) . In contrast,
the second quatrain contains only three: one per line, excepting the
seventh, the sole line in the sonnet without a nasal vowel; this quatrain
is also the only stanza where the masculine rhyme does not contain a
nasal vowel. Then, again, it is in the second quatrain that the role of
phonic dominant passes from vowels to consonantal phonemes, in p ar
ticular to liquids . The second quatrain is the only one which shows an
excessive number of these liquid phonemes, 24 in all, as compared to
15 in the first quatrain, II in the first tercet, and 14 in the second. The
total number of /r/'s is slightly lower than the number of 11/'s (31 versus
33), but the seventh line, which has only two 11/'s, contains five /ri's,
that is to say, more than any other line in the sonnet: L'Erebe les eut
pris p our ses cOU1'"Siers funebres. According to Granunont, it is by op
position to Irl that 11/ "gives the impression of a sound that is neither
grating, rasping, nor rough but, on the contrary, that glides and flows,
that is limpid." 3 The abrupt nature of every IrI, and particularly the
French Irf, in comparison with the glissando of the 11/ is clearly illus
trated in Durand's accoustical analysis of the two liquids.4 The ag
glomeration of the /r/'s eloquently echoes the delusive association of
the cats with Erebus, followed by the antithetic ascent of the emp irical
felines to their miraculous transfigurations.
The first six lines of the sonnet are linked by a characteristic reitera
tion : a symmetrical pair of coordinate phrases linked by the same con
junction et: 1Les amoureuxftrvents et les savants austeres; 3Les chats puis
sants et doux; 4Qui comme eux sont frileux et comme eux sedentaires;
sAmis de la science et de la volupti. The binarism of the determinants
thus forms a chiasmus with the binarism of the determined in the next
line-6le silence et Phorreur des tinebres-which puts an end to these
binary constructions. This construction, common to all the lines of this
"sestet;' does not recur in the remainder of the poem. The juxtaposi
tions without a conjunction are a variation of the same scheme :
G RAMMA R IN P O ETRY
188
Baudelairs cCLes Chat)
I90
Baudelairs ((Les Chat)
un I.azre/-llsans fin Isml. The acute nasal lei and the other phonemes
of the word l O sphinx Isfksl recur in the last tercet: 12 reins l.el- 1 2 pleins
l el- 13 etincelles I .. es . . . 1-13 ainsi lesl-13 qu)un sable Ikres . . . 1-13fin
. .
lre/.
We read in the first quatrain: 3Les chats puissants et tWux) orgueil de la
maison. Does this mean that the cats, proud of their home, are the
incarnation of that pride, or that the house, proud of its feline inhabi
tants, tries, like Erebus, to domesticate them? Whichever it may be, the
3 maison which circumscribes the cats in the first quatrain is trans
formed into a spacious desert, l Ofond des solitudes. And the fear of cold,
bringing together the cats,4frileux) and the lovers, lfervents (note the
paronomasia Iftrva!-!fril(/), is dispelled by the appropriate climate of
the austere solitudes (as austere as the scholars) of the desert (torrid
like the fervent lovers) which surrounds the sphinxes . On the temporal
level, the 2mure saison) which rhymed with 3 la maison in the first qua
train and approached it in meaning, has a clear counterpart in the first
tercet. These two visibly parallel groups of words (2 dans leur mure
saison and 1 1 dans un reve sans fin) mutually oppose each other, the one
evoking numbered days and the other, eternity. No constructions with
dans or with any other adverbal preposition occur elsewhere in the
sonnet.
The miraculous quality of the cats pervades the two tercets. The
metamorphosis unfolds right to the end of the sonnet. In the first ter
cet the image of the sphinxes stretched out in the desert already vacil
lates between the creature and its simulacrum, and in the following
tercet the animate beings disappear behind particles of matter. Synec
doche substitutes for the cat-sphinxes various parts of their bodies :
12 leurs reins (the loins of the cats ) , 1 4 leurs prunelles (the pupils of their
eyes) . In the final tercet, the implicit subject of the interior stanzas
again becomes an accessory part of the sentence. The cats appear first
as an implicit adjunct of the subject-1 2 Leurs reins feconds sont pleins
then, in the poem's last clause, they function as a mere implicit adjunct
of the object: 14 Etoilent vaguement leurs prunelles. Thus the cats appear
to be linked to the object of the transitive verb in the last clause of the
sonnet and to the subject in the penultimate, antecedent clause,
thereby establishing a double correspondence on the one hand with
the cats as direct object in the first clause of the sonnet and, on the
other, with the cats as subject of its second clause.
191
G RAMMAR I N POETRY
Whereas at the beginning of the sonnet both subject and object were
of the animate class, the two similar parts of the final clause both be
long to the inanimate class. In general, all the substantives in the last
tercet are concrete nouns of the same class : 12 reins) 12etincelles)
13parcelles) I30 13 sable, 14prunelles) while in all previous stanzas the
inanimate appellatives, except for the adnominal ones, were abstract
nouns : 2saison) 3 orgueil) 6silence) 6 horreu gservage, gfiertC) 9 attitudes,
11 reve. The inanimate feminine gender, conunon to the subject and to
the object of the final clause-I3 _ I4 des parcelles d)or . . . Etoilent . . . leurs
prunelles-counterbalances the subject and object of the initial clause,
which both belong to the animate masculine gender- I _ 3Les amoureux
. . . et les savants . . . Aiment . . . Les chats. Parcelles in line 13 is the only
feminine subject in the whole sonnet, and it contrasts with the mascu
line sable fin at the end of the same line, which in turn is the only
example of the masculine gender among the sonnet's masculine
rhymes. In the last tercet, the ultimate particles of matter serve in turns
as object and subject. A new identification, the last within the sonnet,
associates these incandescent particles with sable fin and transforms
them into stars.
The remarkable rhyme which links the two tercets is the only hom
onymous rhyme in the whole sonnet and the only one among its mas
culine rhymes which juxtaposes different parts of speech. There is also
a certain syntactic synunetry between the two rhyme words, since both
end subordinate clauses, one of which is complete and the other, el
liptical. The correspondence, far from being confined to the final syl
lable, closely brings the whole of both lines together: ll/sabla sad.Jrmir
danzre rv safi /-I/parsia d.Jr esi kre sabIa t e / . It is not by chance
that precisely the rhyme that links the two tercets evokes un sable fin,
thus taking the desert motif up again, in the same position as un reve
sans fin of the grands sphinx appears in the first tercet.
La maison) which circumscribes the cats in the first quatrain, is abol
ished in the first tercet with its realm of desert solitudes, true unfolded
house of the cat-sphinxes . In its turn, this "nonhouse" yields to the
cosmic innumerability of the cats (these, like all the personae of
the sonnet, are treated as pluralia tantum) . They become, so to speak,
the house of the nonhouse, since within the irises of their eyes they
enclose the sand of the deserts and the light of the stars.
The epilogue takes up again the initial theme of lovers and scholars
united in Les chats puissants et doux. The first line of the second tercet
seems to answer the first line of the second quatrain; the cats being
192
Baudelairs cCLes Chat)
ence et de la volupte) and the final tercet alludes not only to the
1 amoureuxfirvents but to the 1 savants austeres as well.
In the last tercet, the rhyming suffixes emphasize the strong seman
tic link between the 12etincelles, 13 parcelles d)or and 14prunelles of the
cat-sphinxes on the one hand and, on the other, between the sparks
12Magiques emanating from the animal and its pupils 14 Mystiques il
luminated by an inner light and open to a hidden meaning. This is the
only rhyme in the sonnet which is stripped of its supporting conso
nant, as if to lay bare the equivalence of the morphemes, and the allit
eration of the initial ImJ's ties the two adjectives even closer together.
6L)horreur des tenebres vanishes before this double luminance, which is
reflected on the phonic level by the predominance of phonemes of
light timbre (acute tonality) among the nasal vowels of the final stanza
(6 front versus 3 back vowels), whereas there Was a far greater number
of nasal vowels of grave tonality in the preceding stanzas (9 versus 0 in
the first quatrain, 2 versus 1 in the second, and 10 versus 3 in the first
tercet).
Due to the preponderance of synecdochic tropes at the end of the
sonnet, where parts of the animal are substituted for the whole and,
on the other hand, the animal itself is substituted for the universe of
which it is a part, the images seek, as if by design, to lose themselves
in imprecision. The definite article gives way to the indefinite article
and the adverb which accompanies the verbal metaphor-14Etoilent
vaguement-brilliantly reflects the poetics of the epilogue. The con
formity between the tercets and the corresponding quatrains (horiwn
tal parallelism) is striking. The narrow limits of space (3maison) and of
time (2mitre saison) imposed in the first quatrain are opposed in the
first tercet by the removal or suppression of boundaries (lOfond des
solitudes, 11reve sans fin). Similarly, in the second tercet, the magic of
the light radiating from the cats triumphs over 61'horreur des tenebres,
which nearly wrought such deception in the second quatrain.
Now, in drawing together the parts of our analysis, we shall try to
show how all these different levels blend, complement each other, or
combine to give the poem the value of an absolute object.
193
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
194
the proximity, within the same house, of the cats with the scholars or
lovers. A double resemblance arises out of this contiguity (comme eux)
comme eux) . Similarly, a relation of contiguity in the final tercet also
evolves to the point of resemblance, but whereas, in the first quatrain,
the metonymical relation of the feline and human inhabitants of the
house underlies their metaphorical relation, in the final tercet this sit
uation is interiorized: the link of contiguity rests upon the synecdoche
rather than upon the metonymy proper. The parts of the cat's body
(reins) prunelles) provide a metaphorical evocation of the astral, cosmic
cat, with a concomitant transition from precision to vagueness (egale
ment-vaguement) . The analogy between the interior stanzas is based
on connections of equivalence, the one turned down in the second
quatrain (cats and coursiers funebres), the other accepted in the first ter
cet (cats and grands sphinx) . In the former case, this leads to a rejection
of contiguity (between the cats and VErebe) and, in the latter case, to
the settlement of the cats au fond des solitudes. Contrary to the former
case, the transition is made from a relation of equivalence, a reinforced
form of resemblance (thus a metaphorical move), to relations of con
tiguity (thus metonymical), either negative or positive.
Up to this point, the poem has appeared to consist of systems of
equivalences which fit inside one another and which offer, in their to
tality, the appearance of a closed system. There is, however, yet another
way of looking at it, whereby the poem takes on the appearance of an
open system in dynamic progression from beginning to end.
In the first part of this study we elucidated a division of the poem
into two sestets separated by a distich whose structure contrasted vig
orously with the rest. In the course of our recapitulation, we provision
ally set this division to one side, because we felt that, unlike the others,
it marks the stages of a progression from the order of the real (the first
sestet) to that of the surreal (the second sestet). This transition oper
ates via the distich, which by the accumulation of semantic and formal
devices lures the reader for a brief moment into a doubly unreal uni-
1 to 6 7 and 8 9 to 14
extrinsic intrinsic
empirical mythological
195
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
verse, since, while sharing with the first sestet the standpoint of exte
riority, it anticipates the mythological tone of the second sestet. By this
sudden oscillation both of tone and of theme, the distich fulfils a func
tion somewhat resembling that of modulation in a musical composi
tion.
The purpose of this modulation is to resolve the opposition, implicit
or explicit from the beginning of the poem, between the metaphorical
and metonymical procedures. The solution provided by the final sestet
is achieved by transferring this opposition to the very heart of the me
tonymy, while expressing it by metaphorical means. In effect, each of
the tercets puts forward an inverse image of the cats. In the first tercet,
the cats originally enclosed in the house are, so to speak, extravasated
from it in order to expand spatially and temporally in the infinite de
serts and the dream without end. The movement is from the inside to
the outside, from cats in seclusion to cats at liberty. In the second ter
cet, the breaking down of barriers is interiorized by the cats' attaining
cosmic proportions, since they conceal in certain parts of their bodies
(reins and prunelles) the sands of the desert and the stars of the sky. In
both cases the transformation occurs via metaphorical devices, but
there is no thorough equilibrium between the two transformations:
the first still owes something to semblance (prennent . . . les . . . atti
tudes .. . qui semblent s)endonnir) and to dream (en songeant . . . dans
un reve) , whereas in the second case the transformation is declared and
affirmed as truly achieved (sont pleins . . . Etoilent) . In the first the cats
close their eyes to sleep, in the second they keep them open.
Nevertheless, these ample metaphors of the final sestet simply trans
pose to the scale of the universe an opposition that was already implic
itly formulated in the first line of the poem. Around the "lovers" and
"scholar" terms are assembled which unite them respectively in a con
tracted or dilated relation: the man in love is joined to the woman as
the scholar is to the universe: two types of conjunction, the one close
and the other remote.6 It is the same rapport that the final transfigu
rations evoke: dilation of the cats in time and space-constriction of
time and space within the beings of the cats. But, here again, just as
noted earlier, the symmetry between the two formulas is not complete.
The latter contains within it a collection of all the oppositions: the reins
ftconds recall the volupte of the amoureux) as do the prunelles the science
of the savants; magiques refers to the active fervor of the one, mystiques
to the contemplative attitude of the other.
)
Baudelairs ((Les ChaW
Two final points: The fact that all the gr anunatical subjects in the
sonnet (with the exception of the proper noun P"Brebe) are plural, and
that all feminine rhymes are formed with plurals (including the sub
stantive solitudes), is curiously illuminated by a few passages from Bau
delaire's Foules which, moreover, seem to throw light upon the whole
of the sonnet: "Multitude, solitude: terms equal and interchangeable
by the active and fertile poet ... The poet enjoys that incomparable
privilege, that he can, at will, be both himself and another ... What
men call love is very small, very restricted and very weak compared to
that ineffable orgy, that blessed prostitution of the soul which gives
itself in its entirety, its poetry and charity, to the unforeseen which
emerges, to the unknown one who passes." 7
In the poet's sonnet, the cats are initially qualified as puissants e t doux
and in the final line their pupils are likened to the stars. Crepet and
Blin8 compare this to a line in Sainte-Beuve: "l'astre puissant et doux"
(I829) and find the same epithets in a poem by Brizeux (I832) in which
women are thus apostrophized: ''Etres deux fois doues!Etres puissants
et doux!"
This would confirm, were there any need to do so, that for Baude
laire the image of the cat is closely linked to that of the woman, as is
shown explicitly in two other poems entitled "Le Chat" and pertaining
to the same collection.Thus the sonnet-"Viens, mon beau chat, sur
mon creur amoureux"-contains the revealing line: "Je vois rna femme
en esprit." The second of these poems-"Dans rna cervelle se promene
...Un beau chat, fort, doux" -squarely asks the question: "est-il fee,
est-il dieu ? " This motif of vacillation between male and female is sub
jacent in "Les Chats;' where it shows through from beneath inten
tional ambiguities (Les amoureux . . . Aiment . . . Les chats puissants et
doux; Leurs reinsfeconds) . Michel Butor notes with reason that for Bau
delaire "these two aspects: femininity and supervirility, far from being
mutually exclusive, are in fact bound together." 9 All the characters in
the sonnet are of masculine gender, but les chats and their alter ego, les
grands sphinx) share an androgynous nature. This very ambiguity is
emphasized throughout the sonnet by the paradoxical choice of femi
nine substantives for so-called masculine rhymes.10 The cats, by their
mediation, permit the removal of woman from the initial assemblage
formed by lovers and scholars. "Le poete des Chats;' liberated from
love "bien petit, bien restreint;' meets face to face and perhaps even
blends with the universe, delivered from the scholar's austerity.
197
CHAPTER 12
199
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
200
)
Shakespeare s Verbal Art
2
cially in "the magnificent 129." Thus the peculiar distribution of com
mas within the lines is explainable by the hybrid function which so
often in the use of poets proves to be a compromise between syntactic
division and rhythmic phrasing; hence in the centrifugal lines the syn
tactically motivated comma is omitted as unnecessary when the syntac
tic pauses coincide with the breaks so that the rhythmic phrasing
prompts the desirable segmentation of the lines. On the other hand,
the seemingly unexpected comma in III2 Had) having) and in quest) I to
have extreame is needed to point out the break at the end of the middle
foot since a) the break at the beginning of this foot is lacking, while b)
the break in the preceding line marks only the beginning but not the
end of the middle foot: Mad In pursut I and in possession so) and since c)
the break signaled by the comma is only lexically but not syntactically
motivated. The two lines in question are the sole centrifugal lines with
a break which marks only the beginning or the end of the middle foot,
whereas in the other lines of the same rhythmic group both the begin
ning and the end of the middle foot are marked by a break. As to the
centripetal lines, the absence of the comma after blouddy in the se
quence of four collateral adjectives Is perjurd) murdrous) I blouddy full of
blame) emphasizes the higher relevance of the preceding word bound
ary, which carried the compulsory break throughout the first half of
the soOnet.
III. Interpretation
An insight into the peculiar use of commas in the first edition of
the sonnet and a consistently comparative analysis of its four stanzas
lead us to their tentative explanatory rewording, literal as far as pos
sible:
201
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
being tried and a real woe after having been tried, beforehand a
proposed joy, afterwards a phantom;
IV all this is well-known to the world but nobody knows well
enough to shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
202
Shakespears Verbal Art
but on the other hand, each strophe is endowed with one instance
of the infinitive which belongs to one of its even lines, the fourth line
of I and II and the second of III and rv. All these infinitive forms of
transitive verbs differ in their syntactic function and the first and last
of them seem even to transgress the granunatical standard of Elizabe
than times:
13 Is ... 4not to trust
Il4 layd to make the taker mad
1Il2 in quest to have
IV 1 none knowes well) [how] IV2 To shun the heaven) in
an elliptic
12 before a-behind a
The widely repetitive texture of the two final lines will be analyzed
below in Section VIII, devoted to the terminal couplet.
203
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
204
Shakespeare's VerbalArt
men to this hell) and thus discloses by what perjurer the joy was pro
posed and the lure laid. As Douglas Bush judiciously notes, "the sen
sual lover's heaven and hell are grimly ironic reminders of their reli
gious counterparts;' while the surmise launched by Riding and Graves
that in this sonnet ''Heaven to Shakespeare is the longing for a tempo
rary stability" finds no support in the poet's text. 9
205
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
stantival distich of the first strophe. This distich contains precisely four
verbal nexus words while the only substantive of the second distich,
endowed with eight adjectives, functions as a mere modifier of its last
adjective:foll ofhlame (blameful).
Only in the odd strophes do substantives occur as modifiers of other
substantives or of adjectives (6 + 4-). In the odd strophes verbal forms
(3 + 5) are devoid of modifiers. In the even strophes verbal forms
(7 + 4-) require modifiers with only one exception (II3 a swollowed
hayt) . All these rules exhibit the sharp difference between the odd and
even strophes, the latter dynamic, oriented toward verbs or verbals and
superimposing them upon other parts of speech, whereas the odd
strophes deploy a much more static and synthesizing tendency and
hence focus upon abstract substantives and upon adjectives. The verbal
orientation of the even strophes may be exemplified both by the ter
minal couplet built on the only three concrete finites of the poem, and
by the second quatrain a) with its participles which their modifiers
distinctly separate from adjectives and b) with the two concrete de
verbative nouns taker and hayt. Compare, as to Shakespeare's feeling
for the verbal cognates of the latter noun, his sentence "Bait the hook
well; this fish will bite" (Much AcW ahout Nothing) 2.3.II4-) .
Both animates of the sonnet, the two which pertain to the personal
(human) gender, function as direct objects in the last line of the even
strophes: II taker and IV men. In common usage the unmarked agent
of the verb is an animate, primarily of personal gender, and the un
marked goal is an inanimate. But in both cited constructions with tran
sitive verbs the sonnet inverts this nuclear order. Both personal nouns
of the poem characterize human beings as passive goals of extrinsic
nonhuman and inhuman actions. It is significant that the deverbative
noun, II4 taker., provided with an agentive, personal suffix, and subor
dinate to the verb to make) characterizes this human being as an under
goer of action. The phonic and semantic correspondence between the
verbs make and take is underscored by the first rhyme make -take of
Sonnet 81 and by the terminal rhyme take-make of 91.
Conjunctions are only copulative in the odd strophes (I + 3);
chiefly adversative in the even strophes (I + I) . The neighborhood of
conjunctions and negatives is alien to the odd strophes but regular in
the even strophes: II 1 no sooner . . . hut; 2 and no sooner; IV 1 yet none.
These differences between the conjunctions and their use in the two
pairs of strophic units characterize the higher dramatic tension of the
even strophes.
206
Shakespears Verbal Art
207
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
208
Shakespears Verbal Art
209
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
210
Shakespears Verbal Art
2II
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
All this I the world I well knowes I yet none I knowes well,
To shun I the heaven I that leads I men to this hell.
This metrical phrasing is prepared for by the oxytones which fill the
preceding two lines, so that eight of ten feet are expressly signaled
within each of the two final distichs :
212
Shakespears verbalArt
x. Anagrams?
In a few of Shakespeare's sonnets (134-136) his name Will is in
serted in a punning way and suggests the tentative question whether
his signature is not anagramm atized in 129 so that the poet's remark
"every word doth almost tell my name" (Sonnet 76) -might be applied
in its literal meaning to the poem under discussion. Especially the let-
213
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
ters and sounds of the first line seem to disclose the family name of the
poet, written in his own and contemporaneous spellings as Shakspere,
23
Shakspeare, Shackspeare, Shaxpere: I I expence (xp) ofSpirit (sp.r) shame
(sha), while the terminal couplet with its thrice iterated /w/ and partic
ularly with the words well (w.ll) yet (y) men (m) could carry a latent
allusion to William. Since in wordplays Shakespeare was prone to
24
equate the vocables will and well, the entire concluding couplet
could-perhaps !-conceal a second, facetious autobiographical read
ing: ''All this [is] the world Will knows, yet none knows Will to shun
the heaven that leads men to this hell." The omission of the copulative
verb would be consistent with the ellipses used in the rest of the son
net; moreover, the contraction of "this is" to "this" was current during
the Shakespearean era.25
214
)
Shakespeare s Verbal Art
sexual encounter," gradually "fading out in the speaker's memory " and
leading him towards a more "favorable view of lust "? 30
A sound reaction against such forced, oversimplified, and diluting
interpretations of Shakespeare's very words and particularly against an
excessive modernization of his punctuation led Laura Riding and Rob
ert Graves to the opposite extreme. If more than once the Elizabethan
was subliminally adapted by editors and commentators to a Victorian
poetics, the authors of the essay "William Shakespeare and E. E. Cum
mings" are in turn prone to close the chasm between these two poets
of dissimilar quests and strivings. The research of the last decades has
shown the significant role of fanciful ambiguities in the work of Shake
speare, but there is a far-reaching distance from his puns and double
meanings to the surmise of the free and infinite multiplicity of seman
tic load attributed to Sonnet 129 by the critics named. An objective
scrutiny of Shakespeare's language and verbal art, with particular ref
erence to this poem, reveals the cogent and mandatory unity of its
thematic and compositional framework. The perspicuous confronta
tion of a joy proposed beforehand with a phantom lingering after
wards (III4 ) cannot be arbitrarily recast into a joy "to be desired
through the dream by which lust leads itself on" or into such accessory
"legitimate" meanings as "before a joy can be proposed there must be
a dream behind, a joy lost by waking" or "before a joy can be proposed
it must be put behind as a dream;' and so on. 3 1 That none of these
alleged meanings has the slightest substantiation in Shakespeare's
verse, "so far from variation or quick change" (Sonnet 76), can and
must be corroborated by a structural analysis of his text and poetic
texture in all its interlaced facets.
215
CHAPTER 13
Why, what could she have done being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?
('No Second Troy/J 1910
216
pect;' 4 and an inquiry into the role of "pattern" in Yeats' own poetry
becomes particularly attractive, especially when one is confronted with
his constant and careful modifications of his own works.
217
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
a 1892 Ind: the World b 1892 Ind: quarreling c 189S: leaves, d 1891: hushed e 1892 Ind:
bitter f 1892 Ind: sorrow; 189S: trouble g 189S: trouble " 1891: million i 1891: angry
sparrows; 1892 Ind: warring sparrows j 1891 and 1892 Ind: withered; 189S: curd-pale
k 1892 Ind: pale 1 1891: The wearisome loud chaunting of the leaves.
Actually, the poem offers two profoundly different texts, the early
version of 1892, with a series of variants from the manuscript of 1891 to
the final retouchings of 1895, and, on the other hand, the last, radically
revised version of 1925. The final revision was so extensive that the
vocabulary of the two versions has in common only: I) the rhyme
words-in a few cases with their antecedent auxiliary words (I I in the
eaves) 2and . . . the . . . sky, 30f . . . leaves) 4and . . . cry; III 30f the . . .
leaves) 4and . . . cry) and with the exception of one substitution (192S:II
4peers for 1892: years) -or with their attributes in the inner quatrain (II
I red mournful) 3Iabouring) ; 2) seven initial accessory monosyllables
(five and) two the) one had) ; 3) one noun inside the second line of each
quatrain (I 2moon) II 2world) III 2moon) .
218
Composition
The poem consists of three quatrains which in their structure
display two patent binary oppositions : the two outer quatrains (I and
III) exhibit common properties distinct from those of the inner qua
train (II) , while at the same time they differ essentially in their internal
structure from each other.
Both in the early and final version the poem confronts two opposite
levels of subject matter, the upper and lower respectively. Six lines are
devoted to each of them. The upper sphere, which may be labeled the
"overground" level, is treated in the first three lines of each outer qua
train. The lower level is focused upon in the four lines of the inner
quatrain and in the fourth line of each outer quatrain. The last line of
these two quatrains (14 and 1114 ) designates its topic as earth in the
early version of the poem and as man in the late version, and the lower
level may thus be defined as 'terrestrial' in respect to SL I892 and as
specifically 'human' in SL I92S.
Only the outer quatrains expressly designate the two different levels
and bring them into conflict. In both versions of the poem the initial
quatrain portrays the outcome of this combat as a victory, and the final
quatrain-as a defeat, of the overground level. Yet the extent of these
outcomes varies significantly in the two versions of the poem. In the
early version (SL I892) the two rival levels continue to coexist, and only
their hierarchy undergoes a change : at the beginning the overground
I 4Had hid away earth)s old and weary crX but at the end it is the char
acters of the overground who III 4Are shaken with earth)s . . . cry. To
this preserved contiguity of the adversary spheres the late version of
the poem (SL I92S) replies first by the obliteration of the human level
(the overground I 4Had blotted out man)s image and his cry) and then,
conversely, by the dissolution of the overground in the human level
(the characters of the upper level III 4Could but compose man)s image
and his cry) . In the parlance of the French translator Yves Bonnefoy,
"Ne purent etre qu'a l'image de l'homme et son cri d'angoisse;' and in
R. Exner's German translation, "Verdichten sich zu Menschenruf und
Menschenbild." 10 As indicated by A Concordance to the Poems of W B.
Yeats) the verb compose appears in Yeats' poetry but once, in the final
line of SL I92S. 11
The mere contiguity, definable in metonymic terms, which charac
terized the two spheres in the outer quatrains of SL I892) in SL I92S
219
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
220
Yeaty ((Sorrow of Lovtf)
Grammar
-Ing Fomts
1925
Before focusing on the two basic grammatical opposites-noun and
verb-let us mention the intermediate morphological entity which is,
according to Strang, "best labeled non-committally the -ing form." 1 9
Such forms appear once in every stanza of SL 1925, each time introduc
ing the motif of movement into the nominal part of the three sen
tences : the first, in a substantival function, I 1The brawling, and the
other two in an adjectival use, II 3the labouring ships and III 2A climb
tng moon.
221
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
1891-92
Like SL 1925) the manuscript of 1891 contained one -ing form in each
quatrain, two of the three in adjectival and one in substantival function
(I 3cver-singing) II 3labouring) III 3the . . . chaunting) . Their salient pat
tern in SL 1891 was their location in the third line of each quatrain. SL
1892 displays a greater tendency toward dynamism in the third quatrain,
in which, besides the already-mentioned substantival III 3the
chaunting) one finds the two attributes, I warring and 2 crumbling.
Nouns
1925
3 2
The poem contains twenty-seven ( 3 ) nouns, nine ( 3 ) in each quatrain,
of which three in each quatrain occur with prepositions :
I I sparr (in) eaves; 21nOon) sky; 3 harmon)'J (of) leaves; 4man)s
(of)
image) cry
II I girl) lips; 2 greatness) (of) world) (in) tears; 30dysseus) ships;
4Priam) (with) peers
III I (on) instant) eaves; 21nOon) (upon) sky; 3lamentation) (of) leaves;
4man)s) image) cry
One even line of each quatrain has three nouns (14' II2 , III4 ), and
any other line-two nouns. This rule can be further specified. In the
outer (odd) quatrains the even line of the even distich contains an odd
number of nouns (3), whereas in the inner (even) quatrains this odd
number of nouns (3) is found in the even line of the odd distich. Any
other line of the poem contains an even number of noUl)S (2 ) .
Each quatrain has only one abstract noun, each of more than one
syllable and each followed by the same preposition : I 3harmony (of) ;
II 2greatness (of) ; III 3lamentation (of) .
The poem contains six personal (human, belonging to the who
gender) nouns, of which two common (II I girl, 4peers) and two
proper names (3 Odysseus) 4 Priam) appear in the inner quatrain,
whereas each of the outer quatrains has only one personal noun, the
possessive man)s in 14 and III4 . Of these six personal nouns only one
(II 19irl) belongs to the feminine (she-) gender, while the other five
are of the masculine (he-) gender.
Only nouns function as rhyme fellows, and the plural occurs solely
in rhymes : eight of the twelve rhyme fellows are plural nouns . Might
222
Yeats) ((Sorrow ofLov)
not this propensity of the rhyming line-ends for the plural perhaps
underscore a contrast between the frame of the lines and their inside ?
Is not the inside of the line the actual arena in which the individual
actors of the drama perform, such as "the brawling sparrow" and "the
brilliant moon;' "a girl" and "man;' "Odysseus" and "Priam"? The dis
tinctness of the rhymes is highlighted not only by their grammatical
peculiarities, but also by the consistent use of monosyllabic words in
all the rhymes of the poem and by the common vocalic properties that
all of them share: the rhymes of the first quatrain, all repeated in the
third, are built on the phoneme Iii alone or as the asyllabic end of the
dipthong lail, while all four lines of the second quatrain use III, the lax
(short) opposite of the tense Iii. The two constituents of each of the
six rhymes are morphologically homogeneous but syntactically heter
ogeneous. In each quatrain one line ends in a grammatical subject (I
2sky) II 3ships) III 1 eaves) , one in a direct object (I 4cry) II llips) III 4cry) ,
and two in prepositional constructions (I 1 in the eaves) 30f leaves; II 2in
tears, 4with his peers; III 2upon an empty sky, 30fthe leaves) . The variety
in the syntactic use of the rhyming nouns achieved in SL 1925 is lacking
in the early version, where ten of the rhyme-fellows belong to prepo
sitional constructions. The only exception in SL 1892 is the rhyming of
the subject I 2sky with the direct object I 4crY, which grammatically
underlines the striking opposition of the overground and terrestrial
levels.
223
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
dering earth herself . . . " or "before earth took him to her stony care." 2 1
I t i s noteworthy that in both versions the possessive always falls o n the
metrical upbeat. The increase of personalization among the nouns of
SL 1925 is also witnessed by the replacement of the personal pronoun
you in II 1 2 of SL 1892 by the noun II 1 girl. )
_
Prenominal Attributes
1925
The phrases built of nouns and prenominal attributes (adjectives
proper and -ing forms) in the three quatrains of SL 1925 display a re
markably symmetrical patterning:
QUATRAIN
{ I:
II:
LINE: 1 .
2
2.
2
3.
1
1
4. TOTAL
3
3
III: 1 2 3
=
224
Yeat ((Sorrow of Love))
Each quatrain <;:ontains two lines with and two lines without pre
nominal attributes. There are no prenominal attributes in the fourth
line of any quatrain. Of the first three lines in each quatrain, one line
contains two, one line-one, and one line-no prenominal attributes.
The third line contains no more than one prenominal attribute (I
3!amous) II 3 labouring) 1II3 -- ) . If one of the first three lines contains
no prenominal attributes, a neighboring line will have two of them: I
1 --, 2brilliant) milky; II I red) mournful) 2 -- ; III 2climbing) empty)
3--) . In contradistinction to the outer quatrains, with prenominal
attributes in contiguous lines, the inner quatrain has such attributes in
its odd lines only. The line without prenominal attributes advances
from one quatrain to the next, so that its distribution forms a descend
ing curve. The distribution of prenominal attributes in the first three
lines of the final quatrain displays a mirror symmetry to that of the
initial quatrain (I, 2, - -, 2, I ) .
Postpositive Attributes
225
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
Pronouns
1925
Only three pronouns occur in the poem. All three are attributive, and
each of them -his) that) all-is repeated three times, giving a sum total
of nine. His occupies the penultimate syllable of the last line in each
quatrain and refers expressly to a masculine noun: I 4his crX II 4his
peers) III 4his cry (man)s in 14 and III4 ; Priam in II4 ) . That appears in
one odd line of each quatrain, as a demonstrative pronoun referring,
in a rather high-flown manner, to abstracts in the outer quatrains (I
3that . . . hannony) III 3that lamentation) and as a relative pronoun re
ferring to a feminine noun in the inner quatrain (II 1 a girl . . . that)
in accordance with the subordinative structure of this stanza. All oc
curs only in the outer quatrains, two times in contiguous lines of the
first and once in the third, in the con1binations and all the (I2), And all
that (13 ' III3 ), and refers to singular nouns of the overground level, I
2 sky) I 3 hannony of leaves) III 3 lamentation of the leaves.
226
sion into two distichs contrasted in gender is supported by the distri
bution of feminine and masculine nouns (II I girl and 2world vs.
30dysseus) 4Priam) peers) . Twice, in turn, the pronoun all opens the
contiguous lines of the second distich in the inner quatrain of SL 1892
(II 3 4And all the . . . ) , where it refers to nouns of the terrestrial level
'
(II 3 sorrows) 4burdens) ; in SL 1925 this pronoun is found, on the con
trary, in the outer quatrains (13 ' III 3And all that . . . ) where it refers,
to the overground level. Finally, II 1 those) in the context you came with
those red mournful lips) reinforces the odic manner of direct address in
the early version and makes the roles of both the addresser and the
addressee more prominent.
Adverbs
Two adverbs, II 1 then and III 1 now, each preceded by the initial
conjunction And) open the two sentences of the second and third qua
trains of SL 1892 (note also a third adverbial form in the first quatrain
which is part of the complex adjective I 3And . . . ever-singing) . All
three disappear in SL 1925.
Articles
1925
The nine occurrences of the in the three quatrains form an arithmetical
regression: 4-3-2. In the first half of the poem, three lines contain
two definite articles each, and three have none, whereas the second half
has three lines with one definite article in each, and three without any.
In each quatrain of the poem, there are two lines with, and two with
out, definite articles .
QUATRAIN :
{ I:
II:
LINE: 1 .
2 the 2
2
2.
the
the Ir'"':-
3.
l th-
--:' e
-
4.
TOTAL
4
3
III : -:l:- -: e----.;
th,... . 1 the
2
9
Only one line in each quatrain, and in each case a different line,
contains both the definite article and prenominal attributes : 12, II3 ,
227
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
III 1 . Each quatrain has one line with the indefinite article a and/or an)
which may be compared to the equal distribution of lines with the
definite article (two lines per quatrain) . The final line of each quatrain
is completely devoid of articles.
The distribution of the articles is limited to the first two lines in the
first quatrain and forms a rectangle. In the second and third quatrains
the articles extend over the first three lines of each and form the figure
of an oblique-angled quadrangle:
The the
I:
I
. The
a
the I
II:
III:
Of the articles, a is totally absent from SL 1892) whereas the distribution
of the definite articles- 18 in the entire poem: seven in each of the
outer quatrains and four in the inner one-corresponds strikingly to
the identical pattern of prenominal attributes in the two earliest var
iants of the poem. It should be noted, finally, that in each quatrain of
SL 1892 only one line lacks the definite article : the final line of the outer
quatrains, and the initial line of the inner quatrain.
Connectives
1925
The poem contains two equational conjunctions, both confined to the
inner quatrain (II 3like) )
4as , against nine copulative conjunctions,
228
three instances of and in each quatrain . The other class of connectives,
namely the prepositions (which here include oj; in) with) on) and upon) ,
like copulative conjunctions, numbers nine i n toto) three per quatrain.
The latter two classes of connectives taken together are attested nine
times in each half of the poem (I I -Il2 and Il3 -IlI4 ) .
The distribution of these two categories (copulative conjunctions
and prepositions) forms an identical chiasmus in the two distichs of
each quatrain :
Thus in the transition from the first distich to the second each quatrain
displays one and the same movement from government performed by
the prepositions to gramm atical agreement carried by the copulative
conjunction and. This rule of transition from superposition to align
ment may be juxtaposed to the consistent absence of masculine per
sonal nouns in the first distichs of all three quatrains and the presence
of such nouns in the final distich of each quatrain.
229
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
Finite Verbs
1925
In the first half of the poem (11 _ 3 ) are fol
three lines without finites
lowed by three lines each containing one or more finites (I4-II2 ) ; in
the second half of the poem the last line of each three-line group (II3 -
III2, 1II2 _ 4) contains a finite.
The number of finites is limited to six active forms referring to the
third person. Three of these forms (I + 2) appear in the outer qua
trains, and three-in the first distich of the inner quatrain. The ratio of
verbs to nouns is I : 3 in the inner and I : 8 in the two outer quatrains .
All three semantic types of verbs outlined by Jespersen28-verbs of
action, of process, and of state-occur, each twice, among the six finite
forms of SL I92S. The verbs of action are represented by two compound
forms bound to the first hemistich of the last line in the outer quatrains
(I 4Had blotted out) III 4Could but compose) . The verbs of state are re
stricted to the first distich of the inner quatrain (II 1 had) 2And seemed) .
The repeated verb of process occurs in the initial hemistich of the inner
and last quatrains (II 1 arose) III lArose) . In SL I925 the verbs of action
in their compound form each consist of four syllables, the verbs of
process-two, and the verbs of state-of only one syllable.
The finites of the three quatrains exhibit a pervasive interplay. The
initial and final predicates of the poem (I 4Had blotted out) III 4Could
but compose), its only compound verbal forms and its only verbs of
action, are dramatically played against one another. The auxiliary (I
4Had . . . ) yields patently to the independent appearance of the same
verb (II 1 had . . . lips), which then pairs with the only other verb of
status, II 2And seemed. . . . The only verb of process, arose, which
heads the whole sentence of the inner quatrain (II 1 A girl arose . . . ) ,
230
is repeated to introduce the third quatrain (III 1 Arose) and . . . ) and,
finally, forms an internal rhyme with the last verb of the poem, III4 . ..
compose.
r892
SL 1925 contains a higher number of finites and, at the same time, ex
hibits a greater gramm atical uniformity in their use than does the early
version. The repertory of verbs in SL 1892 is limited to four finites, two
in the first distich of the inner quatrain and two in the last lines of the
outer quatrains. The ratio of verbs to nouns is here I :4 in the inner
quatrain and I :8 in the outer quatrain. The inner quatrain twice uses
the same preterit, came) first in reference to the second person (II lYOU
came with . . . ) and then in reference to the third person (II 2with you
came the whole . . . ) . The compound finite forms of the outer quatrains,
the sole verbs of action, differ in tense and voice (I 4Had hid away, III
4Are shaken) .
In contradistinction to SL 1925) the early version lacks verbs of state.
The verbs of action in the two versions are bound to the last line of
the outer quatrains, whereas the first distich of the inner quatrain con
tains the verbs of process in SL 1892 and the verbs of state in SL 1925.
The verb of process occurs twice in both the early and final version,
but in the former refers to different persons (second and third respec
tively) and in the latter qualifies as a genuine repetition (referring in
both instances to II 1 A girl) . In SL 1925 this verb of process pertains to
the initial hemistich of the inner and final quatrains, while in SL 1892 it
is attached to the initial hemistich of the first and second line of the
inner quatrain.
Despite these variations, the different semantic types of verbs follow
the same mirror symmetry in both versions :
1925 1892
231
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
1925
The substantial difference between the inner quatrain and the two
outer ones lies in their syntactic organization. The first and third qua
trains are built on a coordination of four elliptical clauses : I( a) 1 The
brawling . . . (Had blotted out . . .); (b) 2The brilliant 1nOon (Had blotted
out . . . ) ; (c) 2and all the milky sky (Had blotted out . . . ); (d) 3And . . .
that harmony . . . 4Had blotted out manYs image and his cry; III (a) (agirl)
lArose; (b) 1 and . . . eaves (Could but compose . . . ) ; (c) 2A . . . 1nOon . . .
(Could but compose . . . ); (d) 3And . . . that lamentation . . . 4 Could but
compose manYs image and his cry.
In the inner stanza, on the contrary, the syntactic division into four
parts is based on gramm atical subordination: I1 (a) l A girl arose; (b)
lthat had . . . 0nd seemed . . . ; (c) 3Doomed . . . 4And proud . . . ; (d)
4murdered. Each of the two inner parts of this quatrain- (b) and (c)
is in tum divided into two coordinate sections, each of which is bound
together by the conjunction and.
232
Predication
1925
In the outer quatrains of both the early and final version, all the nom
inal subjects of the first three lines await their predicate in the fourth
line. In the inner quatrain of SL 1925 the main clause-Il l A girl arose
takes up the initial hemistich of the first line, but the rest of the first
distich is occupied by two collaterally subordinated clauses whose dif
ferent predicates relate to the same antecedent subject, whereas in the
outer quatrains different coordinated subjects relate to one and the
same final predicate. In the final distich of this inner quatrain the two
lines begin with semi-predicates of contracted collateral clauses (II
3Doomed-4And proud) which are subordinated to an antecedent
headword and followed in the final hemistich by a participial clause of
lower syntactic rank ( II 4murdered with his peers ) .
II 1 A girl) is the only among the elliptic clauses of the stanza which
233
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
omits the subject rather than the predicate. It is significant that in both
versions of SL the deviation occurs in regard to the only verb which is
twice repeated and which signals the appearance of the heroine.
Sounds
According to Yeats' meditation of 1900, "all sounds, all colours,
all forms, either because of their preordained energies or because of
long association, evoke indefinable and yet precise emotions, or, as I
prefer to think, call down among us certain disembodied powers,
31
whose footsteps over our hearts we call emotions."
The phonological association established in the early version of SL
between the title of the lyric and the auditory imagery of its first qua
train is maintained in SL I92S: Son-ow-I 1 sparrow., and Love-I 3leaves.
Within the twelve lines of the poem the interplay of words allied in
sound creates an affinity and contrast either between the components
of the same line or between diverse lines within the same quatrain, and
even within the same distichs, or, conversely, between correlative lines
of two different quatrains. The appearance of expressive consonantal
clusters through the use of tightly-knit word groups and of vocalic
syncope furthers and widens the application of this poetic device.
Among other reasons for the textual changes in the final version of
the outer quatrains, a pertinent role belongs to the paronomastic link
established in these two stanzas between the auditory performance re
ported in their first lines and the visual phenomena referred to in their
second lines. Moreover, especially in the first quatrain, a distinct allit
eration binds these two vocables of the first distich, oriented respec
tively toward hearing and sight, with the predicate of the fourth
line: I 1brawling Ibr.l /-2brilliant Ibr J / 4Had blotted lbl /, and III
-
1 clamorous Ikl.m 1-2 climbing Ikl.m 1-2 empty Imp I-3 lamentation Il.m I
-4Could but compose Ik.mp/. The junctural cluster Idbl is common to
both final predicates of the outer quatrains (I 4Had blotted out-III
4Could but) . Note also the similar juncture Irkl of III 1 instant clamor
ous- III 4but compose. It is worth mentioning that none of the quoted
words occurred in the early version.
Moon) the significant verbal image which in all variants of SL heads
the second line of the two outer stanzas, finds no further support for
its initial Iml all through the first quatrain of the early version, and the
only complementary instance of Iml in the third quatrain-III
234
Yeat ((Sorrow of Lov)
enhancing occurrences of Im/: Ill 2came and 4myriad. The focal inno
,
vation of SL 1925 in its outer quatrains was the providing of 2 moon with
its vocalic, grammatical (he-gender) , and semantic counterpart in the
other even line of the same stanzas-14 and III 4man s.
)
In the outer quatrains of SL 1925 the abstracts of the third, interme
diate line-I 3 harmony Im.nl and III 3 1amentation Im.n/-throw a pa
ronomastic bridge between I, III 2moon and 4man\ at the same time
they intensify the antithetic relation between the inner and outer stan
zas, whereas in SL 1892 the final distichs of the outer quatrains repeat
edly confront I 3the loud Il.dl song (or III 3chaunting) of the . . . leaves
)
with 14 and III 4earth s old Il.dl and weary cry.
In SL 1925 the even lines of the outer quatrains, in contradistinction
to the odd lines, possess a clear-cut masculine break after the second
downbeat of the iambic pentameter. In the outer quatrains the first
hemistich of the second line finishes with moon) and the second hemi
)
stich of the fourth line begins with man s. -The initial Iml of the two
alternants is symmetrically reinforced by the phonemic environment.
In contradistinction to the only couple of grave (labial) nasals in SL
1895 and subsequent editions before 1925 (12 and III 2 moon), the outer
quatrains of SL 1925 number fourteen instances of this phoneme: within
the initial quatrain Iml appears twice in each of its even lines and in
)
the intermediate line (I 2moon . . . milky sk 4man s image) 3famous har
mony); the final quatrain has one Iml in each odd line and three in each
even line (III lclamorous) 2climbing moon . . . empty sk 31amentation)
)
4compose man s image) . The double chain of the Im.nl responses is most
)
telling: I moon-harmony-man s; III moon-lamentation-man s. It is
)
also significant that precisely the final picture of the lonesome lunar
wanderer contains the greatest accumulation of nasals : III 2A climbing
moon upon an empty sky (with seven nasals : three labial, three dental,
and one velar) .
In the initial simile of the inner quatrain the sounds of the "tenor,"
IIlgirl Ig.rl/, show twofold ties with the 'vehicle', II 2greatness Igrl of
235
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
the world Id/. Let us mention in this connection that Marjorie Pedoff
was right in pointing out the "trilled r's" in the poet's recorded read
2
ings of his own poems; 3 the r-colored vowels of English include a
postvocalic Irl in Yeats' sound pattern, so that the vowel of girl and
world is here really followed by a pair of liquid phonemes Id/. The
seven occurrences of a tautosyllabic Irl distinctly detach the inner qua
train of SL 1925 from the outer quatrains, where Ir I, with one exception
(I 3harmony) , regularly occupies a prevocalic position.
The only internal noun common to both versions of the second
stanza-II2world- is in both of them supplied with an antecedent anal
ogous in its sonorant cluster Id/: in SL 1925 the preceding line of the
same quatrain opens with the noun II I girl) whereas in SL 1892 the
corresponding line of the initial quatrain has two complex epithets
each containing a cluster of these liquids-I 2 full round Ilrl . . . star
laden Id/-echoed by Idl in II 3 her lab(ou) ring.
In the inner quatrain of SL 1925) two subordinate constructions, the
first and last not only in this stanza but also in the poem as a whole,
are bound together by their melancholy mood and form a complex
paronomasia: II I had red mournful . . . -4murdered Idr.dm.r-m.rd.rdl.
It is curious that Parkinson33 scorned the latter "major word" as pro
saic, unordered, and unable to "participate in the alliterative pattern":
II 4proud Ipr/-Priam Iprl-peers Ip. r/. An alliterative pattern concludes
SL 1892 (I 3 harmonY-4Had-4his) III 4Could
each outer quatrain in
compose-cry)) along with a triple vocalic 'anlaut' : I 4away earth)s old
and III 4Are shaken with earth)s old. Furthermore, one observes that
although it does not take part in the alliteration of the initial conso
nants, II 4murdered in SL 1925 is nevertheless tied to the words of the
antecedent hemistich : proud Ipr.d/-/rd.rdl and Priam Ipr.m l-/m.r/.
The two marginal lines of the inner quatrain inspires Yeats from SL
1892 on to seek a paronomastic bond in their somber imagery: II
I mournful Im.rl lips-4myriad Im.rl years. In SL 1925 both of these lines
are patently framed in their sound shape by the imagery of the
surrounding distichs : I 3 harmony of leaves Irm.n . . .l/-II I red mourn
ful lips Ir.dm. rn . .l /-II 4murdered Im.rd.rd/-III I clam(o)rous eaves
Il.mr/.
The only epithets taken over from the eady version of the poem by
SL 1925 are those attached to the rhyme-words of the odd lines in the
inner quatrain: II I red mournful lips and 3 lab(ou) ring ships. The latter
attribute shared its sounds Il. brl with II 4burden Ib. rI of SL 1892 and II
3 4trouble /r.b.!/ of SL 1895. In SL 1925 the inward antithesis (a spa'n"ow
,
the world) of the outwardly similar lines I 1 and II 2 (the . . . of . in
. .
Verse Pattern
A detailed structural analysis of the masculine iambic pentameter
in which SL is written would obviously require a careful examination
of the poet's and his contemporaries' output in the same and cognate
meters. Except for a few preliminary sketches by Dougherty and Bai
ley,34 a systematic, linguistically-based inquiry into modern English
versification has scarcely even begun, as compared to at least six dec
ades of Slavic, especially Russian, investigation in the domain of met
rics, with its historically and methodologically fruitful results in such
questions as the rhytlunical relevance of word boundaries and of
higher-syntactic units of varying rank.
For the main topic of our study-the comprehensive investigation
of the basic oppositions which determine the relation, on the one
hand, between the different parts of the poem in each version and, on
the other, between SL 1892 and SL 1925-the most illuminating aspect
of the verse is the various patterning of the two fundamental prosodic
types of words which fulfill the downbeats of the binary meter. These
two types have been clearly distinguished both in the Russian tradition
of metrical studies and in the most recent papers devoted to English
versification. Thus Kiparsky singles out,35 on the one hand, "members
of lexical categories-nouns (including members of compounds), ad
jectives, verbs, and adverbs" and, on the other hand, "members of non
lexical categories (such as his) the) and) with)" which are in construction
with the lexical members. (Russian tradition terms these two classes of
units as "lexical" and "formal" respectively.) In SL 1925) for example,
there is a significant difference between downbeats carrying the pri
mary or only stress in the separate lexical constituents, I 2milky sk)'J with
two primary stresses, as opposed to I 3harmon)'J with the primary stress
237
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
on the first syllable, or I 1 in the eaves) with the primary stress on the
third.
In SL 1925 the outer quatrains display a clear regressive undulatory
curve in the treatment of the downbeats: the three odd downbeats
carry a greater percentage of primary stresses-and may thus be des
ignated as "heavy" downbeats-than do the two even ("light" ) down
beats (see the figure below). In these two outer quatrains, as in all
stanzas of SL irrespective of its version, the final downbeat of all lines
is consistently allotted a primary stress. In the initial quatrain of SL 1925
all three of the odd (heavy) downbeats receive a primary stress in all
the lines, whereas the fourth and second downbeats carry a primary
stress only in one and two lines respectively.
In the final quatrain the numerical superiority of primary stresses on
odd downbeats over the even downbeats remains valid but is reduced
throughout, thus slightly flattening out the undulatory curve exhibited
in the initial quatrain: the first and third downbeats each carry three
primary stresses, and the second and fourth have two.
SL 1925 SL 1 892
4
0
"VV
N
:l 3
I
2
-<
0:::
V)
V)
V)
Z
4
V) 3
E-<
;:J
CI
II
-<
:E 1
2
;;::
0...
o 4
3
III 2
z 1
II III IV V II III IV v
DOWNBEAT DOWNBEAT
Constructive Principles
1925
SL I92S displays an astounding symmetry in the distribution of the ma
jor grammatical categories among the three quatrains, a symmetry
which is either lacking or muted in the early version. It may indeed be
considered a persuasive example of the "geometrical symbolism"
which was so vital a force both in the poet's subliminal imagery and in
his abstract thought. The operative principle regulating the poem's
239
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
symmetries is here the number 3 and its exponents (32, 33) . When re
flecting on the Great Wheel as the "principal symbol" of the universe,
Yeats insisted that "each set of 3 is itself a wheel." 36 In his description
of the 28 phases Yeats qualifies the first phase as "not being human;' 37
so that three to the third power (33) in fact exhausts the entire human
realm.
There are 27 nouns in all (33), 9 per quatrain (32) , which include 3
abstracts and 3 nouns with prepositions, each distributed one per qua
train. A total of three -ing forms are present, one per quatrain. Pre
nominal attributes and pronouns each total 9 (32) , the former distrib
uted symmetrically (3 per quatrain), the latter displaying only partial
symmetry (three different pronouns, two of which appear once in each
quatrain) . The occurrences of the definite article also total 9. The con
nectives total 18, of which 9 (32) are copulative conjunctions and 9
(32) -prepositions, each appearing 3 times per quatrain. Only in the
distribution of verbs does the principle of three find expression in a
dichotomy of inner versus outer stanzas rather than in their symmet
rical equivalence.
24-0
Yeatr ((Sorrow ofLov)
repetitive character of the initial part of the two lines within each di
stich (and their pronounced use of oxytones) and by the presence of
redoubled grammatical words (the pronouns II 1 ,2YOU) 3 4all) 3 4her
, ,
and the sociative prepositions 1 2with ), which are lacking in the outer
,
quatrains but are here strictly distributed by distich: II 1 And then
YOU came WITH . . . -2And WITH YOU came . . . ; 3 4AndALL the
(3sorrOWS) 4burden) of HER . . . . (In SL 1895 and subse quent editions
before 1925 the parallelism of the line beginnings in the second distich
was complete: II 3 4And all the trouble of her. ) The inner quatrain,
,
moreover, is clearly dominated by the she- gender, which is merely
hinted at in the last lines of the two outer quatrains.
Finally, the inner quatrain of SL 1892) although it follows the prin
ciple of coordination displayed by the two outer quatrains, is differen
tiated from them in terms of predication. Whereas the two outer qua
trains are built on a progressive principle of four coordinated subjects
bound elliptically to one and the same final verb, the inner quatrain
opens with one complete "subject-predicate" clause, but then in the
second line reverses the order of primaries into a sequence "predicate
subject."
It is worth noting that the two versions in several instances employ
identical grammatical categories for opposite purposes. Generally, as is
the case with prenominal attributes, articles and pronouns, the cate
gories denoting equivalence of the quatrains in SL 1925 designate con
trast in SL 1892. The opposite case also holds: possessives, used in the
early version as one of the sole means of establishing equivalence be
tween quatrains, are, on the contrary, one of the sole means of con
trasting the inner and outer quatrains in the late version.
1925
Despite the overwhelming preference of the final version for symme
tries of equivalence rather than of contrast, the inner quatrain of SL
1925 differs just as dramatically from the two outer quatrains as does
that of SL 1892. In consecutive order each line of this quatrain breaks
off manifestly from the pattern of the first stanza, which constitutes a
separate sentence, detached in the final version from the rest of the text
by the only full stop within the poem. As opposed to the outer qua
trains, which are built entirely on the principle of coordination, it is
based on subordination and contains the only two verbs of state to be
241
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
found in the poem. The initial line of the inner quatrain is the only
line in which one finds two finites ; moreover, of these, one belongs to
the main clause (II 1 arose) and the other-to the first subordinate
clause in the text (II 1 had) . The second line of this quatrain inaugu
rates a mirror-image sequence of diversified verbal types echoing the
verbs of action, process and state which have appeared so far, but in
reverse order. It also opens the set of three similes, which mark the
metaphoric constitution of this quatrain as opposed to the metonymic
structure of the two outer ones.
At the border between the two halves of the poem, the third line of
the inner quatrain in SL 1925 opens the distich II3 _ 4' the grammatical
makeup of which diverges strikingly from all the other lines of the
poem. This distich is the only to possess : (I) three personal nouns of
the he-gender, namely two proper names (II 30dysseus, 4 Priam) and
the appellative 4peers; (2 ) three postpositive semi-predicative attributes
(II 3Doomed, 4proud, and murdered) ; (3) the only two equational con
junctions (3 like, 4as) ; and (+) the only sociative preposition in SL 1925
(4with) . In contradistinction to this distich, the first distich of the same
quatrain has three finites (II 1 arose, had, 2seemed) and two nouns of the
she-gender ( l girl, 2world) . Thus a clear-cut set of features marks the
borderline between the two halves of the poem.
The division of the poem into two halves of six lines each, further
subdivided into two triplets, is also suggested by the distribution of
certain grammatical categories. In the first half of the poem, three lines
devoid of verbs are followed by three lines each containing at least one
verb; in the second half, each of the two triplets has a verb in its last
line. The definite article also displays a symmetrical distribution by
halves and triplets : in the first half, a triplet containing two definite
articles per line is followed by a triplet devoid of them; in the second
half, a triplet containing one the per line alternates with a triplet again
devoid of definite articles . Furthermore, the 18 copulative conjunctions
and prepositions evenly divide into two sets of 9, one in each half of
the poem.
Another division into two groups of six lines is clearly suggested by
the subject matter. As mentioned above, in both versions six lines are
devoted to the "overground" and six lines to the "terrestrial" (SL 1892)
or "human" (SL I925) level. This division is supported by the distribu
tion of personal and non-personal nouns and pronouns : the personals
are bound exclusively to the six 'terrestrial' or 'human' lines . The two
242
versions differ, however, in the gender characterization of the personal
nouns and pronouns of the terrestrial level. In SL 1892 the four lines of
the inner quatrain and the last line of each outer quatrain refer exclu
sively to the feminine gender. In SL 1925) however, the human lines are
divided according to gender: those which belong to the second dis
tichs of the quatrains are characterized as masculine (14 ' II _ 4, III4 ) ;
3
the others a s feminine (III 1 _ 2 ) ' The grammatical differentiation of the
distichs finds consistent expression also in the relative distribution of
copulative conjunctions and prepositions. The division of the qua
trains into distichs is furthered by the alternating rhyme scheme
(ABAB ) . It is significant that verbs appear in both versions only in the
six lines referring to the terrestrial or human levels. The only exception
to this rule is the bare repetitive transfer from the inner quatrain, III
1 Arose) in SL 1925.
The external (marginal) and internal segments of the individual lines
are mutually opposed by grammatical means. The line-ends in both
versions are delimited by the fact that the rhyme-words are monosyl
labic nouns and by the fact that plural nouns are proper in SL 1925 only,
and in SL 1892 preponderantly, to the rhymes. In SL 1925 any internal
concrete noun enters into a metonymical relation with the following
rhyme word, which in most instances specifies its framework: I 1 a spar
row in the eaves) 2 The . . . moon and all the milky sky; II 2A girl . . . that
had red mournful lips) 3 Odysseus and the labouring ships) 4Priam murdered
with his peers)' III 2 A . . . moon upon an empty sky.
In SL 1925 the final line of each quatrain is signaled grammatically by
the presence of a noun of masculine human gender (I 4man s) II
)
)
4Priam) III 4man s) and of a corresponding possessive his) referring to
these nouns and elsewhere absent, and by the lack of either articles or
prenominal attributes.
The transition from one phase to another signaled in SL 1892 by the
pairs of adverbs, II 1 then and III 1 noWy is obliterated in SL 1925. There,
in agreement with A Vision) "every image is separate from every other,
for if image were linked to image, the soul would awake from its im
3
movable trance." 8 The focus upon time in SL 1892 and its exclusion in
SL 1925 become particularly palpable when one opposes the six tempo
ral indications of the early version-I 3ever- . . . ) 401d; II I then) 4myriad
years; III 1 noWy 401d-to the total lack of such indications in the final
verSIon.
In both versions the properties common to the two outer quatrains
243
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
Semantic Correspondences
245
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
more remote allusions : I 2The brilliant moon and III 2A climbing moon)
the latter ambiguous ( climbing toward the zenith or rather toward the
next phase ? ) and the former, brilliant) according to the author's own
acknowledgement, for its "numbness and dullness;' so "that all might
seem, as it were, remembered with indifference, except some one vivid
image."45 That "one vivid image" must have been the dominant noun
moon itself, the central visual motif common to the two pictures of the
overground level in SL 1925.
"The full moon is Phase 15;' Yeats writes, and "as we approach Phase
15, personal beauty increases and at Phase 14- and Phase 16 the greatest
human beauty becomes possible."46 While the inner quatrain of SL
alludes to Phase 15, the two outer quatrains reflect its adjacent phases.
"Man's image and his cry," blotted out according to the initial quatrain
of SL 1925) corresponds to the song of Robartes in "The Phases of the
Moon" and to its further lines announcing the full moon:
All thought becomes an image and the soul
Becomes a body. 48
246
51
by day or night;' and a passage in the first draft of his Autobiography,
with a more than free paraphrase of Leonardo da Vinci's Notebooks,
throws light on the image of the III 2 climbing moon and its counterpart,
the "arising" II 2girl . . . that had red mournful lips of SL 1925: "At last
she came to me in 1 think January of my thirtieth year . . . I could not
give her the love that was her beauty's right . . . All our lives long, as
da Vinci says, we long, thinking it is but the moon that we long [for] ,
for our destruction, and how, when we meet [it] in the shape of a most
fair woman, can we do less than leave all others for her? Do we not
seek our dissolution upon her lips ?"5 2 These lines may be confronted
with an earlier paragraph of the same Memoirs (p. 72), the poet's con
fession of his twenty-seventh (33) year: "1 think my love seemed almost
hopeless . . . I had never since childhood kissed a woman's lips."
The outline of Phase 15 in A Vision adds that "now contemplation
and desire, united into one, inhabit a world where every beloved image
has bodily form, and every bodily form is loved. This love knows noth
ing of desire, for desire implies effort . . . As all effort has ceased, all
thought has become image, because no thought could exist if it were
not carried to its own extinction." 53 The motto to the poet's reflections
on the Fifteenth Phase of the Moon reads : ''No description except that
this is a phase of complete beauty."54 In SL 1892 the inner quatrain,
centered around this particular phase, strikingly differs from the outer
stanzas grammatically and compositionally. Each of the two distichs is
built on a widely pleonastic scheme. The first two lines display a pun
like juxtaposition of two identical sociative prepositions, one synec
dochic (II 1 YOU came with those . . . lips) and the other purely meto
nymic (II 2with you came the whole of the world)s tears) . In SL 1895 the
second distich achieved a heptasyllabic tautology, II 3 _ 4And all the
trouble of her . . . , with a salient sound figure, Ir.b.l/-/l.b.rl (labour
ing) /r.b l/.
- .
The relative isolation of the second stanza with respect to the other
quatrains of SL 1892 is to a certain extent counterbalanced by the equiv
alent correspondences between the early version of this inner quatrain
and a few of the surrounding poems of the cycle entitled The Rose.
Writing on the birth of "those women who are most touching in their
beauty;' Yeats states in A Vision that Helen was of Phase 14.55 The
reference to Troy, later openly disclosed in SL 1925, remains rather ob
scure in the early version, but is clearly revealed in a poem which
neighbors on SL in The Rose cycle, "The Rose of the World" :
247
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
unnamed.
As to Helen's fate, "is it not because she desires so little, gives so
little that men will die and murder in her service ?"60 According to the
inner quatrain of SL I892) she is accompanied by the whole of the world)s
tears) while in the ultimate version of this stanza, it is the world in tears)
the second dramatis persona, which emerges as one of her metaphoric
incarnations. Her further embodiments, the men who "die and mur-
248
der" within the scene of the following distich, complete the list of
personal nouns, and their subordinative pyramid pointedly distin
guishes the inner stanza of SL 1925 from the surrounding constructs, a
dissimilarity further enhanced by the fact that the third central down
beat, which is the heaviest in the two outer quatrains, is the lightest
downbeat in the inner stanza.
The world) incidentally, is the general character assigned in A Vision
to the Phases 14, 15, 16 of the Great Wheel, with the subsequent infer
ence SorrOWy 61 and it was under the title "The Sorrow of the World"
that SL 1892 Ind appeared.
While the similarity association guides the patterning of the inner
quatrain of SL 1925) in the early version of the poem the leading role
belongs to relations of contiguity. The complete lack of human nouns
(versus four in the same stanza of SL 1925) , the surplus of pronouns
(seven versus two in the final version) , and especially the reiterated you
of SL 1892) corresponding to A girl of SL 1925) all testify to the deictic
function which underlies the inner quatrain of the early version. Quan
tifiers, as II 2the whole of the world)s tears and II 4myriad years) are akin
to the vocabulary of external relationship. The stanza devoted to Phase
15 either indicates (SL 1892) or names (SL 1925) , but in either case re
strains "description."
The critics may argue about which of the two versions is more "de
fective" and which of them requires more "indulgence." Nevertheless,
the exacting selection and arrangement of verbal symbols summoned
in "The Sorrow of Love" to build a harmonious system of rich seman
tic correlations and, in Yeats' own terms, "too much woven into the
fabric of [his] work for [him] to give a detailed account of them one
by one"62 indeed warrant the poet's assertion: And words obey my call.
249
CHAPTER 14
25 0
Subliminal verbal Patterning
without being able to single out the pertinent expedients, the poet and
his receptive reader nevertheless spontaneously apprehend the artistic
advantage of a context endowed with those components over a similar
one devoid of them.
The poet is more accustomed to abstract those verbal patterns and,
especially, those rules of versification which he assrnnes to be compul
sory, whereas a facultative, variational device does not lend itself so
easily to a separate interpretation and definition. Obviously, a con
scious deliberation may occur and assrnne a beneficial role in poetic
creation, as Baudelaire emphasized with reference to Edgar Allan Poe.
There remains, however, an open question: whether in certain cases
intuitive verbal latency does not precede and underlie even such a con
scious consideration. The rational account (prise de conscience) of the
very framework may arise in the author ex post facto or never at all.
Schiller's and Goethe's exchange of well-grounded assertions cannot
be dogmatically dismissed. According to Schiller's experience (Eifah
rung) , depicted in his letter of March 27, 1801, the poet begins nur mit
dem Bewusstiosen (merely with the unconscious) . In his reply of April
3, Goethe states that he goes even farther (ich gehe noch weiter) . He
claims that genuine creation of a genuine poet unbewusstgeschehe (hap
pens unconsciously) , while everything done rationally nach gepflogner
Uberiegung (after well-cultivated reasoning) occurs nur so nebenbei
(only casually) . Goethe does not believe that a poet's supplementary
reflection would be capable of amending and improving his work.
Velimir Xlebnikov (1885-1922) , when recollecting after several years
his succinct poem "The Grasshopper;' composed around 1908, sud
denly realized that throughout its first, crucial sentence-ot tocki ckJ
tocki (between two full stops) -each of the sounds kJ 1; IJ and u occurs
five times ''without any wish of the one who wrote this nonsense"
(pomimo zeIani,ja napisavfego etot vzckJr), as he himself confessed in his
essays of 1912-13, and thus joined all those poets who acknowledged
that a complex verbal design may be inherent in their work irrespective
of their apprehension and volition (que . . . Ie versificateur . . . Ie veuille
ou non), or-to use William Blake's testimony-''without Premedita
tion and even against my Will." Yet also in his posterior reasonings
Xlebnikov failed to recognize the much wider range of those regular
phonological recurrences. Actually, all the consonants and vowels
which pertain to the trisyllabic stem of the initial, picturesque neolo
gism kryIyfkuja derived from krjIyfko (little wing) , display the same
251
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
252
Subliminal Verbal Patterning
25 3
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
254-
Subliminal Verbal Patterning
255
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
border stresses in either line of this distich, its three /6/ with three
subsequent dental nasals (I 2 4-), and the prevocalic velar stop in each
of the three words concluding the entire puzzle (2 3 4-) . But everyone
would feel that the replacement of cernyj kon' by the synonymous voron
kon' or by zeteznyj kon' (iron horse) could only impair the epigram
matic vigor of this poetic locution. A semblance of prosodic symme
tries, sound repetitions, and a verbal substratum-Ies mots sous les mots
( Starobinski's felicitous expression) -transpire without being sup
ported by some speculative insight into the methods of procedure in
volved.
Proverbs compete with riddles in their pungent brevity and verbal
skill : Serebro v b6roduJ bis v rebro ( [When] silver-a metaphor for gray
hair which in turn is a metonymy for old age-enters into the beard, a
devil [concupiscence] enters into the rib-an allusion to the biblical
connection between Adam's rib and the emerging woman) . The two
nominal pairs form a tenacious grammatical parallelism: correspond
ing cases in similar syntactical functions. Against this background, con
trasting genders become particularly conspicuous : the animate mascu
line bis against the inanimate neuter serebro and, in turn, the inanimate
neuter rebro against the inanimate feminine boroduJ and these genders
come into a whimsical collision with the virile connotation of boroduJ
and with the female symbolism of bis. The entire terse adage is a pa
ronomastic chain: compare the rhyme words serebro-rebroJ the latter
encompassed in the former; the entire permutation of similar pho
nemes which connects the beginning of the proverb serebro v with its
end bes v rebro; within the initial clause the correspondence between
the end of its first and the beginning of its second noun: serebro
b6rodu. The exquisite prosodic form of the proverb is based on a
double contrast between its two clauses : the first one surrounds two
contiguous stressed syllables by two pairs of unstressed syllables,
whereas the second clause surrounds one single unstressed syllable by
two single stressed syllables, and thus exhibits an antisymmetrical sub
multiple of the former clause. The presence of two accents is the met
rical constant of both clauses :
/
'J 'J _ 'J 'J _ 'J _
257
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
(If, however, a stronger accent falls on odna or zabava rather than there
being equal accents on the two words of the final line, the meaning
acquired by this line is "same fun" in the former case, and "nothing
but fun" in the latter. )
A rigorous cohesion of the entire tristich is achieved through vari
ous means. Its persistently uniform rhythmical pattern, 3' (""-""-""), com
prises fifteen pervasive lal alternately unstressed and stressed (notice the
South Russian vocalism ladna / ! ) . The onset of the three lines differs from
all of their follo;Wing syllables : the last line begins with a vowel, whereas
the other 14 vowels of the tristich are preceded by a consonant; both an
terior lines begin with voiceless consonants which appear to be the only
two unvoiced segments among the 32 phonemes of the proverb (note the
regular voicing of Ikl before Id/! ) . The only two continuants of its 17 con
sonants occur in the unstressed syllables of the terminal, predicative noun.
The restricted grammatical inventory of this opus, its confinement to five
nouns and one pronoun, all six in the nominative, and one reiterated con
junction, is a telling example of the elaborate syntactic style proper to
proverbs and glimpsed in an observant sketch by P. Glagolevskij but never
investigated since.8 The central line carries the two culminant nouns-first
kabak) an intrinsic palindrome, and afterwards btiba) with its doubled syl
lable Iba /; kabak rhymes with the antecedent tabak) while baba forms an
approximate rhyme with the final zabava and shares its Ibal with all the
nouns of the proverb: five Ibal on the whole. Reiterations and slight var
iations of the other consonants run jointly with the same vowel through
out the entire tristich:
All these repetitive, pervasive features tie the four enumerated delights
together and frame the chiastic disposition of their two pairs: tools of
enjoyment, tabak and baba) juxtaposed with places of amusement, ka
bak and banja. The metonymic character of these nouns, substituted
for direct designations of enjoyments, is set off by the contrastive, in
tralinear neighborhood of locational and instrumental terms which is,
moreover, underscored by the dissimilarity of masculine oxytones and
feminine paroxytones .
While being distinct from the short sayings in the choice of devices,
Subliminal Verbal Patterning
Excluding the third, hexasyllabic line of the quatrain, all the lines
count five syllables, and the even lines rhyme with each other. Both
stanzas reveal a rigorous selection of grammatical categories used.
Every line ends with a noun in a marginal case, instrumental or loca
tive, and these are the only nouns of our text. Each of its two only
pronouns, one of the second and one of the first person, occurs three
times and in contradistinction to the marginal cases and final position
of the nouns all these pronouns are in the nominative and all of them
appear at the beginning of the lines : ty (you) in the first syllable of the
odd lines 1-3-5, ja (I) , preceded regularly by the adversative conjunc
tion aJ occupies the second syllable of lines 2-4--7. The three verbs, all
in the second person singular of the perfective present with a futural
meaning, follow immediately after the pronoun tyJ whereas their cor
responding first person verbal form after the pronoun ja is deleted by
ellipsis. In addition to the eight nouns (six in instrumental and two in
locative) , to the six occurrences of personal pronouns in nominative,
to the three finites, and to the thrice repeated conjunction aJ the text
in its second quatrain contains two contextual variants of the preposi
tion in ( 6weJ gW) and two adjectival attributes to both locative forms of
nouns.
An antithetic parallelism underlies three pairs of clauses : lines 1-2
and 3-4- within the first stanza and the two couplets within the second
stanza. These three pairs, in turn, are intercoIll1ected by a close formal
and semantic parallelism. All three antitheses confront the higher and
brighter prospects for the addressee with the gloomier personal expec
tations of the addresser and employ the symbolic opposition of the hill
and the valley first, then a metaphoric contrast between the rose and
the squashberry. In the traditional imagery of Western Slavic folklore
259
G RAMMAR IN POETRY
kalina (whose name goes back to Common Slavic kalu) mud) is linked
ostensibly to marshy lands; compare the preambles of a Polish folk
song :9 "Czego, kalino, w dole stoisz? Czy ty si letniej suszy boisz?"
(Why do you, squashberry bush, stand in a valley? Are you afraid of
the s ummer drought? ) . The cognate Moravian song supplies the same
1
motif with abundant sound figures : 0 prot, kalino) v STrUZE STOlis ?
Snad se TUZE SUcha bOliS ? (Why do you, squashberry bush, stand in
a stream? Are you greatly afraid of dryness? ) . The third antithesis pre
dicts high stature for the addressee and a sombre future for the addres
ser; at the same time, personal nouns of feminine and masculine gen
der announce the sex of the two characters. The instrumental, used
consistently in opposition to the invariable nominatives ty and ja) pre
sents all these contrasted nouns as mere contingencies which will sepa
rate both ill-fated victims until their posthumous talks about the "dis
jointed love" (niezll}CZona milosc) resting in a joint grave.
The three pairs of antithetic clauses with their concluding instru
mentals together form a thorough threefold parallelism of broad and
complex grammatical constructions, and against the background of
their congruent constituents, the significant functional dissimilarity of
the three paired instrumentals becomes prominent. In the first couplet
the so-called instrumentals of itinerary-gOrfl and dolinfl-assume the
function of adverbial adjuncts; in the second couplet the instrumentals
of comparison-r6zfl and kalinfl-act as accessory predicatives,
whereas in the second quatrain the instrumentals panifl and zakonni
kiem) in combination with the copula b[dziesz and with the elliptically
omitted b[df) form actual predicates : The weightiness of this case grad
ually increases with its transition from the two levels of metaphoric
peregrination through a simile comparing both personae with flowers
of unlike quality and unlike altitude to the factual phicement of the
two heroes on two distant steps of the social scale. However, the in
strumental in all these three different applications preserves its constant
semantic feature of bare marginality and becomes particularly palpable
when contrasted with the adduced contextual variations. The medium
through which the actor moves is defined as the instrumental of itin
erary; the instrumental of comparison confines the validity of the sim
ile to one single display of the subjects, namely, their blossoming in
the context quoted. Finally, the predicative instrumental heeds one
single, supposedly temporal aspect assumed by the subject; it antici
pates the possibility of a further, though here a postmortem change
which will draw the severed lovers together. When the last pair of in-
260
Subliminal Verbal Patterning
261
CHAPTER 15
Supraconscious Turgenev
262
Supraconscious TU1;genev
liquid-dental-velar
dental-velar-Iabial
velar-labial-liquid
265
GRAMMAR IN POETRY
in the escapade at the London club but also in the grotesque little
"fairytales" (des choses bien invraisemblables) which, on the threshold of
the seventies and eighties, Claudie (1852-1914-) , the daughter of Pauline
Viardot, received in the form of letters from Turgenev, "ton vieux qui
t'adore" or "ton eperdument ahuri Iv. Tour."4 In connection with the
supraconscious symbolism of these tales, their Parisian editor quite
correctly predicts their future inclusion in "anthologies of Surrealism."
The substitution, common to both Turgenev's tales and fables, of
unrestrained scatology in place of elevated eroticism must have affected
the young recipient of his epistolary epanchements with a force match
ing the fright of his London table companion (Turgenev relates : "He
thought that I'd lost my mind.") . Such, for example, is the narrative
letter of September 3, 1882, in which "a pale young au teint maladif"
utters an entreaty to his beloved German virgin. He contemplates sui
cide, hoping only that his beloved will allow him to share not her
inaccessible bed but her private lavatory or, at the very least, her latrine
"in the bosom of nature." This viscous motif is developed into a florid
dialogue. One is tempted to compare it to the Indian taboo against a
woman performing her natural needs in a place where a man has uri
nated.
In Turgenev's extravagant behavior at the London club as well as in
the delirious phantasmagoria of his French epistles, the extreme shift
toward the primitive is decked out in whimsical verbal figures that
endow the text with a mad, unexpected, incontestable persuasiveness
akin to the supraconscious ''wisdom in a snare" (mudrost' v silke) that
inspired Turgenev, half a century before Xlebnikov, in his "tale of the
nightingales." In it, Turgenev renders the "summit" (desjatoe koleno) of
the nightingale's art: "With a good throaty nightingale here's how it
goes. First there's a 'tee-ee-wheet!', then there's a 'took!' They call that
the 'knock.' Then again: 'tee-ee-wheet . . . took! took!' A double
'knock; with a half stroke on the second-it's too much! Then, the
third time around: 'tee-ee-wheet!' Damn, it scatters so fast in a tap or
a peal, the son of a bitch, you can hardly stand on your feet, it bums
SO !"5
266
PART III
Write
Biographx
Myth
Vladimir Majakovskij's suicide in 1930 and Boris Pasternak's re
markable autobiography The Safe Conduct (1931) prompted Jakobson
to rethink and approach anew the relation between the biography and
creative work of a writer. This issue, which in the era of Romanticism
had been termed Dichtung und Wahrheit) had been presented as a dis
tinct cleavage between the "hard facts" of a writer's life and the "beau
tiful lies" advanced in his works. On the other hand, the positivistic
tradition of the late nineteenth century insisted on a mechanistic causal
relation between the two spheres, biography being viewed as the prime
cause of a writer's output. A common denominator of these two ap
proaches was the underlying dichotomy assumed between reality and
mind. Such a separation, however, had been proclaimed erroneous by
philosophers as early as Kant. The philosophical objections were
confirmed by the psycho-physiological tests of the Gestalt psycholo
gists at the turn of the century, who demonstrated that conscious sen
sations are not mere copies of the external world of real objects but
instead hOmIJlogous constructs of those objects.
In contrast to mechanistic attempts at approaching the problem of
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
270
On a Generation That Squandered Its Poets
271
CHAPTER 16
273
WRITE R, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
about the one we have lost but rather about our own loss and those of
us who have suffered it.
It is our generation that has suffered the loss . Roughly, those of us
who are now between thirty and forty-five years old. Those who, al
ready fully matured, entered into the years of the Revolution not as
unmolded clay but still not hardened, still capable of adapting to ex
perience and change, still capable of taking a dynamic rather than a
static view of our lives.
It has been said more than once that the first poetic love of our
generation was Aleksandr Blok. Velimir Xlebnikov gave us a new epos,
the first genuinely epic creations after many decades of drought. Even
his briefer verses create the impression of epic fragments, and Xlebni
kov easily combined them into narrative poems. Xlebnikov is epic in
spite of our antiepic times, and therein lies one of the reasons he is
somewhat alien to the average reader. Other poets brought his poetry
closer to the reader; they drew upon Xlebnikov, pouring out his "word
ocean" into many lyrical streamlets. In contrast to Xlebnikov, Maja
kovskij embodied the lyrical urges of this generation. "The broad epic
canvas" is deeply alien to him and unacceptable. Even when he at
tempts "a bloody Iliad of the Revolution;' or "an Odyssey of the fa
mine years;' what appears is not an epic but a heroic lyric on a grand
scale, offered "at the top of his voice." There was a point when sym
bolist poetry was in its decline and it was still not clear which of the
two new mutually antagonistic trends, Acmeism or Futurism, would
prevail. Xlebnikov and Majakovskij gave to contemporary literary art
its leitmotif. The name Gumilev marks a collateral branch of modern
Russian poetry-its characteristic overtone. For Xlebnikov and for
Majakovskij "the homeland of creative poetry is the future"; in con
trast, Esenin is a lyrical glance backward. His verse expresses the wea
riness of a generation.
Modern Russian poetry after 1910 is largely defined by these names.
The verse of Aseev and Sel'vinskij is bright indeed, but it is a reflected
light. They do not armounce but reflect the spirit of the times. Their
magnitude is a derivative quantity. Pasternak's books and perhaps
those of Mandel'stam are remarkable, but theirs is chamber verse: l
new creation will not be kindled by it. The heart of a generation can
not take fire with such verses because they do not shatter the bounda
ries of the present.
Gumilev (1886-1921) was shot, after prolonged mental agony and in
274
On a Generation That Squandered Its Poets
great pain; Blok ( I880 -192I ) died, amid cruel privations and under
circumstances of inhuman suffering; Xlebnikov ( I885-I922 ) passed
away; after careful planning Esenin ( I895-1925 ) and Majakovskij ( I894-
I930 ) killed themselves. And so it happened that during the third dec
ade of this century, those who inspired a generation perished between
the ages of thirty and forty, each of them sharing a sense of doom so
vivid and sustained that it became unbearable.
This is true not oply of those who were killed or killed themselves.
Blok and Xlebnikov, when they took to their beds with disease, had
also perished. Zamjatin wrote in his reminiscences : "We are all to
blame for this . . . I remember that I could not stand it and I phoned
Gorkij : Blok is dead. We can't be forgiven for that." Sklovskij wrote in
a tribute to Xlebnikov:
Forgive us for yourself and for others whom we will kill. The state
is not responsible for the destruction of people. When Christ lived
and spoke the state did not understand his Aramaic, and it has
never understood simple human speech. The Roman soldiers who
pierced Christ's hands are no more to blame than the nails. Never
theless, it is very painful for those whom they crucify. 2
Blok the poet fell silent and died long before the man, but his younger
contemporaries snatched verses even from death. ("Wherever I die I'll
die singing;' wrote Majakovskij . ) Xlebnikov knew he was dying. His
body decomposed while he lived. He asked for flowers in his room so
that the stench would not be noticed, and he kept writing to the end.
A day before his suicide Esenin wrote a masterful poem about his im
pending death. Majakovskij's farewell letter is full of poetry: we find
the professional writer in every line of that document. He wrote it two
nights before his death and in the interval there were to be conversa
tions and conferences about the everyday business of literature; but in
that letter we read: "Please don't gossip. The deceased hated gossip."
We remember that Majakovskij's long-standing demand upon himself
was that the post must "hurry time forward." And here he is, already
looking at his suicide note through the eyes of someone reading it the
day after tomorrow. The letter, with its several literary motifs and with
Majakovskij's own death in it, is so closely interrelated with his poetry
that it can be understood only in the context of that poetry.
The poetry of Majakovskij from his first verses, in "A Slap in the
Face of Public Taste;' to his last lines is one and indivisible. It repre-
275
WRITER, BI OGRAPHY, MYTH
riness with fixed and narrow confines, the urge to transcend static
boundaries-such is Majakovskij's infinitely varied theme. No lair in
the world can contain the poet and the unruly horde of his desires.
"Driven into the earthly pen I drag a daily yoke." "The accursed earth
has me chained." The grief of Peter the Great is that of a "prisoner,
held in chains in his own city." Hulks of districts wriggle out of the
"wnes marked off by the governor." The cage of the blockade in Ma
jakovskij's verses turns into the world prison destroyed by a cosmic
gust directed "beyond the radiant slits of sunsets." The poet's revolu
tionary call is directed at all of those "for whom life is cramped and
unbearable;' ''who cry out because the nooses of noon are too tight."
The ego of the poet is a battering ram, thudding into a forbidden
Future; it is a mighty will "hurled over the last limit" toward the incar
nation of the Future, toward an absolute fullness of being: "one must
rip joy from the days yet to come."
Opposed to this creative urge toward a transformed future is the
stabilizing force of an immutable present, overlaid, as this present is,
by a stagnating slime, which stifles life in its tight, hard mold. The
Russian name for this element is byt. It is curious that this word and
its derivatives should have such a prominent place in the Russian lan
guage (from which it spread even to the Komi), while West European
languages have no word that corresponds to it. Perhaps the reason is
that in the European collective consciousness there is no concept of
such a force as might oppose and break down the established norms of
life. The revolt of the individual against the fixed forms of social con
vention presupposes the existence of such a force. The real antithesis
of byt is a slippage of social norms that is immediately sensed by those
involved in social life. In Russia this sense of an unstable foundation
has been present for a very long time, and not just as a historical gen
eralization but as a direct experience. We recall that in the early nine
teenth century, during the time of Caadaev, there was the sense of a
"dead and stagnant life;' but at the same time a feeling of instability
and uncertainty: ''Everything is slipping away, everything is passing;'
wrote Caadaev. "In our own homes we are as it were in temporary
quarters . In our family life we seem foreigners. In our cities we look
like nomads." And as Majakovskij put it:
. . . laws/ concepts/ faiths
The granite blocks of cities
And even the very sun's reliable glow-
277
WRITER, B IOGRAPHY, MYTH
But all these shifts, all this "leaking of the poet's room:' are only a
"hardly audible draft, which is probably only felt by the very tip of the
soul." Inertia continues to reign. It is the poet's primordial enemy, and
he never tires of returning to this theme. "Motionless byt. " "Every
thing stands as it has been for ages . Byt is like a horse that can't be
spurred and stands still." "Slits of byt are filled with fat and coagulate,
quiet and wide." "The swamp of byt is covered over with slime and
weeds ." "Old little byt is moldy." "The giant byt crawls everywhere
through the holes." "Force booming byt to sing!" "Put the question of
byt on the agenda." "In fall,! winter,/ spring,! summer! During the day/
during sleep/ I don't accept! I hate this/ all.! AW that in us/ is ham
mered in by past slavishness/ all! that like the swarm of trifles/ was
covering/ and covered with byt/ even our red-flagged ranks." Only in
the poem "About That" is the poet's desperate struggle with byt fully
laid bare. There it is not personified as it is elsewhere in his work. On
the contrary, the poet h ammers his verbal attack directly into that mor
ibund byt which he despises. And byt reacts by executing the rebel
''with all rifles and batteries, from every Mauser and Browning." Else
where in Majakovskij this phenomenon is, as we have said, personi
fied-not however as a living person but rather, in the poet's own
phrase, as an animated tendency. In "Man" the poet's enemy is very
broadly generalized as "Ruler of all, my rival, my invincible enemy."
But it is also possible to localize this enemy and give him a particular
shape. One may call him "Wilson," domicile him in Chicago, and, in
the language of fairytale hyperbole, outline his very portrait (as in
"I50,000,000") . But then the poet offers a "little footnote" : "Those
who draw the Wilsons, Lloyd Georges, and Clemenceaus sometimes
show their mugs with moustaches, sometimes not; but that's beside
the point since they're all one and the same thing." The enemy is a
universal image. The forces of nature, people, metaphysical substances,
are only its incidental aspects and disguises : "The same old bald fellow
directs us unseen, the master of the earthly cancan. Sometimes in the
shape of an idea, sometimes a kind of devil, or then again he glows as
God, hidden behind a cloud." If we should try to translate the Maja
kovskian mythology into the language of speculative philosophy, the
exact equivalent for this enmity would be the antinomy "I" versus
On a Generation That Squandered Its Poets
The basic fusion of Majakovskij's poetry with the theme of the rev
olution has often been pointed out. But another indissoluble combi
nation of motifs in the poet's work has not so far been noticed: revo
lution and the destruction of the poet. This idea is suggested even as
early as the Tragedy (1913), and later this fact that the linkage of the two
279
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
280
On a Generation That Squandered Its Poets
281
WRITER, BIOGRAP HY, MYTH
282
On a Generation That Squandered Its Poets
olution of the spirit is still in the future. The play is a quiet protest
against the spiritual inheritors of those languid judges who, in his early
satirical poem "without knowing just why or wherefore, attacked
Peru." Some of the characters in The Bedbug have a close affinity with
the world of Zamjatin's We) although Majakovskij bitterly ridicules not
only the rational utopian community but the rebellion against it in the
name of alcohol, the irrational and unregulated individual happiness.
Zamj atin, however, idealizes that rebellion.
Majakovskij has an unshakable faith that, beyond the mountain of
suffering, beyond each rising plateau of revolutions, there does exist
the "real heaven on earth:' the only possible resolution ofall contradic
tions . Byt is only a surrogate for the coming synthesis; it doesn't re
move contradictions but only conceals them. The poet is unwilling to
compromise with the dialectic; he rejects any mechanical softening of
the contraditions . The objects of Majakovskij's unsparing sarcasm are
the "compromisers" (as in the play Mystery-Bouffi) . Among the gallery
of "bureaucrat-compromisers" portrayed in his agitational pieces, we
have in The Bathhouse (Banja) the Glavnacpups Pobedonosikov, whose
very title is an acronym for "Chief Administrator for the Organizing
of Compromises." Obstacles in the road to the future-such is the true
nature of these "artificial people." The time machine will surely spew
them out.
It seemed to him a criminal illusion to suppose that the essential and
vital problem of building a worldwide "wonderful life" could be put
aside for the sake of devising some kind of personal happiness . "It's
early to rejoice:' he wrote. The opening scenes of The Bedbug develop
the idea that people are tired of a life full of struggle, tired of front
line equality, tired of military metaphors . "This is not 1919. People
want to live." They build family nests for themselves : "Roses will
bloom and be fragrant at the present juncture of time." "Such is the
elegant fulfillment of our comrade's life of struggle." Oleg Bajan, the
servant of beauty in The Bedbug) formulates this sentiment in the fol
lowing words : "We have managed to compromise and control class
and other contradictions, and in this a person armed with a Marxist
eye, so to speak, can't help seeing, as in a single drop of water, the
future happiness of mankind, which the common people call social
ism." ( In an earlier, lyrical context the same idea took this form: "There
he is in a soft bed, fruit beside him and wine on the night table.")
Majakovskij's sharply chiseled lines express unlimited contempt for all
WRITER, BIO GRAPHY, MYTH
those who seek comfort and rest. All such people receive their answer
from the mechanic in The Bedbug: "We'll never crawl out of our
trenches with a white flag in our hands." And the poem "About That"
develops the same theme in the form of an intimate personal experi
ence. In that work Majakovskij begs for the advent of love, his savior:
"Confiscate my pain-take it away ! " And Majakovskij answers himself:
But Majakovskij knows very well that even if his youth should be
renewed four times and he should four times grow old again, that
would only mean a fourfold increase of his torment, a four times mul
tiplied horror at the senseless daily grind and at premature celebrations
of victory. In any case, he will never live to see the revelation all over
the world of an absolute fullness of life, and the final count still stands :
"I've not lived out my earthly lot; I've not lived through my earthly
love." His destiny is to be an expiatory victim who never knew joy:
285
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
not just a literary device but a genuine and seriously offered request to
some "quiet chemist with a domed forehead" living in the thirtieth
century:
Resurrect me !
Even if only because I was a poet
And waited for you.
And put behind me prosaic nonsense.
Resurrect me-
Just for that!
Do resurrect me-
I want to live it all out.
286
On a Generation That Squandered Its Poets
present way of life. Majakovskij was indeed capable of giving full due
to the creative mission of those "kids of the collective" in their unend
ing quarrel with the old world, but at the same time he bristled when
ever an actual "kid" ran into the room. Majakovskij never recognized
his own myth of the future in any concrete child; these he regarded
simply as new offshoots of the hydraheaded enemy. That is why we
find in the marvelous movie scenario How Are You? (Kak pozivaete?)
childlike grotesques, which are the legitimate offspring of the Manilov
pair Alcides and Themistoclus in Gogol"s Dead Souls. We recall that
his youthful poem "A Few Words about Myself" (''Neskol 'ko slov obo
mne samom") begins with the line "1 love to watch children dying."
And in the same poem child-murder is elevated to a cosmic theme :
"Sun !! My father! ! At least you have pity and torment me not! ! That's
my blood you shed flowing along this low road." And surrounded by
that very aura of sunshine, the same "child complex" appears as both
an immemorial and personal motif in the poem "War and the Uni
verse" :
Listen-
The sun just shed his first rays
not yet knowing
where he'll go when he's done his day's work;
and that's me
Majakovskij .
Bringing as sacrifice to the idol's pedestal
a beheaded infant.
288
On a Generation That Squandered Its Poets
of his lonely struggle with the daily routine became clearer to him at
every turn. The brand of martyrdom is burned into him. There's no
way to win an early victory. The poet is the doomed "outcast of the
present."
Mama!
Tell my sisters, Ljuda and Olja,
That there's no way out.
Gradually the idea that "there's no way out" lost its purely literary
character. From the poetic passage it found its way into prose, and
"there's no way out" turned up as an author's remark in the margin of
the manuscript for ''About That." And from that prose context the
same idea made its way into the poet's life: in his suicide note he said:
"Mama, sisters, comrades, forgive me. This is not a good method (I
don't recommend it to others), but for me there's no other way out."
The act was long in preparation. Fifteen years earlier in a prologue
to a collection of poems, he wrote:
Often I think
Hadn't I better just
Let a bullet mark the period of my sentence.
Anyway, today
I'm giving my farewell concert.
As time went on the theme of suicide became more and more press
ing. Majakovskij's most intense poems, "Man" (1916) and ''About
That" (1923) , are dedicated to it. Each of these works is an ominous
song of the victory of byt over the poet: their leitmotif is "Love's boat
has smashed against the daily grind" (a line from his suicide note) . The
first poem is a detailed depiction of Majakovskij's suicide. In the sec
ond there is already a clear sense that the suicide theme transcends
literature and is in the realm of "literature of fact." Once again-but
even more disturbingly-the images of the first poem file past, the
keenly observed stages of existence: the "half-death" in the vortex of
the horrifyingly trivial, then the "final death"-"The lead in my heart!
Not even a shudder!" This theme of suicide had become so real that it
was out of the question to sketch the scene anymore. It had to be
exorcised. Propaganda pieces were necessary in order to slow down
the inexorable movement of that theme. "About That" already initiates
this long cycle of exorcism. "I won't give them the satisfaction of
seeing me dead of a bullet." "I want to live on and on, moving through
290
On a Generation That Squandered Its Poets
the years." The lines to Sergej Esenin are the high point of this cycle.
According to Majakovskij, the salubrious aim of the lines addressed to
Esenin was to neutralize the impact of Esenin's death poem. But when
you read them now, they sound even more sepulchral than Esenin's
last lines. Esenin's lines equate life and death, but Majakovskij in his
poem can only say about life that it's harder than death. This is the
same sort of doubtful propaganda for life found in Majakovskij's ear
lier lines to the effect that only disquiet about the afterlife is a restraint
upon the bullet. Such, too, are the farewell words in his suicide letter:
"Stay happy here."
In spite of all this the obituary writers vie with one another : "One
could expect anything of Majakovskij, but not that he would kill him
self." (E. Adamovic) . And Lunacarskij : "The idea of suicide is simply
incompatible with our image of the poet." And Malkin : "His death
cannot be reconciled with his whole life, which was that of a poet
completely dedicated to the Revolution." And the newspaper Pravda:
"His death is just as inconsistent with the life he led, as it is unmoti
vated by his poetry." And A. Xalatov: "Such a death was hardly proper
for the Majakovskij we knew." Or Kol' cov: "It is not right for him.
Can it be that none of us knew Majakovskij ? " Petr Pil' skij : "He did
not, of course, reveal any reason for us to expect such an end." And
finally, the poet Demjan Bednyj : "Incredible ! What could he have
lacked? "
Could these men of letters have forgotten o r s o misunderstood All
That Majakovskh Composed? Or was there a general conviction that all
of it was only "composed;' only invented? Sound literary criticism re
jects any direct or immediate conclusions about the biography of a
poet when these are based merely on the evidence of his works, but it
does not at all follow from this that there is no connection whatsoever
between the artist's biography and his art. Such an "antibiographical"
position would be the equivalent, in reverse, of the simplistic bio
graphical approach. Have we forgotten Majakovskij's admiration for
the "genuine heroism and martyrdom" ofXlebnikov, his teacher? "His
life;' wrote Majakovskij, "matched his brilliant verbal constructs. That
life is an example for poets and a reproach to poetizers." And it was
Majakovskij who wrote that even a poet's style of dress, even his inti
mate conversations with his wife, should be determined by the whole
of his poetic production. He understood very well the close connec
tion between poetry and life.
291
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
292
On a Generation That Squandered Its Poets
of me. If I ever thought that the best of me was in the past that would
be the end for me." I reminded him of a recent poem of his in which
the following lines occurred:
But you know, Brik told me to strike those lines out because they
didn't go with the tone of the whole poem. So I struck them out."
The simplistic Formalist literary credo professed by the Russian Fu
turists inevitably propelled their poetry toward the antithesis of For
malism-toward the cultivation of the heart's "raw cry" and uninhi
bited frankness. Formalist literary theory placed the lyrical monologue
in quotes and disguised the "ego" of the lyric poet under a pseudonym.
But what unbounded horror results when suddenly you see through
the pseudonym, and the phantoms of art invade reality, just as in Ma
jakovskij's scenario Bound in Film a girl is kidnapped from a movie set
by a mad artist and lands in "real life."
Toward the end of his life, the satire and the laudatory ode had
completely overshadowed his elegiac verse, which, by the way, he iden
tified with the lyric in general. In the West the existence of this basic
core in Majakovskij's poetry was not even suspected. The West knew
only the "drummer of the October Revolution." There are many expla
nations for this victory of agit-prop. In 1923 Majakovskij had reached
the end of the road as far as the elegiac mode was concerned. In an
artistic sense "About That" was a "repetition of the past;' intensified
and raised to perfection. His journalistic verse was a search for some
thing new; it was an experiment in the production of new materials
and in untested genres. To my skeptical comments about these poems
293
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
294
On a Generation That Squandered Its Poets
and in political matters. Someone else fired that shot, some outsider
who happened to be in control of a revolutionary poet's mind and will.
It was the result of the temporary pressure of circumstances." And once
again we recall the rebuke Majakovskij delivered long before the fact:
295
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
vate episode when the law of large numbers is at work, in view of the
fact that in a few years' time the whole bloom of Russian poetry has
been swept away?
In one of Majakovskij's longer poems, each of the world's countries
brings its best gift to the man of the future; Russia brings him poetry.
"The power of their voices is most resoundingly woven into song."
Western Europe is enraptured with Russian art: the medieval icon and
the modern film, the classical ballet and the latest theatrical experi
ment, yesterday'S novel and the latest music. And yet that art which is
probably Russia's greatest achievement, her poetry, has never really
been an export item. It is intimately Russian and closely linked to the
Russian language and would probably not survive the misfortunes of
translation. Russian poetry has witnessed two periods of high flower
ing: the beginning of the nineteenth century and the present century.
And the earlier period as well as the later had as its epilogue the un
timely death of very many great poets. If you can imagine how slight
the contributions of Schiller, Hoffmann, Heine, and especially Goethe
would have been if they had all disappeared in their thirties, then you
will understand the significance of the following Russian statistics: Ry
leev was executed when he was thirty-one. Batjuskov went mad when
he was thirty. Venevitinov died at the age of twenty-two, Del'vig at
thirty-two. Griboedov was killed when he was thirty-four, Puskin
when he was thirty-seven, Lermontov when he was twenty-six. Their
fate has more than once been characterized as a form of suicide. Maja
kovskij himself compared his duel with byt to the fatal duels of Puskin
and Lermontov. There is much in common in the reactions of society
in both periods to these untimely losses. Once again, a feeling of sud
den and profound emptiness overwhelms one, an oppressive sense of
an evil destiny lying heavily on Russian intellectual life. But now as
then other notes are louder and more insistent.
The Western mind can hardly comprehend the stupid, unrestrained
abuse of the dead poets. A certain Kikin expressed great disappoint
ment that Martynov, the killer of that "cowardly scoundrel Lermon
tov;' had been arrested. And Tsar Nicholas I's final words on the same
poet were: "He was a dog and he died a dog's death." And in the same
spirit the emigre newspaper The Rudder (Rul') carried no obituary on
the occasion of Majakovskij's death, but instead a cluster of abusive
remarks leading up to the following conclusion: "Majakovskij's whole
life gave off a bad smell. Is it possible that his tragic end could set all
On a Generation That Squandered Its Poets
that right? " (Ofrosimov). But what of the Kikins and Ofrosimovs?
They're but illiterate zeros who will be mentioned in the history of
Russian culture, if at all, only for having defecated on the fresh graves
of poets. It is incomparably more distressing to see slops of slander
and lies poured on the dead poet by Xodasevic, who is privy to poetry.
He certainly knows the value of things; he knows he is slanderously
smearing one of the greatest Russian poets. W hen he caustically re
marks that only some fifteen active years were allotted to Majakov
skij-"the lifetime of a horse " -it is self-abuse, gallows humor, mock
ery of the tragic balance sheet of his own generation. If Majakovskij's
final balance sheet was "life and I are quits:' then XodaseviC's shabby
little fate is "the most terrible of amortizations, the amortization of
heart and soul."
The latter was written about emigre philistines.But the tradition of
Puskin's days is repeated by the same philistines of Moscow stock who
immediately try at all costs to replace the live image of the poet by a
canonic saintlike mask.And even earlier ... But of what went on ear
lier, Majakovskij himself related a few days before his death in a talk at
a literary gathering: ,"So many dogs snipe at me and I'm accused of so
many sins, both ones I have and ones I am innocent of, that at times it
seems to me as if all I want to do is go away somewhere and sit still for
a couple of years, if only to avoid listening to barking!" And this har
rassment, framing the poet's demise, was precisely described in ad
vance by Majakovskij:
2 97
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
299
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
and compulsory for all. T heir children had only a single-minded, naked
hatred for the ever more threadbare, ever more alien rubbish offered
by the established order of things. And now the "efforts to organize a
personal life are like attempts to heat up ice cream."
As for the future, it doesn't belong to us either. In a few decades we
shall be cruelly labeled as products of the past millennium. All we had
were compelling songs of the future; and suddenly these songs are no
longer part of the dynamic of history, but have been transformed into
historico-literary facts. W hen singers have been killed and their song
has been dragged into a museum and pinned to the wall of the past,
the generation they represent is even more desolate, orphaned, and
lost-impoverished in the most real sense of the word.
300
CHAPTER!7
301
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
30 2
On the Prose of the Poet Pasternak
I
The textbooks confidently draw a firm line between lyric and epic
poetry. If we reduce the question to a simple gr ammatical formula, we
can say that the point of departure and the main theme are, for the
lyric, invariably the first person of the present tense; for the epic, the
third person of the past tense. Whatever subject matter the lyric nar
rative may have, it is never more than an appendage and accessory, a
mere background to the first person; and if the past is involved, then
the lyric past always presupposes a reminiscing first-person subject. In
the epic, on the contrary, the present refers expressly back to the past,
and if the "I" of the narrator does find expression, it is solely as one of
the characters in the action. This objectified "I" thus appears as a var
iant of the third person; the poet is, as it were, looking at himself from
outside. So that the first person may be emphasized as the point of
reception but that point never fuses with the main subject of the epic
poem itself; in other words, the poet as "subject of the lyric that looks
at the world through the first person" is profoundly alien to the epic.
Russian Symbolism is lyrical through and through; its excursions
into the epic vein are typical attempts by lyric poets to masquerade as
poets of epic. In post-Symbolist poetry the two genres diverge: while
the persisting lyric strain clearly predominates, reaching its most ex-
304
On the Prose of the Poet Pasternak
She could not possibly define what was happening on the other
shore, far, far away: it had no name, no distinct colour or precise
v
outlines ....Zenya began to cry....Her father's explanation was
brief: 'It's Motovilixa.' ...The little girl did not understand at all
and, satisfied, swallowed a falling tear. For that was all that she
needed: to know the name of the incomprehensible-Motovilixa.
When Zenya had grown out of childhood she was struck for the first
time by the suspicion that there was something which appearances
concealed or else revealed only to the elect. This attitude of childhood
towards appearances corresponds perfectly to Pasternak's own.An epic
attitude to his environment is naturally out of the question for a poet
who is convinced that, in the world of prosaic fact, the elements of
everyday existence fall dully, stupidly and with crippling effect upon
the soul and "sink to the bottom, real, hardened and cold, like drowsy
tin spoons;' and that only the passion of the elect can transform this
"depressingly conscientious truth" into poetry. Only feeling proves to
be obviously and absolutely authentic. "Compared with this even the
sunrise took on the character of urban rumor still needing to be veri
fied." Pasternak bases his poetics on the personal, emotional experi
ence-indeed appropriation-of reality. "In this form the events did
305
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
not belong to me;' and so on. Both his adjustment of the language of
poetry to the purely expressive language of music, and the fact that
this conception is based on the triumphing of passion, with its animat
ing power, over the inevitable, show Pasternak to be continuing the
romantic line of Symbolism; but as his work matures and attains indi
viduality' so his initially romantic language of the emotions evolves
gradually into a language about the emotions, and it is in his prose
that this descriptive character finds its most extreme expression.
II
Whereas, despite the obvious echoes of Xlebnikov in Pasternak's
work, these two poets are clearly distinguishable from each other, it is
far more difficult to draw a line between Pasternak and Majakovskij.
Both are lyric poets of the same generation, and Majakovskij, more
than any other poet, deeply affected Pasternak in his youth and con
stantly won his admiration. A careful comparison of the respective
tissue of metaphors of the two poets at once reveals remarkable simi
larities. "I was related to Majakovskij by the age and by common influ
ences; certain things coincided in us," observes Pasternak. The meta
phorical structure of Pasternak's poems reveals, too, direct traces of his
enthusiasm for the author of "A Cloud in Trousers." In comparing the
two poets' metaphors we must bear in mind that these have a quite
different role to play in the work of each poet. In Majakovskij's poems
the metaphor, sharpened by the tradition of Symbolism, is not only
the most characteristic but also the most essential poetic trope, deter
mining the structure and development of the lyric theme. In Paster
nak's pertinent phrase, poetry here began "to speak in the language of
sectarian parables." To define the problem: the poet's absolute com
mitment to metaphor is known; what remains to be determined is the
thematic structure of his poetry. The lyrical impulse is, as we have said,
provided by the poet's own self. Images of the external world in the
metaphorical lyric are made to harmonize with this impulse, to shift it
into different levels, to establish a network of correspondences and
masterful assimilations amidst the diverse aspects of the cosmos, to
merge the lyric hero into the multifariousness of Being and to dissolve
the manifold planes of Being in the lyric hero. Metaphor works
through creative association by similarity and contrast. The hero is
confronted by the antithetical image of what is mortally inimical to
306
On the Prose ofthe Poet Pasternak
307
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
thinner, the town was become lean and black." We have deliberately
given simple examples; there is a wealth of much more involved im
agery of this sort in Pasternak's work. The substitution of an adjacent
object is the simplest form of association by contiguity. The poet has
other metonymical devices as well; he can proceed from the whole to
the part and vice versa, from the cause to the effect and vice versa, from
spatial relations to temporal ones and vice versa, etc., etc. But perhaps
what is most characteristic of Pasternak is his using an action instead
of an actor, a man's condition, or one of his remarks or attributes,
rather than the man himself, and the consequent separating off and
objectifying of these abstractions. The philosopher Brentano, who
steadfastly fought against the logically illegitimate objectification of
such fictions based in language, would have discovered in Pasternak's
poetry and prose a most abundant collection of such alleged entia)
treated as creatures of flesh and blood. Sestra moja-iizn' (My Sister
Life), the really untranslatable title and leitmotif of Pasternak's most
relevant collection of poems ("life" is feminine in Russian), graphically
exposes the linguistic roots of this mythology. This same being repeat
edly appears in his prose too.
Life lets very few people know what it is doing with them. It loves
its job too much and while at work it speaks at most with those
who wish it success and who love its workbench.
308
On the Prose of the Poet Pasternak
attached to its person for the journey, and wore its uniform, a
uniform familiar to everyone from his own experience.
30 9
WRITER, BIOGRApHY, MYTH
III
The essence of poetic figures of speech does not simply lie in their
recording the manifold relationships between things, but also in the
way they dislocate familiar relationships. The more strained the role of
the metaphor in a given poetic structure, that much the more decisively
are traditional categories overthrown; things are arranged anew in the
light of newly introduced generic signs. Accordingly, the creative (or,
as the foes of such novelty will say, the forced) metonymy changes the
accustomed order of things. Association by contiguity, which in Pas
ternak's work becomes the artist's flexible tool, transforms spatial dis
tribution and temporal succession. This emerges particularly clearly
from the poet's prose ventures, outlined as it is against the background
of a prose that seeks to communicate in the customary way. Pasternak
grounds this dislocation in emotion, or else, if one's starting point is
the expressive function of literature, he uses this dislocation to help
express the emotions.
A poetic world governed by metonymy blurs the outline of things,
as April, in Pasternak's story "The Childhood of Luvers:' blurs the
distinction between house and yard; similarly it turns two different
310
On the Prose of the Poet Pasternak
aspects of one and the same object into independent objects, like the
children in the same story who think that a street seen first from inside
the house and then from outside it is two different streets. These two
characteristic features-the mutual penetration of objects (the realiza
tion of metonymy in the strict sense of the word) and their ecompo
sition (the realization of synecdoche)-bring Pasternak's work close to
the endeavors of Cubist painters. The dimensions of things change:
The gondola was, womanlike, gigantic, as everything is gigantic
which is perfect in form and incommensurable with the place
taken up by its body in space.
3II
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
IV
To define our problem: the absolute commitment of the poet to
metonymy is known; what remains to be determined is the thematic
312
On the Prose of the Poet Pasternak
313
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
Everything that came from the parents to the children came a t the
wrong moment, from one side, provoked not by them but by cer
tain causes that had nothing to do with them.
Another human being had entered her life, the third person, just
anyone, without a name or with a random name which neither
provoked hatred nor inspired love.
What is essential is solely his penetration into the life of the lyric self.
Whatever is unrelated to this single hero is only "vague accumulations
without names."
This strict body of semantic laws also determines the simple pattern
of Pasternak's lyric narrative . The hero is either delighted or appalled
at being governed by an external impulse; he is now branded by it,
now suddenly loses contact with it, whereupon another impulse takes
its place. Safe Conduct is an inspired account of how the author's ena
moured admiration focuses in turn upon Rilke, Scrjabin, Cohen, a
"dear beautiful girl;' and Majakovskij , and how in this process he
comes up against the "limits of his understanding" (a person's nonun
derstanding is one of the most acute and compelling of Pasternak's
lyric themes, just as a person's being misunderstood by others is one
of Majakovskij's) . Perplexed misunderstandings develop, and the in-
314
On the Prose of the Poet Pasternak
315
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
316
On the Prose of the Poet Pasternak
317
CHAPTER 1 8
318
The Statue in Pus"kinJs Poetic Mythology
31 9
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
320
The Statue in Pus"kin)s Poetic Mythology
intertwined with desire for a woman. Don Juan speaks to Dona Anna at
one and the same time about ''weariness of conscience" and about his
3 21
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
own rebirth : "Falling in love with you, I love virtue,/ And for the first
time I humbly bend! My trembling knees before it." Evgenij "is not
Don Juan," as the poet explicitly points out in his sketches for The
Bronze Horseman: no rebellion has preceded his settling down. Though
deprived of the spirited romanticism of Don Juan's longings, Evgenij's
dream before the dramatic denouement is essentially the same: he wea
rily dreams of the alluring, peaceful life of happy idlers and of his
impeded meeting with Parasa. Tsar Dadon ''was terrible in his youth
. . . / But in old age he wanted! To rest . . . / And to secure peace for
himself." It is precisely in this situation that he finds himself "charmed,
fascinated" by the Tsaritsa of S amaxan.
2. The statue) more precisely the being which is inseparably connected with
the statue) has a supernatural) unfathomable power over this desired
woman. The connection with a being transforms the statue into an
idol, or rather-according to the nomenclature of modem Russian
ethnology-a lekan; that is, the statue, understood as a pure "external
representation;' becomes an ongon) an incarnation of some spirit or
demon.5 The connection of the statue with such a being may be of
diverse character. The titanism of the stone guest is the exclusive attrib
ute of the statue (see Fig. )
I :
In The Bronze Horseman this attribute of the statue merges with the
titanism of the man represented, Peter the Great-"miracle-worker
giant" (cudotvorec-ispolin) -and of his symbolic partner, his steed (see
Figs. 2 and 3) . But in the fairytale, on the contrary, the statuette-"the
cockerel on the spire" -is almost likened to a "dragonfly on a pin" (see
Fig. 4) . Imitative magic) according to Frazer's terminology, is replaced
by contagious magic) or in other words : instead of the relationship of
the representation to the object represented, the relationship of the
property to the owner of the little golden bird, the old eunuch, moves
to the foreground, although a certain hint of likeness is also present in
the fairytale : the astrologer is compared to a bird, in particular to a
swan.6 But independent of all these variations, evil magic remains in
force. In each case the power of the "ongon" over the woman is fatal;
in each case life falls into the grasp of dead impotence: ''A widow
3 22
The Statue in Pus1linJs Poetic Mythology
should be faithful even to the grave;' says Dona Anna. ''A hundred
years passed" emphasizes the introduction to The Bronze Horseman: a
century separates Tsar Peter's life from Parasa's life, and if Dona Anna's
past at least belongs to the commander, what did Peter have to do with
Paras a or Parasa with Peter? "And what good is a girl to you?" Dadon
sensibly asks the eunuch, but the latter persists in his preposterous
claim on the Tsaritsa of Samaxan.
3. After a vain resistance the man perishes through the intervention ofthe
statue) which has miraculously set itself into motion) and the woman van
ishes. Don Juan sees Dona Anna enslaved by the tomb statue of the
commander, her slain husband, and wants to wrest her from the "for
tunate dead man;' ''whose cold marble/ Is warmed by her heavenly
breath." According to Don Juan's blasphemous proposal, the "marble
spouse" is to stand guard during his love tryst with Dona Anna. She
is favorably disposed toward her admirer, she wiU be his as soon as
possible, but suddenly the tramp of the commander's footsteps is
heard. The animated statue, which has left the monument, grips Don
Juan's hand "heavily" in his "stone right hand"; Dona Anna vanishes
from him; the man perishes . Evgenij loses his fiancee Parasa during the
violent Petersburg flood. We do not find out anything about her de
mise; only tormenting questions without an answer are posed: " . . . Or
is our whole/ Life nothing but an empty dream,/ Heaven's mockery of
the earth?" And somewhat further on: "Well, what is it?" In his sudden
madness Evgenij clairvoyantly perceives that the real culprit is the
guardian of the city, the renowned Bronze Horseman, Tsar Peter (Figs.
2, 3) , "by whose fateful willi A city was founded under the sea." He
threatens the statue: "Now then, miracle-working builder! . . . Just you
wait! [ Uio tebe!] ." The animated statue leaves his pedestal and pursues
Evgenij . The heavy tread (tjaielyj topot) of the Bronze Horse (see Fig.
2) corresponds to the firm grip (tjaieloe poiat'e) of the commander's
right hand and to the tramp of his footsteps. The man perishes. The
golden cockerel serves Tsar Dadon as a "faithful guardian." His mys
terious bearer, the castrated astrologer, does not want to renounce his
ludicrous claim on the Tsaritsa of Samaxan. The exasperated tsar pun
ishes him with death. The golden bird leaves his spire and pursues
Dadon. The light ringing of his flight (legki.f zvon) echoes and simul
taneously softens the Bronze Horseman's heavily ringing gallop (tja
ielo-zvonkoe skakanie) . Dadon perishes. "And the tsaritsa suddenly dis
appeared,/ As if she hadn't even existed." "I have dreamed the same
325
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
dream three times," Puskin could have repeated after his False Dmitrij
(Boris Godunov) . The deceased, as it were, has become incarnated in the
statue-the commander in his monument, Peter in the Bronze Horse
man, the astrologer in the golden cockerel-in order to punish a re
bellious daredevil. Godunov's question-"Have you ever heard! Of the
dead rising from their graves ?"-again receives an affirmative answer;
however, in the tragedy of Tsar Boris the shade of the murdered Dmi
trij had been incarnated in a living man-the Pretender. This fact had
provided a more rational justification, on the one hand, and had inten
sified the ambiguity of the avenger's position, on the other; he is not
only esteemed simultaneously as the tsarevich and as a "nameless vag
abond;' but he also affirms the dead Dmitrij in himself ("The shade of
the Terrible One adopted me as his son") and at the same time repu
diates him ("I don't want to share with a dead man/ The mistress who
belongs to him") , whereas this role of a rival who is jealous of a dead
man falls unambiguously to Don Juan in The Stone Guest.
In the drama, in the epic poem, and in the fairytale the image of the
animated statue evokes the opposite image of rigidified people) whether
it involves a mere comparison of them to a statue, an accidental situa
tion, or actual dying and death. Here the boundary between life and
immobile dead matter is deliberately obliterated. At the beginning of
the drama Don Juan scornfully recalls the northern women: "To have
relations with them is really a sin;/ There's no life in them, they're only
waxen dolls." By way of contrast he shifts to a glorification not, as we
might expect, of vigorous life, but of the lively charm in poor Inez's
dying. The play ends with a direct transition from the "cold kiss" (odin)
xolodnYJ i yj -single,
m rn cold, calm) that the subdued Don Juan gains
from Dona Anna to the heavy grip of the commander's right hand. In
Puskin's original version, moreover, there is, as in Mozrt's opera, di
rect mention of the "cold grip" (xolodnoe pozat'e) , but later the poet
struck out this too blatant "dissolve;' as is said in today's film jargon. 7
The hero, longing for rest, inevitably makes his way toward the cold
ness and immobility of a statue. "Rule, lying down on your side ! "
reads the motto i n The Fairytale of the Golden Cockerel. Before Peter's
statue comes to life, Evgenij wastes away : "Neither one thing nor the
other, neither an inhabitant/ Of this world nor a dead spectre." During
his first encounter with the Bronze Horseman he grows stiff like a
statue and merges with the marble lion onto which the flood has car
ried him, "as if he were riveted to the marble;' whereas the lion "stands
3 26
The Statue in Pus'1lin)s Poetic Mythology
as if it were alive" (see Fig. 5) . The rigidity of dead bodies stands out
sharply against a background of intense love scenes : Don Juan with
Laura near the corpse of Carlos ("Wait! . . . in the presence of the
dead!") ; 8 Tsar Dadon who, in the presence of the Tsaritsa of Samaxan,
forgets the death of his two sons, whose bodies are lying nearby. 9
The three works about destructive statues correspond in some sec
ondary details as well. Thus, for example, each of them conspicuously
emphasizes by different means the fact that a capital is the setting. Don
Juan announces right at the beginning of the play: "Well, we have
finally/ Reached the gates of Madrid!! . . . If only/ I won't meet the
king himselfl " The Bronze Horseman begins with a hymn to Peter's
capital city, and The Fairytale ofthe Golden Cockerel constantly mentions
that the action takes place against the background of the capital (v
glazax u vsej stolicy, in the eyes of the entire capital) .
Someone may object that we are not dealing with completely inde
pendent themes - The Golden Cockerel is actually an elaboration of Irv
ing's "Legend of the Arabian Astrologer"; The Stone Guest is a varia-
328
The Statue in Pufkin)s Poetic Mythology
in the deranged Marija's raving about the wolf's head of her executed
father. 1 1
At the point o f transition from the horror o f monsters to the horror
of statues lies the story "The Solitary Little House on Vasil'evskij Is
land;' which PuSkin narrated in company at the turn of 1828 and 1829
and which the poet's acquaintance, V. P. Titov, wrote down and pub
lished under a pseudonym in the almanac Northern Fluwers of 1829. It
is a tale about the intrigues of an insidious devil who now enters-in
329
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
the words of the narration-''with the same marble calm with which
the commander's statue arrives at Don Juan's for dinner" and now
turns once more into a mysterious coachman, and when a man strikes
him with a stick, just as Dadon strikes the astrologer, the ringing sound
of bones is heard; the coachman turns his head-here Xodasevic recalls
the Bronze Horseman's analogous movement12-and a death's head
appears instead of a face. Puskin's grotesque "The Coffinmaker;' com
pleted at Boldino two months before The Stone Guest) ridicules the
outmoded horrific grotesque of hideous corpses and comically fore
shadows the plot kernel of Don Juan's involvement with the stone
guest. 13
However, neither the myth of the destructive statue nor even the
very subject of the statue occurs in Puskin's works of the twenties until
the end of 1829, that is, with the exception of some insignificant allu
sions, which are entirely secondary and episodic, in the poem "Cern '"
(The Mob, 1828), in the lyrical sketch "Kto znaet kraj" (Who knows
the land, 1827), and earlier in the whimsical verses "Brovi car' nax
murja" (The Tsar frowned) and Boris Godunov (1825) .
A scene in Boris Godunov depicts the ball a.: Duke Mniszek's. The
ladies' gossip is recorded, and it provides a sharp contrast to reality. A
statement is made about the Pretender: ''And it is apparent that he is
of royal blood;' and it is said of Marina, whose wild obsession with
passion Pus kin admired, "a marble nymph:/ Eyes, lips without life."
Here, then, is the usual opposition of a live man and his dead represen
tation, complicated, on the one hand, by the fact that the second mem
ber of the opposition is metaphorically applied to the first and, on the
other hand, by the fact that this application is in direct disagreement
with reality.
In September 1829 Puskin arrived in Moscow on his way from the
Caucasus, where he had witnessed the anti-Turkish campaign and the
capture of Erzerum. Before his departure for the Caucasus he had
asked for Natalie Goncarova's hand, but he had received an indefinite,
evasive answer from her mother, and upon his return he was met with
an ungracious welcome. His lack of piety and his invectives against
Tsar Alexander especially repelled her, 14 and it was precisely during his
Moscow stay (September 21, 1829) that the spurned Puskin concluded
a caustic cycle of his poetic invectives against Alexander with the eight
line "K bjustu zavoevatelja" (For the Bust of the Conqueror') where
he, so to speak, affirms his sharply negative attitude toward the late
330
The Statue in Pus1zin)s Poetic Mythology
6. Bust of Alexander I by B .
Thorwaldsen. Executed in
Warsaw, 1820.
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
332
The Statue in Pus1zin)s Poetic Mythology
Thus, after his visit to Tsarskoe Selo, does Puskin modify by means of
the saine meter, the same stanzas and under the same title his "Vospo
minanija v Carskom sele" (Recollections at Tsarskoe Selo) , written
fifteen years earlier for his lyceum examinations and quite identically
rendering homage to the "beautiful gardens of Tsarskoe Selo, to the
sceptre of the great woman", to her glorious retinue and to the mon
uments celebrating victories, once more the Kagul Obelisk (see Fig. 7 )
333
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
(\;\
e _f
..P: .
.' , '0 . :J
_
.! "': , . ;
:--.
and the Chesma Monument (see Fig. 8) and, moreover, the Morea
Column (see Fig. 9), commemorating Puskin's great-uncle, the Briga
dier Ivan Abramovic Hannibal, a hero of the victory at Navarino. This
solemn official ode of the lyceum muse had soon given way to a fiery
ode to freedom (1817) , and likewise the "great woman" had soon re
ceived an entirely different evaluation from the young Puskin in 1822:
But in the course o f time history will assess the influence o f her
reign on morals, will reveal the cruel activities of her despotism
under a mask of gentleness and patience, a people oppressed by
vice-regents, a state treasury plundered by lovers, will show her
momentous errors in political economy, her worthlessness in leg
islation, the repulsive hypocrisy in her relations with the philoso
phers of her century-and then the voice of the infatuated Voltaire
will not save her glorious memory from the damnation of Rus
sia.19
3 35
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
33 6
The Statue in Pus1zin)s Poetic Mythology
337
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
the remembrance of the majestic woman and the idols of the gods in
these gardens, whereas in the Boldino poem the gardens and their
idols, in contrast to the school and the majestic woman's "counsels and
reproaches;' are linked directly to the conception of the wandering
dreams and the "dark hunger for unknown delights."
At this point the sketch breaks off, and likewise a fragment of the same
period (1819) , "Elegy" ("To the Kagul Monument" -see Fig. 7,) con
sists merely of an antithetical introduction of similar construction:
339
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
340
The Statue in Pulkin)s Poetic Mythology
grandmother." The marriage is uncertain ("I left the door wide open
. . . Ha, that cursed thing, happiness!") , and in addition to this, "a
most charming personage;' cholera morbus) playing havoc all around,
provokes an obtrusive thought about death, either his fiancee's or his
own; quarantines restrain him, shut him up in Boldino as on "an island
surrounded by rocks"; and in the days when PuSkin is working on The
Stone Guest his father writes to him that his fiancee is lost to him. The
character of Don Juan in Puskin's play has already been interpreted
from an autobiographical point of view many times, and perhaps it
was precisely the too personal stamp of the drama that prevented the
author from having it published, just as the autobiographical element
in the first of the Boldino dramas, The Covetous Knight) caused the poet
to feign an anonymous translation from English.
If Don Juan's lyrical memories of the dead Inez are associated with
Puskin's graveyard lyric, and if the poet's longing for Goncarova,
which is interwoven with ardent poetic allusions to an unnamed mis
tress (or mistresses), 30 recalls the opposition of Dona Anna and Laura,
then everything irrational that stood between Puskin and his promised
one, whether it be the will of her family or of his own past or of
elemental obstacles, finds a meaningful equivalent in the power of the
stone commander. It is not just marriage that eludes the poet, how
ever; at times the poet himself would like to escape marriage. He seeks
to precipitate it, and when Goncarova informs him that she is waiting
only for him, he replies: "Believe that I am happy only where you are;'
but the same day he notes in reference to her letter the proverb, "And
what will happen is that nothing will happen" (A vot to i budet) ao
nicego ne budet) , and he writes to a friend: "You can't imagine how
delightful it is to run away from one's fiancee" (to Pletnev, September
9, 1830) . He complains about the cholera that has closed the roads from
Boldino, and at the same time admits : "I couldn't have asked for better
than the plague." He confides to his friends: "I am becoming cool, I
am thinking about the cares of a married man and about the charm of
a bachelor's life" (to Pletnev, August 31, 1830) ; "I am getting married
without elation, without adolescent fascination. The future appears to
me not in roses, but in its severe nakedness. Sorrows will not surprise
me: they are registered in my domestic budget. Every joy will be a
surprise to me" (to N. 1. Krivcov, February 10, 1831, the very week
before the wedding) . He parts with his bachelorhood, as Hofman cor
rectly remarks, as if he were actually parting with life.32 The supersti-
341
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
tious Puskin recalls that a Moscow fortune-teller had predicted that his
own wife would be the cause of his death.33 The horror of the com
mander's visit would seem a warning dream.
Don Juan's success with Dona Anna provides the poet with another
motivation for escape. It suffices to confront it with Puskin's previ
ously cited letter to his fiancee's mother, in which this sentence occurs
unexpectedly: "As the Lord is my witness, I am ready to die for her,
but to be obliged to die in order to leave her a brilliant widow, free to
choose a new husband tomorrow, this idea is hell itself."
During the first Boldino autunm the poet's work is saturated with
the image of the statue. The Boldino drawings, as well as the poetic
works, deal with sculptural images : a sketch of a pyramid with an
t--
I
- -
{
.
343
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
34-4
The Statue in Pus"kin)s Poetic Mythology
[Catherine was alive] ) shortly after the Pugacev rebellion; it was just at
this time that Puskin was working earnestly on a history of this "ter
rible period." And finally, in the initial drafts the role of Peter, the
tamer of the rebellious nobility both during life and after death
("Peter's shade stood threateningly in the midst of the boyars") , 41 had
prepared and motivated the bronze tsar's cruel intervention against the
descendant of this rebellious nobility. In the process of further work
on his poem Puskin removes the scaffolding of incidental motivations
and thus makes the myth of the destructive statue independent of epi
sodic stimuli.
The Petersburg tale differs markedly from the first version of Pus
kin's myth; long past is the period of Don Juan's youthful lack of re
straint. Even his vigorous wooing of a last love has already been for
gotten. The horror of her loss and of her partner's death supplants the
preceding episodes. Originally Puskin's own deliberation about matri
mony had passed over into The Bronze Horseman from the eighth chap
ter of Eugene Onegin) written during the first Boldino autumn and
later destroyed (on the whole, the creation of the second autumn is
connected to the harvest of the first.42 "Other days, other dreams;' the
poet had meditated in this chapter,
You have been humbled,
Lofty visions of my spring;
Now .. .
My ideal is a housewife,
My desires are rest
And a pot of cabbage soup and me my own boss.
But Puskin even robbed his hero of this very modest dream: he deleted
these lines in the final edition. In The Stone Guest Don Juan had been
individualized, and the commander had been depersonalized, almost
anonymous. The exact opposite is true in The Bronze Horseman. The
victim of the statue-Evgenij-has been depersonalized as much as
possible:
345
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
"He is like everyone" (I(ak pse on), emphatically repeats another variant
of the poem. ("There is no happiness;' wrote Puskin about his own
marriage, "except in the common ways . . . At thirty, people marry as
a rule-l am acting just like other people, and probably I shall not
regret this.")43 On the other hand, the citizen's persecutor, the Bronze
Horseman, is introduced, portrayed and delineated so concretely-de
spite every latitude of possible interpretations-that Tsar Nicholas
made it impossible to publish the poem. In its first draft Puskin had
still not impoverished Evgenij in this way; in fact the poet had de
fended his right to make him the hero of the tale, to pass over terres
trial idols (in his poem Puskin calls the bronze Peter an idol) in gloomy
silence and to defy the establishment (dlja tebja zakona net [for you
there is no law] ) . In the final edition there is not even a trace of the
poet's pugnacity that had originally accompanied the appearance of
Evgenij .
At the end of August 1834 PuSkin left Petersburg so that he would
not be forced to participate in the unveiling of Alexander's column (see
Figs. 13-15) . He notes this in his diary on November 28, and his aver
sion to the monument to Alexander I still reverberates a few lines later
in the same note in his annoyed remark about the superfluousness and
pointlessness of another, similar kind of monument, a column with an
eagle, erected by Count S. P. Rumjancev at Tarutino in honor of the
victory over Napoleon in the War of 1812.44 Puskin went to Boldino;
he wanted to get down to work there, but inspiration was lacking, and
''verse [did] not come to mind."45 Financial worries overcame him at
the ruined estate, and he wrote to his wife : "I am sad, and when I am
sad, I am drawn straight to you, as you cling to me when you are
scared" (September 17, 1834) . The third version of the myth of the
destructive statue resulted from these moods, from Boldino reminis
cences, from Irving's story, and from folk tale formulae. A derisive
grotesque supplanted the tragic Petersburg tale; a castrated magician
replaced Peter the Great, and a cockerel on a spire-probably an ironic
allusion to the eagle on the Tarutino column (see Fig. 16) or the angel
on Alexander's column-was substituted for the gigantic horseman
above the cliff. The victim of the statue has grown old, and the poet's
346
The Statue in Pus1tinJs Poetic Mythology
347
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
tempts, and Puskin rightly pointed out that there is "the devil of a
difference" (d'.favol'skaja raznica) between the prosaic and versified va
rieties of one and the same literary genre (letter to Vjazemskij of No
vember 4, 1823 ) .
The whole set o f sculptural themes in PuSkin's work is neutralized
and gradually dies out with the myth of the destructive statue. It reap
pears only in 1836 in the epistle ''Xudozniku'' (To an Artist) , dedicated
to the sculptor Orlovskij , and in the two four-line inscriptions to the
statues of players (see Fig. 17) . The cycle of Pus kin's poems about stat
ues began and ended with inscriptions.
We can even speak directly about the overcoming of the sculptural
subject in the poet's work. Besides the parodistic tinge of The Fairytale
of the Golden Cockerel) which concludes the phantasmagoria of statues,
just as the story "The Coffinmaker" had previously ended the phantas
magoria of hideous corpses, and besides the episodic image of over
thrown idols, which appears after The Bronze Horseman in the poet's
lyrical sketches and which every time is closely connected with the im-
The Statue in Pus"kinJs Poetic Mythology
age of a moving crowd (December 9, 1833: "From step to step fly the
idols"; September [ ? ] 1834: "From the toppled columns the idols fall") ,
we may cite what Andrej Belyj has called " a very ambiguous and ob
scure passage"48 in Puskin's letter of May 29, 1834, to his wife. The
writer speaks about his work on the history of Peter the Great: "I am
gathering materials-1 am putting them in order-and suddenly I shall
cast a bronze monument which it will not be possible to drag from
one end of the city to the other, from square to square, from side street
to side street." Here it is indisputably a question of a verbal monument
which is independent of space in contrast to a startle. Puskin vigor
ously defined that dependence in his famous comments on F alconet's
horseman which Mickiewicz reproduced in his satire Pomnik Piotra
Wielkiego (The Monument of Peter the Great) : ''He sat on the bronze
back of the bucephalus and waited for a space into which he could
race." In these glosses Puskin also parodies V. G. Ruban's inscriptional
verses "K pamjatniku Petra I" (To the Monument of Peter I) . The
349
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
350
The Statue in PuikinJs Poetic Mythology
f .y
[.Ct'-
t. .J J
17. Self-portrait by PuSkin parodying 18. Puskin, crowned with laurels, and
traditional medallions of Dante, Mickiewicz. Drawing by Puskin in
1835-36. drafts of Tazit, c. 1833.
351
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
nose, the lips, and the chin are completely struck out by thick, tightly
placed strokes." 53 A laureate bust of oneself, the idea of which repeat
edly repelled Puskin, is one of the significant facets of his obsessive
sculptural demonology.
We have traced the image of the statue and particularly the myth of
the destructive statue in the context of Puskin's work and life. But we
are interested above all in the internal structure of this poetic image
and poetic myth. The problem is all the more interesting in that it
concerns the transposition of a work belonging to one kind of art into
another artistic mode- into poetry. A statue, a poem-in brief, every
artistic work-is a particular sign. Verse about a statue is accordingly a
sign of a sign or an image of an image. In a poem about a statue a sign
(signum) becomes a theme or a signified object (signatum) . The con
version of a sign into a thematic component is a favorite formal device
of PuSkin's , 54 and this is usually accompanied by exposed and pointed
internal conflicts (antinomies) which are the necessary, indispensable
basis of any semiotic world. In Puskin's story "Egyptian Nights" a
professional improvisator composes a poem on the prescribed theme
"the poet himself chooses the subjects for his songs; the crowd is not
entitled to guide his inspiration." Here, then, the nonprescriptive na
ture of the subject is the prescribed subject. The fundamental discrep
ancy between the two necessary components of linguistic expression
its theme and its situation, a discrep<ll1CY that turns into a flat contra
diction in this case-is thus emphasized. In The Stone Guest Don Juan
says that he suffers in silence. "And this is how you are silent?" Dona
Anna asks him derisively and thereby reveals the contradiction be
tween the first person as narrator and as topic of the narration.
-
"Rest eludes me" (Pokoj menja bezit) , says Puskin in the poem
"Vojna" (War) , literally "runs away from me." This combination of
words, directly contradicting one another, is made possible by the use
of the verb bezat' ( nm) in the figurative sense. Here we have the union
of two opposed semantic spheres-that of rest and that of movement,
and this is one of the main motifs of Puskin's symbolic pattern in gen
eral. The equation movement-rest is presented in the poet's works now
as a philosophical clash between external empiric data and a noumenon
(cf. the poem "Dvizenie . . ." [Movement] ),55 now as a contradiction
between the material of a statue and its semantic aspect. A statue-in
contrast to a painting-so approximates its model in its three
dimensionality that the inorganic world is nearly cancelled out of its
themes : a sculptural still life would not suitably provide the distinct
35 2
The Statue in Pus1zin)s Poetic Mythology
The youth took three steps forward, bent, and leaning one hand
Against his knee, he raised the pointed bone.
Look! He has already taken aim! Away! Make way, curious
people.
Move aside; don't interfere with the bold Russian game.
("On the Statue of a Youth Playing Knucklebones"; see Fig. 19)
35 3
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
. ..
:
. ... . . . .
. . .
.
." .
.
.
. ' .." ' . . . .
. , '
. .
. .
.
Compare "A moment-and he will fly away! Such is the singer full of
ecstasy" (1820) . A statuesque Mercury, drawn by Pus kin on the left side
of a manuscript page, and a sketch of Mercury's legs in flight on the
right side of the same page (see Fig. 20) symbolically separate from
one another, on the one hand, Puskin's resignation from any service
preventing his poetic work, a draft addressed to Count M. S. Voron
cov through the latter's go-between, A. 1. Kaznaceev, and on the other
hand, the poet's verses prefacing Tat'jana's letter, which was to reach
Onegin through her nanny's grandson as messenger.
A three-dimensional statue, of course, provides more suitable pre
conditions for inclusion in real space than a two-dimensional image.
Nevertheless, Puskin's lyric poetry also offers such evidence as :
When the great deed was accomplished,
And Divinity was dying in torment upon the cross,
There on either side of the life-giving wood
. ..were standing two pale, weak women.
...But at the foot of the holy cross ...
We see-standing in place of the holy women
Two stem guards in shakos and at arms.
Here the boundary between the crucifixion in Brjulov's picture and the
guards protecting the picture is intentionally obliterated.
The poetic transformation of semiotic antinomies is even more
sharply obtruded in Puskin's inscription to the statue of the peg player.
If we take into account the external material aspect, the statue appears
to us as an immobile piece of live activity, but in Puskin's poem, on the
contrary, the swift "action" of the statue (bystraja igra) is opposed to
the immobility of a later, conjectured state (posle igry otdyxat') rest after
the game) .
But what about the contrary case: cannot the empirical immobility
of a statue triumph for the spectator over the motion that it represents?
"They want to sculpt my bust here;' wrote Puskin to his wife from
Moscow on May 14-, 1836, "but I don't want them to. Then my negroid
ugliness will be delivered to eternity in all its dead immobility." Op
posed to the "miracle" of the idea of motion overcoming the paraly
zation of matter is the converse "miracle"-the immobility of matter
overcoming the idea of motion. "Miracle !" says Puskin about the girl
with the broken pitcher (see Fig. 10) in the inscription "The Statue at
Tsarskoe Selo": "The girl sits eternally sad over the eternal stream."
The internal dualism of the sign is cancelled: the immobility of the
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
eternal guard who wards off enemies with his petrified appearance; on
the other hand, he is ready to fall on them from the steep cliff. 58 The
idea of life that is included in the meaning of a staroe and the idea of
duration that is furnished by its outer shape fuse into an image of
continuing life.
The imperfective aspect of verbs carries this idea of pure duration in
The Bronze Horseman: whether it concerns the historical or the bronze
Peter, whether it concerns the immobile or the animated staroe, not a
35 6
The Statue in Pulkin)s Poetic Mythology
358
The Statue in Pus"kinJs Poetic Mythology
359
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
person acting; "a living man who goes barefoot" is actually such a
person, but not "a dead man who takes a coffin." The syntactic paral
lelism of the two sentences increases even more the tension between
the grammatical meaning and the objective relationship. In the cob
bler's analogous utterance : "a living man will manage without shoes,
but a dead man does not live without a coffin" the contradiction is
sharpened by the opposition between the subject "a dead man" (mert
vyj) and the basic meaning of the predicate verb "to live" (zit') which
has a transferred meaning in the given sentence: here "does not live"
(ne zivet) means "is not left [without . . . ] , does not exist" (ne ostaetsjaJ
ne suscestvuet) . A client is the subject of the action; the dead are
Adrian's clients. If the artisans drink to the health of their clients and
if the coffinmaker is also called upon to drink to "the health of his
dead;' then the opposition of the word and reality is driven to its ex
treme and turns into its converse when the drunk Adrian invites his
dead to a banquet and they accept his invitation. Thus in Dona Anna's
words to Don Juan, "My husbat?-d torments you even in his grave;' the
husband is a purely figurative subject of the action, but later he turns
into the real subject: ''1 have appeared at your call."
A statue is either an object of the discourse or a subject of the action.
The confrontation of a statue with a living being is always the starting
point of the discourse: the two schemes interpenetrate one another. A
living being is likened to a statue (in Boris Godunov) in "The Solitary
Little House") , or a statue is likened to a living being ("Takov i byl sej
vlastelin" [Such was this ruler] ) . It becomes identified with a living
being through the negation of dead matter (an emphatic variant of the
fragment "Who knows the land" : "Canova's lively chisel has brought
the Paros marble alive") ;61 the poem "The Mob": "It's by weight/ That
you value the Belvedere idol/ . . . Yet this marble is really a god!" Or it
is depicted ("is estranged;' according to Sklovskij's terminology) as a
living being. If the discourse about the statue is at the same time a
discourse about the past, a reminiscence, then the immobile duration
of the statue is opposed to the ephemerality of the living being,
whether it is a question of an objective loss-"Recollections at Tsar
skoe Selo" of 1814: "Everything has vanished, the great woman is no
more"; the epistle "To the Artist" of 1836: "I walk sadly in a crowd of
silent idols . . . Del'vig is no more" 62 -or a subjective loss (the poem
"At the beginning of life I recollect school": the "magnificent woman"
with her veracious pronouncements disappears from the youth who
360
The Statue in PulkinJs Poetic Mythology
steals away to the immobile statues) . What comes to the fore, then, is
not the relationship of the representation to the object represented or
a similarity (an imitative connection), but a contiguity (a contagious
connection) : the relationship of the deceased to the statue, a temporal
or spatial continuity, the consecration of the statue to his memory. The
representation can be replaced by a commemorative column, that is to
say, by a statue of solely metonymic designation ("The spectres of he
roes sit by the columns dedicated to them") . The statue as the subject
of poetic (epic or dramatic) action includes and objectifies all of the
elements that we have examined. The very opposition of the lasting
statue and the vanishing man is thus projected into the action: the
statue kills the man. The internal antithesis of the man's simultaneous
longing for a woman and longing for rest (Don Juan's "cold kiss" is
essentially an oxymoron) determines the woman's part in this action.
It is symptomatic that Puskin's "myth of the destructive statue" is the
only constant form in his oeuvre of the intervention of the statue in the
poetic action.
The image of the statue-the maker of human destiny-does not
remain isolated in Puskin's works; rather it is organically connected to
his entire poetic mythology. Bicilli's study (one of the most insightful
contributions to the literature on Puskin) emphasizes the dynamism of
his poetry as the principle of its individuality:
I do not know another poet who would use the image of running
water as often as Puskin. His heavenly bodies are always mov
ing . . . . He uses a wealth of epithets to characterize the dynamic
properties of objects. . . . In his vocabulary 'life' and words of the
same root occupy an exceptional place . . . . In Puskin everything
breathes. . . . All objects are comprehended sub specie of motion,
their origin or the potential rhythm included in them . . . . For him
'dead' nature is full of life. . . . Most often the idea of swift, vehe
ment movements dominates him. . . . One of his favorite image
symbols is the ship, the embodiment of swift and, at the same
time, light sliding motion. . . . In his poetry the stereotyped sym
bol of the road as the 'life path' acquires particular force and
charge . . . . All life-cosmic, personal and social-is conceived as
a continuous process . . . . 63
1 8 14 "Vospominanija v Carskom
sele"
-strophes about monuments
181 5-1 8 1 7 --
1820-1823 --
1824 Drawing of Mercury
(V)
1825 BorisGodunov-mention of
marble nymph
"Brovi car' naxmurja"-mention
of Peter's monument
1826
366
The Statue in PuikinJs Poetic Mythology
Boldino "Carskosel'skaja
statuja" ( l .X)
"V nacale zizni" (X) to N. N. "The Shot"-mention
The Stone Guest Goncarova 1 1 .X. of busts ( 14.X)
(finished 4.XI)
Drawing of Egyptian
colossus (X)
Drawing of classical
bust (XI)
lS3 1 to A. N.
Goncarov
24.II
lS32 to Benkendorf Drawing of statue of
S.VI Voltaire ( lO.III)
lS33 to Volkonskij Drawing of Puskin
l S.II and Mickiewicz in
drafts of Tazit
Boldino The Bronze Horseman (X)
Sketch "Tolpa gluxaja"-
about falling idols (9.XII)
lS34 to his wife about
bronze monument
to Peter (29.V)
"Vezuvij zev otkryl"-
about falling idols (IX. ?)
Boldino The Fairytale ofthe Golden
Cockerel (finished 20.IX)
Diary entry of 25 .XI
about Alexander's col-
umn and the Tarutino
column
lS35
lS36 "Xudozniku" (25.III) Self-portrait of Puskin
"Exegi monumentum" to his wife about as laureate (toward
(2l .VIII) his own bust lS36)
Inscriptions to statues of players ( 14.V) Reference to Kagul at
(X) end of The Captain)s
Daughter (X)
CHAPTER 19
What Is Poetry?
"Harmony i s the result o f contrast:' I said. "The whole
world is made up of opposing elements. And . . ." "And
poetry", he interjected, "true poetry-the more original
and alive its world, the more contradictory the contrasts
in which the secret kinship occurs."
Karel Sabina, biographer and closefriend ofMacha
370
What Is Poetry?
life" and what is "sham" and "a labored literary outlook:' what "comes
from the heart" and what is "affected." All the quotations given here
come from the study "Hlavacek's Decadent Erotica:' a chapter in a
work by Fedor Soldan. Soldan describes the relationship between an
erotic poem and a poet's erotic life as if he were dealing with static
entries in an encyclopedia rather than a dialectical alliance with con
stant shifts, as if he regarded a sign and the object designated by it as
monogamously and immutably bound to one another, as if he had
never heard of the age-old psychological principle of the ambivalence
of feelings-no feeling is so pure as to be free from contamination by
its opposite feeling.
Numerous studies in the field of literary history still apply the dual
istic scheme of "psychic reality versus poetic invention:' seeking out
relations of mechanistic causality between the two so that one cannot
help recalling the problem that tortured the old French aristocrat,
namely, is the tail attached to the dog or the dog to its tail?
As an example of how sterile these equations with two unknowns
can be, let us look at Macha's diary, an extremely instructive document,
which to date has appeared only with considerable expurgations. Some
literary historians concentrate entirely on the poet's published work,
leaving aside all biographical problems ; others try to reconstruct the
poet's life in as much detail as possible. While conceding the merits of
both these approaches, we very definitely reject the approach of those
literary historians who replace genuine biography with official, school
book interpretation. Macha's diary has been expurgated so that
dreamy-eyed youths admiring his statute in Prague's Perrin Park will
not be disillusioned. But as Puskin once said, literature (to say nothing
of literary history) cannot take fifteen-year-old girls into account. And
fifteen-year-old girls read much more dangerous things than Macha's
diary anyway.
The diary describes the author's physiological acts-both genital
and anal-with epic tranquility. It records, in laborious code and with
the inexorable accuracy of a bookkeeper, the manner and frequency of
his sexual gratification with his mistress Lori. Karel Sabina (1813-1877)
has written of Macha that "the keen regard of darksome eyes, a sublime
brow furrowed with deep thoughts, pensive mien, which is so often
marked by a pale complexion-these plus the feminine traits of refine
ment and fidelity are what endeared the fair sex to him above all else."
And this is how feminine beauty appears in Macha's poems and stories.
371
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
Tolstoj in his old age waxed indignant over a bantering letter Puskin
had written to a friend in which he referred to the woman of this poem
in the following terms : "With God's help I had Anna Petrovna today."2
But medieval farces like the Czech Mastickar ( Unguentarius) are far
from blasphemy! The ode and the burlesque are equally valid; they are
simply two poetic genres, two modes of expression for one theme.
A theme that never ceased to torture Macha was the suspicion he
was not Lori's first lover. In May this motif takes the following forms :
and
372
What Is Poetry?
At one point in the diary Macha describes how, after having Lori
twice, he talked with her once more "about her having permitted
someone else to take her. She wanted to die. '0 Gott,' she said, 'wie
unglucklich bin ich ! ' " There follows another violent erotic scene, after
which a detailed description is given of how the poet moved his bow
els. The passage concludes : "God forgive her if she is deceiving me; I
will not. If only she loves me. She seems to. Why, I would marry a
whore if I knew she loved me."
Whoever claims that the diary version is a photographically perfect
reproduction of reality and May a sheer fabrication on the part of the
poet is simplifying the matter as much as the schoolbooks do. Perhaps
May is even more revealing than the diary as a manifestation of psychic
exhibitionism, intensified as it is by its Oedipal overtones ("My rival
my father"). 3 The motif of suicide in the poetry of Majakovskij was
once thought to be a mere literary trick. It might well be thought so
today, had Majakovskij, like Macha, died of pneumonia at the age of
twenty-six.
Sabina writes that "Macha's notes contain a fragmentary description
of a person of the neoromantic ilk. That appears to be a faithful picture
of the poet himself as well as the principal model he patterned his
lovesick characters after." The hero of the fragment "slew himself at the
feet of the girl whom he loved ardently and who returned his love even
more ardently. Believing her to have been seduced, he tried to force
the name of the seducer from her so that he might avenge her. She
denied everything. He seethed with anger. She swore that nothing had
happened. Then an idea struck him like a bolt of lightening: 'To
avenge her I would have to kill him. My punishment would be death.
Let him live. I cannot.' " And so he decides to commit suicide, firm in
the conviction that his mistress "is a long-suffering angel, unwilling to
bring sorrow even upon her seducer." Then, at the last minute, he
realizes that "she has deceived him" and that "her angel face has turned
into the face of a devil." Here is how Macha describes his own tragic
love affair in a letter to a trusted friend: "I once told you that one thing
could drive me insane . It has come; eine Notzucht ist unterlaufen. The
mother of my beloved died. A fearful vow was taken at midnight by
37 3
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
374
What Is Poetry?
derline between delirium and the folksong, and is even freer in his
imagination, more spontaneous in his exquisite provincialism than
Macha-Janko Kral' is along with Macha a classic Oedipal case. Here,
in a letter to a friend, is Bozena Nemcova's description of her first
impressions of Kral' : ''He is terribly eccentric, and his wife, though
very young and nice, is terribly naive. He only keeps her as a servant
girl, really. He said himself there was only one woman he ever loved,
above all else, with all his soul-and that woman was his mother. He
hated his father with the same passion: his father tormented his
mother (just as he torments his wife) . Since she died, he claims to have
loved no one. As I see it, that man will end his days in an insane asy
lum!" But even though it frightened even the intrepid Borena Nem
cova with its overtones of madness, Kral"s extraordinary brand of in
fantilism elicits no alarm whatsoever in his poems. Published in a
collection entitled Citanie studujucej mltideie (Readings for Students),
they seem little more than a mask. In fact, however, they reveal a
mother-and-son love tragedy in such brutally straightfrward terms as
poetry has rarely known.
What are Kral"s ballads and songs about? Ardent matemal love that
"never could be shared"; the son's inevitable departure, in the firm
belief-despite his "mother's counsel"-that "it was all in vain. Who
can g() against fate? Not I"; the impossibility of returning "home to
mother from far-off lands." Mother searches desperately for son:
"Throughout this world my mourning is of the grave, but no news
have I of my son." Son searches desperately for mother: "Why go
home to your brothers and father, why to your village, winged falcon?
Your mother has gone out into the broad field." Fear-the physical
fear of bizarre Janko sentenced to destruction-together with Janko's
dream of his mother's womb recall the themes of present-day surrealist
poets such as Nezval.
Here is an excerpt from Nezval's Historic festi prazdnych domu (A
Story of Six Empty Houses) :
Mother
Can you leave me forever down there
In the empty room where there are never any guests
I enjoy being your subtenant
And it will be terrible when I am finally forced to go
How many moves await me
And the most terrible move of all
375
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
The inevitable antithesis of poetry's sudden flow into life is every bit
as sudden as its ebb. Here again is Nezval, this time in the vein of
poetism, a school he was instrumental in creating.
3 76
What Is Poetry?
377
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
interacts with all the others and is itself mutable since both the domain
of art and its relationship to the other constituents of the social struc
ture are in constant dialectical flux. What we stand for is not the sepa
ratism of art but the autonomy of the aesthetic function.
As I have already pointed out, the content of the concept of poetry
is unstable and temporally conditioned. But the poetic function, poet
icity) is, as the "formalists" stressed, an element sui generis, one that
cannot be mechanically reduced to other elements. It can be separated
out and made independent, like the various devices in, say, a cubist
painting. But this is a special case; from the standpoint of the dialectics
of art it has its raison d'etre, yet it remains a special case. For the most
part poeticity is only a part of a complex structure, but it is a part that
necessarily transforms the other elements and determines with them
the nature of the whole. In the same way, oil is neither a complete dish
in and of itself nor a chance addition to the meal, a mechanical com
ponent; it changes the taste of food and can sometimes be so penetrat
ing that a fish packed in oil has begun to lose, as in Czech, its original
genetic name, sardinka (sardine) , and is being baptized anew as olejovka
(olej-, oil- + ovka) a derivational suffix) . Only when a verbal work ac
quires poeticity, a poetic function of determinative significance, can we
speak of poetry.
But how does poeticity manifest itself? Poeticity is present when the
word is felt as a word and not a mere representation of the object being
named or an outburst of emotion, when words and their composition,
their meaning, their external and inner form, acquire a weight and
value of their own instead of referring indifferently to reality.
Why is all this necessary? Why is it necessary to make a special point
of the fact that sign does not fall together with object? Because, besides
the direct awareness of the identity between sign and object (A is A 1 ) ,
there is a necessity for the direct awareness of the inadequacy of that
identity (A is not A I ) . The reason this antinomy is essential is that
without contradiction there is no mobility of concepts, no mobility of
signs, and the relationship between concept and sign becomes auto
matized. Activity comes to a halt, and the awareness of reality dies out.
CHAPTER 20
379
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
parers of fate which no one can escape and to which even the gods
themselves must be subject." According to Erben, these beings are
even concealed in the Christian images of the legend of Christ and St.
Peter. The wife's admonitory, humble speech about the fates is the wise
but nevertheless fatefully powerless human word. "In vain are your
words, lady; your husband has a different intention." Of course, his
attempt to undo the mandate of fate is likewise predestined, for the
command of inevitability is not unambiguous : fate directs all changes
in the world, and the assignment of human destiny is, in fact, a dialec
tical process, as Romantic philosophy outlines it. In a note on "The
Willow" the poet directly points out: "One [fate] says : This will be
come of him. The second says : Not so, this will become of him. The
third then always decides."
In what seemed to be death the hero recognizes another being (A n
derssein) , which "transcends the limits of human understanding." The
reality belonging to and intelligible to the husband is therefore, as the
ballad says, "only a half-life." The husband, however, lays claim to an
entire reality: "My wife shall live with me." The symbol of the other
being, the willow with the white bark, miraculously linked to his wife's
soul, has to be destroyed. The interpenetration of the two planes of
reality is sharply emphasized. The man's exclamation "Let the willow
rot in the ground" foretells murder in an anthropomorphic image. The
demise -of the willow is compared to the woman's demise: ''He cut the
willow off at the roots . . . it fell heavily . . . it murmured, it sighed as
a mother passing away, as a dying mother looking around for her
child." The same comparison announces the simultaneous death of the
wife; however, what had been literal meaning has become metaphori
cal meaning and vice versa: "Your beloved wife died as if she had been
slashed by a scythe . . . she fell like a tree being cut down; she sighed
in dying, looking around for her child." Thus there are two shots, two
equally valid aspects of the same indivisible reality. The destruction of
one of the symbolic pair necessarily destroys the other symbol. The
struggle for a complete life turns into murder. He who wished to gain
full control over his wife's life is deprived of "a half-life." What before
only apparently wished to molder now molders in earnest.
Is it a real death? "What the earth creates it again destroys. But
nothing goes to waste." The third fate intervenes. ''Number three is
the arbitrator between the first two, whether for the good or the bad
side; the fulfillment of perfection lies in three." The wife-willow lives
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
39 0
Myth in Erben)s Work
391
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
scious toning down of the connection with the model, the polemic
between Zahof's Bed and May remains obvious. "To the different peri
ods of human life;' to the tragedy of human passions, Macha opposes
the exultation of nature. Erben, however, rejects this contradiction
the autumnal whisper of the leaves on the oak tree corresponds to the
tragedy of man's journey toward death, and for whoever understands
it "there is nothing to laugh at;' just as whoever heard Vilem's whisper
before death never smiled again. In his depiction of the cycle of nature
Erben imitates Macha's abbreviations inspired by Horace's annorum
series et fuga temporum (May: "Lovely May passed, the spring flower
faded, and summer blazed; then the summer time passed, autumn and
winter as well-and spring came again; until the flight of time had
already carried away many years . . . Many a stonny vortex had trans-
ported me into a profound sorrow . . . It was again evening-the first
of May." Ztihof's Bed: "Winter passed . . . Spring faded-summer . . .
leaves are falling . . . Ninety years had flown by the world; in the mean
time much had changed since that time . . . It is again spring" ) . But
whereas the natural events in Macha's poem are divested of any tran
scendental meaning ("Never-nowhere-no purpose") , the coming of
spring in Zahof's Bed heralds eternal life. As a symbol of unacceptable,
nonsensical, never justifiable death, the scaffold towers menacingly
above the landscape of May ("there a little hill stands, on it there is a
tall stake, on the stake a wheel is looming" ) . Likewise a "little hill" lies
over the landscape of Zahof's Bed) but above it looms emblematically
an image of Jesus Christ crucified, providently pointing with his left
hand to the gates of hell, the just fate of damned souls.
The "awful lord of the woods;' the perpetrator of unheard-of deeds,
the robber Vilem killed his father and thereby "carried out a twofold
revenge," for it was his father who had banished Vilem and seduced
his love. The murderer should be executed, but he denies the legiti
macy of this verdict and his own guilt, because he has been the mere
administrator of his father's punishment ("Was I only enticed into the
dream of life just to punish his guilt?") . This revenge and love are, in
fact, the only meaning of life for him . Images of the cradle and the
coffin, of his mother, of his beloved land, and of his mistress coalesce
in Vilem's apostrophe before death. Vilem's destruction is suggested
by the image "Into his mother, into his mother a son's blood flows
upon her." There follows the hymn to beautiful infantile time and to
an eternal tonnenting love.
392
Myth in Erben)s Work
393
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
In his politically radicat book Our Men (Nafi muiovc) 1862) Erben's
contemporary Sojka rightly identifies what Grund calls "the principle
3 94
Myth in Erben)s Work
395
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
Nemcova for a longer time "not because she was under police surveil
lance but rather for emotional reasons." But why does the scholar not
cite Erben's own admission from a letter to Sembera: "1 cannot call on
her ... for 1 know that she is under strict surveillance and that atten
tion is paid to everyone who goes near her "? Attempts at an apology
for the poet's opportunism are even more peculiar.Grund relates how
an external reversal in Erben's political opinions occurred in 1853 on
account of oppressive public conditions, how the notorious Sacher
Masoch recommended him as a politically reliable man, how the poet
had to buy back governmental trust, how he resigned from the board
of the Committee for the Establishment of a Czech National Theater,
how he dedicated books to the Emperor, to Bach, and to Thun, and
how in general he strove by various deeds to evoke the impression of
a completely progovernment citizen. And the scholar adds to his de
fense: ''An official appointed to the municipal authorities only through
the intercession of the government party, a writer whose possible de
posing from office would have threatened all his plans so long deferred
because of adversity, a man broken by illness ... a father who had to
count his money ...if he were to send his wife and children on vaca
tion to relatives in far-away Zebrak ...he could not risk and toy with the
disfavor of the government. But the official avowal of a loyal sentiment,
which obliged him to nothing and which manifested itself primarily in
a natural respect for the sovereign, restored to Erben the trust of the
police."
1 think that precisely in such cases a modem literary historian should
carefull y bear in mind Havlicek and Borena Nemcova. After all, it is
not by chance that attempts to solve the ideological quarrel over Ma
cha versus Erben in favor of the latter should occur just now, and that
Erben's opportunism is painstakingly defended. But the barrenness of
such attempts is equally typical.
396
CHAPTER 21
In Memory of V. V. Hanka
The cream of the nation gathered around the coffin: Frantisek Palaclcy,
F. L. Rieger, J. v. Frietch, and others. There were Serbs in fezes, Poles
in confederation caps. The pupils of Hanka carried a magnificent copy
of the multilingual edition of the Kralovedvorslcy Manuscript on a vel
vet cushion crowned with laurels, next to which lay the Russian medals
of the deceased.
3 97
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
398
In Memory ofHanka
399
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
400
In Memory ofHanka
401
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
402
In Memory ofHanka
right in stating that nothing in Czech poetry of the ISIOS can be com
pared with the Kralovedvorsk-y and Zelenohorsk-y Manuscripts. One
can even be so bold as to say that the manuscripts were the highest
achievement of Czech verbal art during the first quarter of the nine
teenth century. Particularly striking is a comparison of the manuscripts
with the poems to which Hanka signed his name. Similar features
point to a common authorship. But how pathetically poor is the liter
ary level of these exercises in versification when placed next to the gen
uine poetry of the manuscripts! W hy did the attempts of the time at
original Czech poetry prove to be weak sophomoric exercises, while
fabrications of ancient epics won general recognition? There is not a
single work of Czech poetry of the nineteenth century that can com
pete with the manuscripts in the number of translations into foreign
languages-all Slavic languages, almost all the languages of Western
Europe, Goethe being among the translators. No other work inspired
so many Czech composers and painters; no other work influenced so
deeply the future development of the nation's poetry and literary lan
guage.
At the beginning of the nineteenth century, the emergence of mod
ern Czech poetry was prevented by the fact that the stage preparatory
to it had not yet been completed. It was still necessary to create a Czech
literary language. The Czech tradition had been so deeply disrupted
that it was difficult to utilize in a genuine way the treasure trove of the
Old Czech language or its poetic forms. The abundance of archaisms
met with a lack of understanding on the part of the reading public and
with the protests of critics. Even so, it was only in the distant past that
a model for a high poetic and linguistic culture could be found. For a
Czech Romantic poet, archaisms were indispensable, but they had to
be justified. Moreover, they had to be explained: a poetic work satu
rated with antiquated language required detailed commentaries, and
the right to make such commentaries had in turn to be justified. Only
under the cover of an archaic pseudonym, only under the mask of a
medieval poet, was it possible at the beginning of the nineteenth cen
tury to imitate the great poetry of the Middle Ages. Such was the
literary-historical raison d'etre of Hanka's mystification. This mystifi
cation made it possible to forge a bridge between Old Czech verbal art
and modern Czech poetry. The imprint of the Slavic past permitted the
author of the manuscripts to use still another rich and kindred linguis
tic base, Russian vocabulary and stylistic devices, which Hanka re-
403
WRITER, BIOGRAPHY, MYTH
404
In Memory ofHanka
405
PART IV
Semiotic
Vistas
J akobson's semiotic studies begin with an examination of the
nature of the linguistic sign. This is not simply because he was a lin
guist: rather, language has always been regarded as the primary semi
otic system, and since antiquity any discussion of signs necessarily
started with the word, the paramount means of communication and
signification. Jakobson's work in semiotics continues his reassessment
of the heritage of the founder of structural linguistics, Ferdinand de
Saussure (1857-1913), whose insistence on the linearity of the signifier
he had challenged with the introduction of distinctive features, more
elementary units forming "bundles" termed phonemes. During his
years in the United States, Jakobson turned for inspiration to the work
of the American philosopher Charles Sanders Peirce (1839-1914) in
analyzing not only the linguistic sign but also the relation of language
to other signifying systems, such as music and painting, and the place
of linguistics within the growing discipline of semiotics. The history
of this field from the eighteenth to the twentieth centuries is sketched
in Jakobson's magisterial ''A Glance at the Development of Semiotics;'
which appropriately served as the keynote address at the First Inter
national Congress of Semiotics in Milan (1974).
409
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
410
Questfor the Essence ofLanguage
4-11
CHAPTER 22
413
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
414
Questfor the Essence ofLanguage
415
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
some natural bond between signans and signatum (the symbol of jus
tice, a pair of scales) , and in his notes the conventional signs pertaining
to a conventional system were tentatively labeled seme, while Peirce had
selected the term seme for a special, quite different purpose. It suffices
to confront Peirce's use of the term symbol with the various meanings
of symbolism to perceive the danger of annoying ambiguities; but the
lack of a better substitute compels us for the time being to preserve the
term introduced by Peirce.
The resumed semiotic deliberations revive the question, astutely dis
cussed in Cratylus) Plato's fascinating dialogue : does language attach
form to content "by nature" (physei), as the title hero insists, or "by
convention" (thesei), according to the counterarguments of Hermo
genes. The moderator Socrates in Plato's dialogue is prone to agree
that representation by likeness is superior to the use of arbitrary signs,
but despite the attractive force of likeness he feels obliged to accept a
complementary factor-conventionality, custom, habit.
Among scholars who treated this question following in the foot
steps of Plato's Hermogenes, a significant place belongs to the Yale
linguist Dwight Whitney (1827-1894) , who exerted a deep influence
on European linguistic thought by promoting the thesis of language
as a social institution. In his fundamental books of the 1860s and 1870S,
language was defined as a system of arbitrary and conventional signs
(Plato'S epituchonta and synthemata) . This doctrine was borrowed and
"
expanded by Saussure, and it entered into the posthumous edition of
his Cours de linguistique generale) adjusted by his disciples Charles Bally
and Albert Sechehaye (1916) . The teacher declares : "On the essential
point it seems to us that the American linguist is right: language is a
convention, and the nature of the sign that is agreed upon (tWnt on est
convenu) remains indifferent." Arbitrariness is posited as the first of two
basic principles for defining the nature of the verbal sign: "The bond
uniting the signans with the signatum is arbitrary." The commentary
points out that no one has controverted this principle, "but it is often
easier to discover a tnith than assign it to the appropriate place. The
principle stated dominates all the science of language [la langue in the
Saussurian sense of this term, that is, the verbal code] and its conse
quences are innumerable." In accord with Bally and Sechehaye, An
toine Meillet and Joseph Vendryes also emphasized the "absence of
connection between meaning and sound;' and Bloomfield echoed the
same tenet: "The forms of language are arbitrary."
416
Questfor the Essence ofLanguage
417
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
418
Questfor the Essence ofLanguage
419
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
to the undergoer, the "goal" of his action, the principal obeyed. If,
however, instead of an action effected, the predicate outlines an action
undergone, the role of subject is assigned to the patient: "The princi
pal is obeyed by the subordinate." The impossibility of omitting the
subject and the optional character of the object underscore the hier
archy discussed: "The subordinate obeys; the principal is obeyed." As
centuries of grammatical and logical scrutiny have brought to light,
predication is so cardinally different from all other semantic acts that
the forced reasoning intended to level subject and object must be cat
egorically rejected.
The investigation of diagrams has found further development in
modern graph theory. When reading the stimulating book Structural
Models (1965) by F. Harary, R. Z. Norman, and D. Cartwright, with its
thorough description of manifold directed graphs, the linguist is struck
by their conspicuous analogies with the grammatical patterns. The iso
morphic composition of the signans and signatum displays in both
semiotic fields very similar devices which facilitate an exact transposi
tion of grammatical, especially syntactic, structures into graphs. Such
linguistic properties as the connectedness of linguistic entities with
each other and with the initial and final limit of the sequence, the im
mediate neighborhood and distance, the centrality and peripherality,
the symmetrical relations, and the elliptic removal of single compo
nents find their close equivalents in the constitution of graphs. The
literal translation of an entire syntactic system into a set of graphs per
mits us to detach the diagrammatic, iconic forms of relations from the
strictly conventional, symbolic features of that system.
Not only the combination of words into syntactic groups but also
the combination of morphemes into words exhibits a clear-cut dia
grammatic character. Both in syntax and in morphology any relation
of parts and wholes agrees with Peirce's definition of diagrams and
their iconic nature. The substantial semantic contrast between roots as
lexical and affixes as grammatical morphemes finds a graphic expres
sion in their different position within the word; affixes, particularly
inflectional suffixes, in languages where they exist, habitually differ
from the other morphemes by a restricted and selected use of pho
nemes and their combinations. Thus the only consonants utilized in
the productive inflectional suffixes of English are the dental continuant
and stop, and their cluster -st. Of the 24 obstruents of the Russian
consonantal pattern, only four phonemes, saliently opposed to each
other, function in the inflectional suffixes.
420
Questfor the Essence ofLanguage
421
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
422
Questfor the Essence ofLanguage
423
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
425
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
I -I I - I
Q
grave - + + -
+ 1+ + +
'0 I
flat
diffuse + +1- -I + + + - -1
The cunning intertexture of identical and contrasting features in this
"song of wheels and walls:' prompted by a hackneyed street sign, gives
a decisive answer to Pope's claim: "The sound must be an echo to the
sense."
When postulating two primordial linguistic characters-the arbi
trariness of the sign and the linearity of the signans-Saussure attrib
uted to both of them an equally fundamental importance. He was
aware that if they are true, these laws would have "incalculable conse
quences" and determine "the whole mechanism of language." How
ever, the "system of diagrammatization:' patent and compulsory in the
entire syntactic and morphological pattern of language, yet latent and
virtual in its lexical aspect, invalidates Saussure's dogma of arbitrari
ness, while the other of his two "general principles" -the linearity of
the signans-has been shaken by the dissociation of phonemes into
distinctive features . With the removal of these fundamentals their cor
ollaries in turn demand revision.
Thus Peirce's graphic and palpable idea that "a symbol may have an
icon or [let us rewrite this conjunction in an up-to-date style: and/or]
an index incorporated into it" opens new, urgent tasks and far-reaching
vistas to the science of language. The precepts of this "backwoodsman
in semiotic" are fraught with vital consequences for linguistic theory
and praxis . The iconic and indexical constituents of verbal symbols
have too often remained underestimated or even disregarded; on the
other hand, the predominantly symbolic character of language and its
consequent cardinal difference from the other, chiefly indexical or
iconic, sets of signs likewise await due consideration in modern lin
guistic methodology.
The Metalogicus by John of Salisbury supplied Peirce with his favor-
426
Questfor the Essence ofLanguage
whose commentary of 1919 to his own works one reads : "1 have real
ized that the homeland of creation lies in the future; thence wafts the
wind from the gods of the word."
427
CHAPTER 23
428
Linguistic Aspeas of Translation
the simplest and truest argument would be that nobody has ever
smelled or tasted the meaning of cheese or of apple There is no
. signa
tum without signum. The meaning of the word "cheese" cannot be
inferred from a nonlinguistic acquaintance with cheddar or with ca
membert without the assistance of the verbal code. An array of linguis
tic signs is needed to introduce an unfamiliar word. Mere pointing will
not teach us whether cheese is the name of the given specimen, or of
any box of camembert, or of camembert in general, or of any cheese,
any milk product, any food, any refreshment, or perhaps any box irre
spective of contents. Finally, does a word simply name the thing in
question, or does it imply a meaning such as offering, sale, prohibition,
or malediction? (Pointing actually may mean malediction; in some cul
tures, particularly in Mrica, it is an ominous gesture. )
For us, both a s linguists and as ordinary word users, the meaning of
any linguistic sign is its translation into some further, alternative sign,
especially a sign "in which it is more fully developed;' as Peirce, the
deepest inquirer into the essence of signs, insistently stated.2 The term
"bachelor" may be converted into a more explicit designation, "un
married man;' whenever higher explicitness is required. We distinguish
three ways of interpreting a verbal sign: it may be translated into other
signs of the same language, into another language, or into another,
nonverbal system of symbols . These three kinds of traJ)slation are to
be differently labeled:
429
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
430
Linguistic Aspeas of Translation
doctrine, and we can easily transform our customary talk about the
rising and setting sun into a picture of the earth's rotation simply be
cause any sign is translatable into a sign in which it appears to us more
fully developed and precise.
An ability to speak a given language implies an ability to talk about
this language. Such a metalinguistic operation permits revision and
redefinition of the vocabulary used. The complementarity of both lev
els-object language and metalanguage-was brought out by Niels
Bohr: all well-defined experimental evidence must be expressed in or
dinary language, "in which the practical use of every word stands in
complementary relation to attempts at its strict definition."4
All cognitive experience and its classification is conveyable in any
existing language . Whenever there is a deficiency, terminology can be
qualified and amplified by loanwords or loan translations, by neolo
gisms or semantic shifts, and, finally, by circumlocutions. Thus in the
newborn literary language of the Northeast Siberian Chukchees,
"screw" is rendered as "rotating nail;' "steel" as "hard iron;' "tin" as
"thin iron;' "chalk" as ''writing soap;' ''watch'' as "hammering heart."
Even seemingly contradictory circumlocutions, like "electrical horse
car" (elektriceskaja konka), the first Russian name of the horseless street
car, or "flying steamship" (jeha paraqot) , the Koryak term for the air
plane, simply designate the electrical analogue of the horsecar and the
flying analogue of the steamer and do not impede communication, just
as there is no semantic "noise" and disturbance in the double oxymo
ron-"cold beef-and-pork hot dog."
No lack of grammatical devices in the language translated into
makes impossible a literal translation of the entire conceptual infor
mation contained in the original. The traditional conjunctions "and;'
"or" are now supplemented by a new connective-"and/or"-which
was discussed a few years ago in the witty book Federal Prose-How to
Write in and/or for Washington.5 Of these three conjunctions, only the
last occurs in one of the Samoyed languages .6 Despite these differences
in the inventory of conjunctions, all three varieties of messages ob
served in "federal prose" can be distinctly translated both into tradi
tional English and into this Samoyed language. Federal prose: ( I) John
and Peter, (2) John or Peter, (3) John and/or Peter will come. Tradi
tional English :(3) John and Peter or one of them will come. Samoyed:
(I ) John and/or Peter, both will come, (2) John and/or Peter, one of
them will come.
If some gramm atical category is absent in a given language, its
431
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
432
Linguistic Aspects of Translation
433
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
434
Linguistic Aspects of Translation
435
CHAPTER 24
43 6
The Development ofSemiotics
promoted this complex problem to the level of the last of the "three
great provinces of the intellectual world" and proposed to call it "se
meiOtike or the 'Doctrine of signs,' the most usual whereof being
words;' given that "to communicate our thoughts for our own use,
signs of our ideas are also necessary. Those which men have found
most convenient, and therefore generally make use of, are articulate
sounds." 2 It is to words, conceived of as "the great instruments of
cognition;' to their use and to their relation to ideas that Locke de
votes the third book of his Essay Concerning Human Understanding
(1690) .
I
From the beginning of his scientific activities, Jean Henri Lam
bert took account of the Essay and, while working on the Neues Orga
non (1764) , 3 which holds a pertinent spot in the development of phe
nomenological thought, he saw himself profoundly influenced by
Locke's ideas, despite his taking a critical stance toward the sensualist
doctrine of the English philosopher.4 Each of the two volumes of the
Neues Organon is divided into two parts and, among the four parts of
this whole treatise, the third-Semiotik oder Lehre von Bezeichnung der
Gedanken undDingeJ followed by the Phanomenologie-inaugurates the .
second volume (pp . 3-214) of the work and owes to Loke's thesis the
term semiotic as well as the theme of research, "the investigation of the
necessity of symbolic cognition in general and of language in particu
lar" (paragraph 6), given that this symbolic cognition "is to us an in
dispensable adjunct to thought" (paragraph 12) .
In the preface to his work, Lambert warns us that he is working on
language in nine chapters of the Semiotik (2-10) but allows only one
chapter to other types of signs, "because language is not only necessary
in itself and extraordinarily diffuse, but occurs with all other types of
signs." The author wishes to devote himself to language, "in order to
get to know its structure more closely" (paragraph 70) and to ap
proach "general linguistics, Grammatica universalisj which is still to be
sought." He reminds us
that in our language the arbitrary, the natural and the necessary
are blended. The primer of general linguistics should then mainly
discuss the natural and the necessary, and the arbitrary, as far as is
437
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
II
It is because of Locke's and Lambert's creative initiative that the
idea and the name of semiotics reappear at the beginning of the nine
teenth century. In his early career, the young Joseph Marie Hoene
Wronski, familiar with Locke's work, sketched, among other specula
tive essays, a Philosophie du language which was not published until
1879. 6 The author, who is linked by his disciple Jerzy Braun to Hus
sed's phenomenology and who is presented as "the greatest of Polish
thinkers;' 7 examines "the faculty of signation (facultas signatrix) ." The
The Development ofSemiotics
nature of signs (see p. 38) must be studied first of all with respect to
the categories of existence, that is to say, to the modality (proper/im
proper signs) and to the quality (determined/undetermined signs), and
secondly with respect to the categories of production, that is to say, to
the quantity (simple/composite signs), to the relation (natural/artificial
signs) and the union (mediate/immediate signs) . Following Hoene
Wronski's program, it is the "perfection of signs" ("perfection of lan
guage" in Locke's terms, "Vollkommenheit der Zeichen" according to
Lambert) which forms "the object of semeiotique" (p. 4I) . One should
note that this theory reduces the field of "signation" to acts of cogni
tion: "This signation is possible, whether for sensory form or for sen
sory or intelligible content, of the objects of our knowledge;' while
"the signation of acts of will and feeling" seems to be "impossible" (p.
38ft". ) .
III
The Prague philosopher, Bernard Bolzano, in his major work The
Theory of Science (I837) , 8 mainly in the last two of the four volumes,
reserves much space for semiotics. The author frequently cites Locke's
Essay and the Neues Organon) and discovers in Lambert's writings "on
semiotics . . . many very estimable remarks," though these are of little
use "for the development of the most general rules of scientific dis
course;' one of the aims Balzano sets himself (paragraph 698) .
The same chapter of The Theory of Science bears two titles, one of
which-Semiotik-appears in the table of contents (vol. Iv, p. xvi) , the
other of which-Zeichenlehre-heads the beginning of the text (p.
500); paragraph 637, which follows, identifies both designations-the
theory of signs or semiotics (Zeichenlehre oder Semiotik) . If, in this
chapter and in several other parts of the work, the author's attention is
held above all by the testing of the relative perfection of signs (Voll
kommenheit oder Zweckmiissigkeit) and particularly of signs serving log
ical thought, then it is in the beginning of the third volume that Bol
zano tries to introduce the reader to the fundamental notions of the
theory of signs throughout paragraph 285 (pp. 67-84) , which over
flows with ideas and is titled "the designation of our representations"
(Bezeichnung unserer Vorstellungen) .
This paragraph begins with a bilateral definition of the sign: "An
object . . . through whose conception we wish to know in a renewed
439
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
IV
The young Edmund Husserl's study, "Zur Logik der Zeichen
( Semiotik);' written in 1890, but not published until 1970, 9 is an at
tempt to organize the sign categories and to answer the question of
knowing in which sense language, that is, our most important system
of signs, "furthers and, on the other hand, once again inhibits think
ing." Criticism of signs and their improvement are conceived of as an
urgent task which confronts logic: "A deeper insight into the nature of
signs and of arts will rather enable [logic] to devise additionally such
symbolic procedural methods upon which the human mind has not yet
come, that is, to lay down the rules for their invention." The 1890
manuscript contains a reference to the "Semiotik" chapter of The Theory
of Science which is said to be wichtig (p. 5 3 0) : in aiming at two targets
in this essay, one structural and the other regulative, Husserl does in
440
The Development ofSemiotics
fact follow the example of Bolzano, whom he will later call one of the
greatest logicians of all time. In the semiotic ideas of the Logical Inves
tigations one can find "decisive instigations from Bolzano" as the phe
nomenologist acknowledges; and the second volume of the Investiga
tions) with its important treatise on general semiotics set up as a system,
exerted a profound influence on the beginnings of structural linguis
tics. As Elmar Holenstein indicates, Husser! made several notes in the
margins of paragraph 285 in his own copy of Bolzano's The Theory of
Science ill and he underlined the term Semiotik and its definition in
Locke's Essay in its German translation, Uber den menschlichen Verstand
(Leipzig, 1897) . 1 0
v
For Charles Sanders Peirce, the nature of signs remained a favor
ite subject of study since 1863 (cf. v.488 and VIII. 376) and especially
from the time of his magnificent profession of faith-"On a New List
of Categories"-which was published in 1867 by the American Acad
emy of Arts and Sciences (1.545-559) ; thereupon followed two inge
nious contributions to the Journal of Speculative Philosophy in 1868 (cf.
V.213-317), and finally, materials collected in 1909-10 for his unfinished
volume Essays on Meaning (II.230 -232; VII1.300) ,11
It is -notable that, throughout the thinker's whole life, the concep
tion which underlies his continual efforts to establish a science of signs
gained in depth and in breadth, and simultaneously remained firm and
unified. As for the "semiotic;' "semeiotic;' or "semeotic;' it only sur
faces in Peirce's manuscripts at the turn of the century; it is at this time
that the theory "of the essential nature and fundamental varieties of
possible semiosis" captures the attention of this great researcher
(1.44-4; v. 488). His insertion of the Greek scmeiOtikc) as well as the
concise definition "doctrine of signs" (II.277) -.:..puts us on the track of
Locke, whose celebrated Essay was often referred to and cited by the
doctrine's partisan. In spite of the marvelous profusion of original and
salutary finds in Peirce's semiotics, the latter nonetheless remains
tightly linked to his precursors-Lambert, "the greatest formal logi
cian of those days" (11.346), whose Neues Organon is cited (Iv.353) , and
Bolzano, whom he knows from the latter's ''valuable contribution to
the lucidity of human concepts" and his "work on logic in four vol
umes" (Iv.651) .
4-41
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
442
The Development ofSemiotics
443
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
them. The elucidation of the generic character which qualifies both the
signantia and the signata in the code of language (each of these aspects
"is a kind and not a single thing" ) has opened new perspectives on the
semiotic study of language.
Now, the trichotomy in question has also given rise to erroneous
views. Attempts have been made to attribute to Peirce the idea of the
division of all human signs into three rigorously separate classes, while
the author only considers three modes, one of which "is predominant
over the others" and, in a given system, finds itself often linked to the
other two modes or to either of them. For example,
VI
Ferdinand de Saussure's contribution to the progress of semiotic
studies is evidently more modest and more restricted. His attitude to
ward the science de signes and the name semiologie (or sporadically
signologie), 15 which he imposed on it immediately, remains, it seems,
completely outside of the current created by such names as Locke,
Lambert, Bolzano, Peirce, and Husser!' One can surmise that he did
The Development of Semiotics
445
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
"These symbols, without realizing it, are subject to t;he same vicissi
tudes and to the same laws as are all the other series of symbols . . .
They are all part of semiology."24 The idea of this semiological being
which does not exist in itselj; "at any time" (Ii nul moment) (2:277) is
adopted by Saussure in his 1908-09 course where he proclaims "the
reciprocal determination of values by their very coexistence," while
adding that there are no isolated semiological beings, and that such a
determination can occur only on a synchronic level, "for a system of
values cannot stay astride a succession of epochs" (2:304) .
447
SEM I OTI C VI STAS
Saussure's semiotic principles during the last twenty years of his life
demonstrate his striking tenacity. The 1894 sketches, cited above, open
with an inflexible assertion:
The object that serves as sign is never "the same" (Ie mime) twice:
one immediately needs an examination or an initial convention to
know within what limits and in the name of what we have the
right to call it the same; therein lies its fundamental difference
from an ordinary object.
These notes insist on the decisive role of the "plexus of eternally nega
tive differences;' the ultimate principle of non-coincidence in the world
of semiological values. In approaching semiological systems, Saussure
tries to "take exception to what preceded;' and as of 1894 he gladly
refers to comparisons between the synchronic states in language and
the chessboard. The question of the "antihistoric character of lan
guage" will even serve as title to Saussure's last notes in 1894 (2:282),
and, one could add, to all of his thoughts on the semiological aspects
of language and of all the creations symboliques. 25 These are the two
intertwined principles of Saussurean linguistics-Parbitraire du signe
and the obstinately "static" conception of the system-which nearly
blocked the development of the semiologie generate that the master had
foreseen and hoped for (cf. Saussure, I : 170ff) .
Now, the vital idea of semiological invariance which remains valid
throughout all of its circumstantial and individual variations is clarified
by Saussure thanks to a felicitous comparison of language to the sym
phony: the musical work is a reality existing independently of the va
riety of performances made of it; "the performances do not attain the
status of the work itsel" "The execution of a sign is not its essential
characteristic," as Saussure points out; "the performance of a Beetho
ven sonata is not the sonata itself" (1 :50, 53ff) . We are dealing with the
relationship between langue and parole and with the analogous link
between the "univocality" (univocite) of the work and the multiplicity
of its individual interpretations. Mistakenly, in the text arranged by
Bally and Sechehaye, these interpretations are represented as "errors
that [the performers] might commit."
Saussure must have thought that in semiology the "arbitrary" signs
were going to occupy a fundamental place, but it would be useless to
look in' his students' notes for the assertion that the Bally-Sechehaye
text gives, that is : "signs that are entirely arbitrary actualize the ideal
of semiological process better than other signs" (1:154) .
The Development of Semiotics
VII
The relationship of the science of language and languages with
that of the sign and of different signs was defined" briefly and explicitly
by the philosopher Ernst Cassirer in his address to the New York Lin
guistic Circle, pointing out that "linguistics is a part of semiotics." 27
There is no doubt that signs belong to a field which is distinguish
able in certain respects from all the other facets of our environment.
All of the sectors of this field need to be explored, taking into account
the generic characteristics and the convergences and divergences
among the various types of signs. Any attempt to tighten the limits of
semiotic research and to exclude from it certain types of signs threatens
to divide the science of signs into two homonymous disciplines,
namely semiotics in its largest sense and another province, identically
named, but taken in its narrower sense. For example, one might want
to promote to a specific science the study of signs we call "arbitrary,"
such as those of language (so it is presumed), even though linguistic
symbols, as Peirce demonstrated, can easily be related to the icon and
to the index.
Those who consider the system of language signs as the only set
worthy of being the object of the science of signs engage in circular
reasoning (petitio principii) . The egocentrism of linguists who insist on
excluding from the sphere of semiotics signs which are organized in a
different manner than those of language, in fact reduces semiotics to a
simple synonym for linguistics. However, the efforts to restrict the
breadth of semiotics sometimes go even further.
At all levels and in all aspects of language, the reciprocal relationship
between the two facets of the sign, the signans and the signatum, re
mains strong, but it is evident that the character of the signatum and
the structuring of the signans change according to the level of linguis
tic phenomenon. The privileged role of the right ear (and, more prop-
449
SEM I OTIC VISTAS
erly, that of the left hemisphere of the brain) solely in the perception
of language sounds is a primary manifestation of their semiotic value,
and all the phonic components (whether they are distinctive features,
or demarcational, or stylistic, or even strictly redundant elements)
function as pertinent signs, each equipped with its own signatum.
Each higher level brings new particularities of meaning: they change
substantially by climbing the ladder which leads from the phoneme to
the morpheme and from there to words (with all their granunatical
and lexical hierarchy) , then go through various levels of syntactic struc
tures to the sentence, then to the groupings of sentences into the ut
terance and finally to the sequences of utterances in dialogue. Each one
of these successive stages is characterized by its own clear and specific
properties and by its own degree of submission to the rules of the code
and to the requirements of the context. At the same time, each part
participates, to the extent possible, in the meaning of the whole. The
question of knowing what a morpheme means, or what a word, a sen
tence, or a given utterance means, is equally valid for all of these units.
The relative complexity of signs such as a syntactic period, a mono
logue, or an interlocution does not change the fact that in any phe
nomenon of language everything is a sign. The distinctive features or
the whole of a discourse, the linguistic entities, in spite of the structural
differences in function and in breadth, all are subject to one common
science, the science of signs.
The comparative study of natural and formalized languages, and
above all those of logic and mathematics, also belongs to semiotics.
Here the analysis of the various relationships between code and con
text has already opened broad perspectives. In addition, the confron
tation of language with "secondary modeling sytems" and with myth
ology in particular points to a rich harvest and calls upon able minds
to undertake an analogous type of work which attempts to embrace
the semiotics of culture.
In semiotic reseach touching upon the question of language, one
will have to guard against the imprudent application of the special
characteristics of language to other semiotic systems. At the same time,
one must avoid denying to semiotics the study of systems of signs
which have little resemblance to language and following this ostraciz
ing activity to the point of revealing a presumably "nonsemiotic" layer
in language itself.
450
The Development ofSemiotics
vm
Art has long escaped semiotic analysis. Still there is no doubt that
all of the arts, whether essentially temporal like music or poetry,
or basically spatial like painting or sculpture, or syncretic, spatio
temporal, like theater or circus performances or film showings, are
linked to the sign. To speak of the "grammar" of an art is not to em
ploy a useless metaphor : the point is that all art implies an organization
of polar and significant categories that are based on the opposition of
marked and unmarked terms. All art is linked to a set of artistic con
ventions. Some are general: for example, let us say that we may take
the number of coordinates which serve as a basis for plastic arts and
create a consequential distinction between a painting and a piece of
statuary. Other conventions, influential ones or even mandatory ones
for the artist and for the inunediate receivers of his work, are imposed
by the style of the nation and of the time. The originality of the work
finds itself restricted by the artistic code which dominates during a
given epoch and in a given society. The artist's revolt, no less than his
faithfulness to certain required rules, is conceived of by contempora
ries with respect to the code that the innovator wants to shatter.
The attempted confrontation between arts and language may fail if
this comparative study relates to ordinary language and not directly to
verbal art, which is a transformed system of the former.
The signs of a given art can carry the imprint of each of the three
semiotic modes described by Peirce; thus, they can come near to the
symbol, to the icon, and to the index, but it is obviously above all in
their artistic character that their significance (semeiOsis) is lodged. What
does this particular character consist of? The clearest answer to this
question was given in r885 by a young college student, Gerard Manley
Hopkins : "The artificial part of poetry, perhaps we shall be right to say
all artifice, reduces itself to the principle of parallelism. The structure
of poetry is that of continuous parallelism." 28
The "artifice" is to be added to the triad of semiotic modes estab
lished by Peirce. This triad is based on two binary oppositions : contig
uous/similar and factual/imputed. The contiguity of the two compo
nents of the sign is factual in theindex but imputed in the symbol. Now,
the factual similarity which typifies icon finds its logically foreseeable
correlative in the imputed similarity which specifies the artifice, and it
451
SEM IOTIC VI STAS
is precisely for this reason that the latter fits into the whole which is
now forever a four-part entity of semiotic modes.
Each and every sign is a referral (renvoi) (following the famous ali
quid stat pro aliquo) . The parallelism alluded to by the master and theo
retician of poetry, Gerard Manley Hopkins, is a referral from one sign
to a similar one in its totality or at least in one of its two facets (the
signans or the signatum) . One of the two "correspective" signs, as
Saussure designates them,29 refers back to another, present or implied
in the same context, as we can see in the case of a metaphor where only
the "vehicle" is in presentia. Saussure's only finished writing during his
professorship in Geneva, a clairvoyant work on the concern for repe
tition in ancient literatures, would have innovated the world-wide sci
ence of poetics, but it was unduly hidden, and even today the note
books, which are quite old, are only known to us through Jean
Starobinski's fascinating quotations. This work brings out "the 'cou
pling; that is, the repetition in even numbers" in Indo-European po
etry, which allows for the analysis of "the phonic substance of words
whether to construct an acoustical series (e.g. a vowel which requires
its 'counter-vowel') , or to make of them a significative series."30 In
trying hard to couple signs which "find themselves naturally evoking
each other;' 31 poets had to control the traditional "skeleton of the
code;' namely, first the strict rules of approved similarity, including
accepted license (or, as Saussure puts it, the "transaction" on certain
variables), then the laws prescribed for the even (paire) distribution of
corresponding units throughout the text and, finally, the order (conse
cutivite or non-consecutivite) imposed on reiterative elements with re
spect to the march of time. 32
"Parallelism" as a characteristic feature of all artifice is the referral of
a semiotic fact to an equivalent fact inside the same context, including
the case where the aim of the referral is only an elliptic implication.
This infallible belonging of the two parallels to the same context allows
us to complement the system of times which Peirce includes in his
semiotic triad: ''An icon has such being as belongs to past experience
. . . An index has the being of present experience. The being of a sym
bol . . . is esse in futuro" (Iv.447; 11.148). The artifice retains the atem
poral interconnection of the two parallels within their common con
text.
Stravinsky never tired of repeating that "music is dominated by the
principle of similarity." 33 In the musical art the correspondences of ele-
452
The Development ofSemiotics
45 3
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
IX
By way of concluding, we can propose a tautological formula:
Semiotics or, put otherwise, la science du signe et des signes) the science
of signs, Zeichenlehre) has the right and the duty to study the structure
of all of the types and systems of signs and to elucidate their various
hierarchical relationships, the network of their functions, and the com
mon or differing properties of all systems. The diversity of the rela
tionships between the code and the message, or between the signans
and the signatum, in no way justifies arbitrary and individual attempts
to exclude certain classes of signs from semiotic study, as for example
nonarbitrary signs as well as those which, having avoided "the test of
socialization:' remain individual to a certain degree. Semiotics, by vir
tue of the fact that it is the science of signs, is called upon to encompass
all the varieties of the signum.
454
CHAPTER 25
455
SEM I OTIC VI STAS
456
Musicology and Linguistics
457
CHAPTER 26
45 9
SEM I OTI C VI STAS
460
Is the Film in Decline?
that of the prewar silent fihn , whereas the most recent silent films have
already achieved a standard, have created classical works, and perhaps
just this realization of a classical canon contained its own demise and
the necessity of a fundamental reform.
It has been stated that sound film has brought cinema dangerously
close to the theater. Certainly it has again brought the two closer to
gether, as they were at the dawn of the century, during the years of the
"electric theaters"; and it was this new bringing together that prepared
the way for a new liberation. For, in principle, speech on the screen
and speech on the stage are two profoundly different phenomena. As
long as the fihn was silet, its only material was the visual object; today
it uses both visual and auditory objects. Human behavior is the mate
rial of the theater. Speech in fihn is a special kind of auditory object,
along with the buzzing of a fly or the babbling of a brook, the clamor
of machines, and so forth. Speech on the stage is simply one of the
manifestations of human behavior. Talking about theater and cinema,
Jean Epstein once said that the very essence of their respective expres
sive methods is different.6 This thesis remains valid for the sound fihn
as well. Why are asides and soliloquies possible on the stage, yet not
on the screen? Precisely because inner speech is an instance of human
behavior and not an auditory object. On the same grounds that film
speech is an auditory object, the stage whisper in the theater, which is
heard by the audience but by none of the" dramatis personae, is impos
sible in fihn .
this end because musical art operates with signs which do not relate to
any objects. Auditorily a silent film is entirely "nonrepresentational"
and for that very reason demands continual musical accompaniment.
Observers unwittingly struck upon this neutralizing function of music
in the cinema when they remarked that "we instantly notice the ab
sence of music, but we pay no attention to its presence, so that any
music whatever is appropriate for virtually any scene" (Bela Balazs) ,8
"music in the cinema is destined not to be listened to" (Paul Ramain) ,
"its only aim is that one's ears be occupied while complete attention is
concentrated on seeing" (Frank Martin) .
The frequent alternation of speech with music in the sound film
must not be seen as an unartistic chaos . Just as the innovation of Ed
win Porter, and later D. W Griffith, involved rejection of the use of an
immobile camera in relation to the object and brought a variety of
shots into film (the alternation of long shots, mid-shots, closeups, and
so on) , similarly the sound film with its new diversity replaces the in
ertness of the previous approach, which consistently discarded sound
from the realm of film objects. In a sound film visual and auditory
reality can be given either jointly or, on the contrary, separately from
one another: the visual object is shown without the particular sound
to which it is normally connected, or else the sound is severed from
the visual object (we still hear a man speaking, but instead of his
mouth we see other details of the given scene or perhaps an entirely
different scene) . Thus there arise new possibilities for filmic synec
doches . At the same time, the number of methods of joining shots
increases (a purely auditory or verbal transition, a clash between sound
and image, and so forth) .
Titles in silent films were an important means of montage, fre
quently functioning as a link between shots . In his Attempt at an Intro
duction to the Theory and Aesthetics of the Cinema (1926), Semen Timo
senko even sees this as their primary function.9 Thus the film
maintained elements of purely literary composition. For this reason
some silent-film directors made attempts to rid film of titles, but these
attempts either necessitated the simplification of the plot or consider
ably retarded the film's tempo. Only in the sound film has the elimi
nation of titles actually been accomplished. Between today's uninter
rupted film and yesterday'S film interlaced with titles, there is
essentially the same difference as between opera a..nd musical vaude
ville. Laws of purely cinematic shot linkage at present are obtaining a
monopoly.
Is the Film in Decline?
chausen lifting himself by his own hair. But perhaps one can pick out
certain points of departure from which more definite tendencies might
develop.
As soon as an inventory of poetic devices takes root and a model
canon is established so thoroughly that the literacy of epigones can be
taken for granted, then, as a rule, a striving toward prosaization usually
develops. The pictorial aspect of film has been minutely elaborated by
the present time. And just for this reason filmmakers are suddenly call
ing for sober, epically oriented reportage and there is an increasing
aversion to filmic metaphor, to self-contained play with details. In a
parallel way, interest in plot construction, which until recently was al
most ostentatiously neglected, is increasing. Let us recollect, for in
stance, Eisenstein's famous, almost plotless films; or Chaplin's City
LightsJ which in fact echoes the scenario ofA DoctorJs L()VeJ a primitive
film by Gaumont from the beginning of the century: a blind woman is
treated by an ugly hunchbacked doctor, who falls in love with her but
does not dare tell her; he says that she can remove the bandage from
her eyes the next day because the treatment is over and she will see.
He leaves, suffers, convinced that she will despise him for his ugliness;
however she throws herself upon his neck: "I love you, for you cured
me." A kiss. The end.
As a reaction against an overdone sophistication, against a technique
reeking of ornamentation, there arises a purposeful looseness, an in
tentional rawness, sketchiness as a device (Lge dJor of the cinematic
genius Buftuel) . DilettantisfJ1 is beginning to delight. In current vocab
ulary, the words "dilettantism" and "illiteracy" sound despairingly pe
jorative. Yet there are periods not only in the history of art but even in
the history of culture when these factors undoubtedly have a positive,
dynamic role. Examples ? Rousseau-Henri or Jean-Jacques.
After an abundant harvest, a field needs to lie fallow. The center of
film culture has already changed several times. Where the tradition of
silent film is strong, sound film has particular difficulties in breaking a
new path. Only now is Czech film going through a period similar to
the modest Czech debuts at the threshold of the eighteenth and nine
teenth centuries for a new national literature. In the Czech silent film,
little of significant interest was done. Now, since speech has penetrated
the cinema, Czech films worth seeing have appeared. It is highly prob
able that precisely the lack of a burdensome tradition facilitates exper
imentation. Real virtue arises from necessity. The ability of Czech art-
Is the Film in Decline?
466
Visual andAuditory Signs
from labor and beauty, from joy and sorrow, from the very throb of
life, into an illusory and spectral world, into the futility of so-called
self-expression." But why does the same tirade lose all sense when ap
plied to musical art? In the entire history of the world quite rarely have
people grieved and asked, "What facet of reality does Mozart's or Cho
pin's sonata such-and-such represent? Why does it take us away from
the very throb of life and labor into the futility of so-called self
expression ?" The question of mimesis, of imitation, of objective rep
resentation seems, however, to be natural and even compulsory for the
great majority of human beings as soon as we enter into the field of
painting or sculpture.
The late M. 1. Aronson, a gifted observer who had studied first in
Vienna with N. S. Trubetzkoy, then in Leningrad with B. M. Ejxen
baum, wrote in 1929 an instructive report on the experiments con
ducted by him and several other research workers at Radio Leningrad
in order to improve and develop radio dramas. l Attempts were made
to introduce into the. montage of the scripts verisimilar reproductions
of various natural noises. Yet, as the experiment disclosed, "only an
insignificant part of the noises that surround us is perceived by our
consciousness and connected to a concrete phenomenon." The radio
station carefully recorded noises of railroad stations and trains, streets,
harbors, sea, wind, rain, and various other noise producers, but people
were incapable of discriminating different noises and assigning them
to their sources . It was unclear to the listeners whether they were hear
ing thunder or trains or breakers. They knew only that it was noise and
nothing more. The conclusion drawn in Aronson's study from these
very interesting data was, however, inaccurate. He supposed that vi
sion plays a much greater role than audition. It is enough to recall that
radio deals solely with audition of speech and music. Thus the essence
of the problem lies not in the degree of importance but in a functional
difference between vision and audition.
I have mentioned one puzzling question, namely, why does nonob
jective, nonrepresentational abstract painting or sculpture still meet
with violent attacks, contempt, jeers, vituperation, bewilderment,
sometimes even prohibition, whereas calls for imitations of external
reality are rare exceptions in the perennial history of music?
This question is paralleled by another notorious puzzle : Why is au
dible speech the only universal, autonomous, and fundamental vehicle
of communication? All human beings except those with pathological
S E M I OTIC VISTAS
468
Visual andAuditory Signs
470
Visual and Auditory Signs
tative (or permutative) set within our verbal pattern. The whole field
of transformational grammar evidently belongs to the same area.
In his book on the Human Brain and Mental Processes (1963), 6 Luria
shows that it was wrong to connect all the disturbances in the visual
perception of such objects as paintings solely with the so-called visual
centers at the back of the cortex. He discloses that its frontal, pre
motor part is also responsible for certain distortions, and he has ana
lyzed the essence of these impairments. In our perception of a paint
ing, we first employ step- by-step efforts, progressing from certain se
lected details, from parts to the whole, and for the contemplator of a
painting integration follows as a further phase, as a goal. Luria ob
served that certain pre-motor impairments affect precisely this process
of passing from one stage to the next in such preliminary perception,
and he refers to 1. M. Secenov's pioneering studies of the 1870S. 7 In
connection with speech and similar activities, this great neurologist
and psychologist of the last century outlined two distinct, cardinal
types of synthesis, one sequential and the other simultaneous. Both
varieties participate not only in verbal behavior but also in visual ex
perience. While simultaneous synthesis proves to be the determinant
of visual perception, this final stage, as stressed by Luria, is preceded
by a chain of successive search processes. With regard to speech, si
multaneous synthesis is a transposition of a sequential event into a
synchronous structure, whereas in the perception of paintings such a
synthesis is the nearest phenomenal approximation to the picture
under contemplation.
Simultaneous synthesis, both in verbal behavior and in visual expe
rience, is affected by dorsolateral lesions (see also Luria's paper of 1959
on disorders of simultaneous perception) . 8 On the other hand, succes
sive synthesis, particularly the "dynamics of visual perception" and the
construction of integrated speech sequences, is impaired by lesions of
the mediobasal cortical sections. When Luria's patient suffering from
a mediobasal brain injury ''was faced with a complex picture, one iso
lated component could be grasped immediately and only afterward did
the other components begin to emerge, little by little."
The problem of the two types of synthesis plays a very great role in
linguistics. The interrelation of contiguity and similarity in speech and
language has been vividly discussed by linguists . of our century, but
certain paramount aspects of the same problem were sagaciously
approached already in the Old Indic science of language. In the fifth
471
SEM I OTI C VISTAS
472
Visual andAuditory Signs
remains before his eyes, it is still present; but when the listener reaches
a synthesis of what he has heard, the phonemes have in fact already
vanished. They survive as mere afterimages, somewhat abridged remi
niscences, and this creates an essential difference between the two types
of perception and percepts. lO
At the end I would like to add that my remarks should by no means
be interpreted as a common front with the antagonists of abstract art.
The fact that it is a superstructure and does not follow the line of least
resistance with regard to our perceptual habits stands in no contradic
tion to the legitimate and autonomous existence of nonrepresenta
tional painting or sculpture and of representational bents in music.
The transmutative character of the abstract art which forcefully in
fringes the border between music and the fine arts cannot be branded
as decadent, perverse, or degenerate (entartet) . From the fact that writ
ing is socially and territorially limited, whereas oral speech is- universal,
one would hardly draw the conclusion that literacy is harmful or futile.
The same principle is to be applied to nonobjective art. It is clear that
both of these designs-written language and abstract painting-are
superstructures, secondary patterns, epiphenomena; but it is not an
argument against their prosperous development and diffusion, even if
at some loss to oral communication and tradition or to the strictly
figurative arts.
473
CHAPTER 28
474
ful, Larionov remarked acidly, "A real jerk! Even that he cannot under
stand ! "
Russian soldiers who had been i n Bulgaria in 1877-78 during the
war with Turkey could not forget the striking diametrical opposition
between their own head motions for indicating "yes" and "no" and
those of the Bulgarians. The reverse assignment of signs to meanings
threw the parties into a conversation off the track and occasionally led
to annoying misunderstandings. Although facial expressions and head
motions are less subject to control than speech, the Russians could,
without great effort, switch over to the Bulgarian style for the signs of
affirmation and negation; but the main difficulty was conained in the
uncertainty of the Bulgarians over whether a given Russian in a given
instance was using his own code of head motions or theirs.
Such juxtaposition of two opposite systems of motions signifying
''yes'' and "no" easily leads to a new false generalization, namely the
conviction that the distribution of the two semantically opposed head
motions is a purely arbitrary convention. A careful analysis, however,
reveals a latent imagery-"iconicity," to use C. S. Peirce's ter
oJogy3-underlying these symbols, seemingly entirely devoid of any
connection or similarity between their outward form and their mean
ing. "Our" binary system of signs for affirmation and negation belongs
to the code of head motions used by the vast majority of European
peoples, -including among others the Germanic peoples, the East and
West Slavs- (in particular, the Russians, Poles, and Czechs) , the French
and most of the Romance peoples. Moreover, similar signs in the same
function are in general widespread, though by no means universal,
among various peoples of all parts of the world. A nod of the head
serves here as an expression of agreement, in other words, as a syno
nym for the word ''yes.''
Like certain forms of affirmative hand motions, this head motion
has a close analogue in the particular welcoming ritual which is used
in the same ethnic enviromnent.4 The movement of the head forward
and down is an obvious visual representation of bowing before the
demand, wish, suggestion, or opinion of the other participant in the
conversation, and it symbolizes obedient readiness for an affirmative
answer to a positively worded question. 5 The direct opposite of bend
ing the head forward as a sign of obedience ought to be throwing the
head back as a sign of disagreement, dissent, refusal-in short, as a
sign of a negative attitude. However, such a straightforward opposi-
475
S EM I OTIC VI STAS
tion of two motions of the head is obstructed by the need for insistent
emphatic repetition of both the affirmative and the negative head
motions : the vocal repetitions ''yes, yes, yes !" and "no, no, 1)0 !"6
The corresponding chain of head motions in the first case would
be the alternation "forward-backward-forward-backward-forward
backward", and in the second case the reverse set "backward-forward
backward-forward-backward-forward;' or two similar series; the entire
difference between them comes down to the initial movement forward
or backward and easily slips by the addressee, remaining beyond the
threshold of his perception.
The semantically opposite signs of affirmation and negation re
quired perceptibly contrasting forms of head motions. The forward
bending movement used in an affirmative nod found its clear-cut op
posite in the sideward-turning movement which is characteristic of the
head motion synonymous with the word "no." This latter sign, the
outward form of which was undoubtedly constructed by contrast to
the affirmative head motion, is in tum not devoid of iconicity. Turning
the face to the side, away from the addressee (first, apparently, usually
to the left) , 7 symbolizes, as it were, alienation, refusal, the termination
of direct face-to-face contact. 8
If in the system of head motions for ''yes'' and "no" under discussion
the sign for affirmation appears to be the point of departure, then in
the Bulgarian code, which also has parallels among a few ethnic groups
in the B alkan Peninsula and the Near East, it is rather the sign for
negation which serves as the point of departure for the system. The
Bulgarian head motion for "no;' appearing at first glance visually iden
tical to the Russian head motion for ''yes;' under close observation
displays a significant point of difference. The Russian single affirmative
nod is delimited by a bending motion of the head forward and its
return to the usual vertical position. In the Bulgarian system, a single
negative sign consists of throwing the head back and the consequent
return to the vertical position. However, emphatic intensification
makes the return to the normal position into a slight bending of the
head backward in our ''yes'' or forward in the Bulgarian "no." Fre
quently, because of emphasis, the same head motion undergoes im
mediate repetition-once or many times-and such repetition, as al
ready noted above, more or less obscures the difference between our
sign for affirmation and the Bulgarian sign for negation.
In the pure form of the Bulgarian negation, the head-thrown back,
away from the addressee-bespeaks departure, disagreement, discord,
476
Motor Signs for ('Yes') and ((No))
477
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
478
CHAPTER 29
479
S E M I OTIC VI STAS
The two quatrains of the poem are divided into four clear-cut cou
plets. In particular, the two lines of each couplet are bound by a rhyme,
and the odd couplets of the poem differ from the even ones in the
structure of their rhymes . Both rhyming words of any odd couplet
belong to the same morphological category, end with the identical
consonantal inflectional suffix, and are devoid of agreement in their
prevocalic phonemes : 1 wep-t: 2 Ieap-t;, shand-s: 6band-s. The similar for
mal makeup of the two odd rhymes underscores the divergent seman
tic orientation of the two quatrains, that is, the conceptual contrast
between the inaugural preterits and the inanimates looming over the
second quatrain which are, nota bene;, the sole plurals of the poem. The
grammatical rhyme is combined with the deep parallelism of the rhym
ing lines. The third couplet consists of two strictly symmetrical clauses :
s Struggling in my fathers hands: 6Striving against my swadling bands. In
the first couplet two coordinate clauses of the initial line, the only par
allel hemistichs within the poem-1 My mothergroand! myfather wept
find their response in the third coordinate clause: 2 1 leapt. In contra
distinction to the odd couplets, the even rhymes confront grammati
cally dissimilar words; namely, in both cases an adjectiVal adjunct
rhymes with an inanimate noun. The entire phonetic makeup of the
former word appears to be included in the second member of the
rhyming pair: 3 loud: 4cloud;, 7best: gbreast.
Thus the even rhymes, nongramm atical by themselves, are patently
grammatical in their juxtaposition. In particular, they assert the kinship
of the two terminal images- 4a cloud as a metaphor of placenta and
gbreast-two successive links between the infant and his mother.
The eight lines of the poem build an array of close and telling gram
matical correspondences. The four couplets of the octastich are divided
into two pairs in three different ways similar to the three types of
rhymes within a quatrain. Both successive pairs of couplets-the two
anterior couplets (I-II) of the first quatrain (lines 1-4) and the two
posterior couplets (III-IV) of the second quatrain (lines 5-8) are com
parable to the two paired (or plain) rhymes aabb within a quatrain.
The relation between the two odd couplets (I, III : lines 1-2 and 5-6)
and the two even couplets (II, IV: lines 3-4 and 7-8) is analogous to
The VerbalArt of William Blake
SEM I OTI C VI STAS
I. 3 3 III.
II. 2 2 IV.
The Verbal Art of William Blake
the outer and inner couplets of the poem. The odd couplets oppose
four ( 2 + 2) prepositive attributes to two (# . + 2) in the even cou
plets.
As compared with the ten nouns, the ten verbal forms present sig
nificant similarities and divergences in their distribution among the
four couplets :
I. 3 2 III.
II. 2 3 IV
We are faced with the same global symmetry between the anterior and
posterior couplets (I + II = III + IV = 5), but the treatment of the
correlations outer/inner and odd/even is diametrically opposite in the
nominal and verbal sets. The disposition of verbal forms exhibits a
global symmetry between the odd and even couplets (I +
III = II + IV = 5), and a sectional symmetry of the outer and inner
couplets (I = IV 3; II = III = 2) . This symmetry applies both to
=
the couplets and to their lines. The first line of the outer couplets con
tains two verbal forms (lgroandJ wept; 7boundJ thought) , the second
line contains one ( 2 1eapt; gto sulk) ; and each line of the inner couplets
contains one verbal form ( 3 PipingJ 4hid; sstrugglingJ 6striving) .
There is a sensible difference between a global symmetry of outer/
inner and odd/even constituents : the former suggests a closed config
uration, and the latter, an open-ended chain. Blake's poem associates
the former with nouns and the latter with verbs, and one ought to
recall Edward Sapir's semantic definition of nouns as "existents" and
of verbs as "occurrents."
The passive participle appears once in each even couplet (4hidJ
7bound) . No transitives occur among the active verbal forms. In the
active voice the first quatrain counts three finite and one nonfinite
form, while the second quatrain displays an antisymmetrical relation
of one finite and three nonfinite forms. All four finites are preterits. A
sharp contrast arises between the inner couplets, with their three ger
unds as the sole verbal forms, and the outer couplets, which possess
no gerunds but have five verbs proper (four finites and one infinitive) .
In both quatrains the inner couplet is subordinate to the contiguous
line of the outer couplet : lines (3, 4-) to the second line of the octastich,
and lines (5, 6) to the second line from its end.
Prepositions parallel the verbs in the global symmetry of their dis
tribution. Among the six prepositions in the poem, three belong to the
The Verbal Art of William Blake
anterior couplets ( 2 into) 4like) in) and three to the posterior couplets
(sin) 6against) 8upon) and, correspondingly, three to the odd and three
to the even couplets, whereas any outer couplet uses one preposition
and any inner couplet, two.
The impressive granunatical balance between the correlative parts of
the poem frames and sets off the dramatic development. The only four
independent clauses with the only four finite predicates and the only
four gr anunatical subjects-two of them pronominal and two, nomi
nal-are all confined to the outer couplets. While the pronominal
clause with the first person subject occurs in both quatrains-in the
next to the first and next to the last line of the octastich ( 2 1 leapt; 71
thought)-the two nominal subjects detach the first line from the rest
of the poem, and Blake concludes this line with a period. 1nfant) the
title hero, and the two other dramatis personae are presented with
reference to the addresser of the message: 1, my mother, my father. Both
nouns along with their determiners reappear in the second quatrain,
however, with significant syntactic and semantic shifts. Granunatical
subjects are transformed into possessive attributes of indirect objects,
which are governed by subordinate verbal forms. The two matching
parts of the inaugural octosyllable become disjointed. The initial line
of the second quatrain concludes with the same paternal evocation as
the corresponding line of the first quatrain : 1 myfather wept; smy fathers
hands. The original vision of the weeping parent yields to the twofold
image of strife against fathers hands swadling bands) the hostile
and
into the dangerous world.
forces which befall the infant at his leap
The opening words of the poem- 1 My mother-reappear once more
at its end-8my mothers-and, jointly with the subject 1 of the second
and seventh lines, they display a mirror symmetry. The first of these
two pronouns is followed by the pair of semipredicates 3 Helpless) na
ked) while the second 1 is preceded by a syntactically analogous pair:
7Bound and weary. The placement and chiastic structure of this
pair retain the principle of mirror symmetry. The participle Bound
supersedes the antonym naked) and the primordial helplessness turns
into exhaustion. The loud piping of the infant, which supplanted the
deep moan of the mother, yields to an urge for silence: 71 thought best
8 To sulk upon my mothers breast. The exodus from the mother portends
the return to her, a new maternal screen for shelter and protection
(4hid in- 8 To sulk upon) .
The author's drafts of a longer poem were reduced to its first eight
SEM IOTIC VISTAS
lines for his Songs ofExperience. 1 The inquiry into the verbal texture of
these two quatrains corroborates and strengthens the intuitive grasp
expressed astutely by Jacob Bronowski : "The whole progression lies
coiled in the first helplessness." 2 A scrutiny of the chiselled octastich
with its far-flung grammatical framework may illustrate and specify
another pertinent conclusion of the same author: "Blake's was an imag
ination of pictures, astonishing in its geometrical insight." 3
In this connection it seems to me suitable to restate the "remarkable
analogy between the role of grammar in poetry and the painter's com
position based on a latent or patent geometrical order or on a revulsion
against geometrical arrangements."4 In particular, the headwords, the
principal clauses, and the prominent motifs which fill the diverging
outer couplets stand out against accessory an'tl subordinate contents of
the contiguous inner couplets, quite similar to the converging lines of
the background in a pictorial perspective.
The firm and plastic relational geometricity of Blake's verbal art as
sures a startling dynamism in the development of the tragic theme. The
coupled antisymmetrical operations outlined above and the categorial
contrast of the two parallel grammatical rhymes underscore the tension
between the nativity and the ensuing worldly experience. In linguistic
terms, the tension is between the initial supremacy of animate subjects
with finite verbs of action and the subsequent prevalence of concrete,
material inanimates used as indirect objects of gerunds, mere verbals
derived from verbs of action and subordinate to the only finite
7thought) in its narrowed meaning of a wish conceived.
The peculiar feature of Blake's punctuation is his use of colons. The
colons of "Infant Sorrow" signal the division of the inner couplets into
their constituent lines and dissociate the inner couplets from the outer
ones. Each of the inner lines containing a gerundial construction ends
in a colon and is separated by a colon from the antecedent clause of
the same sentence.
The growing motif of weary resignation finds its gripping embodi
ment also in the rhythmical course of the poem. Its initial octosyllable
is the most symmetrical of the eight lines . It consists of two tetrasylla
bic coordinate clauses with an expressive pause between them, ren
dered in Blake's text by means of an exclamation point. An optional
secondary pause emerges between the subject and predicate of both
juxtaposed clauses . The consequent of these contrastive pauses pre
cedes the final syllable of the line: My mother groand! my father wept.
1
The Verba/Art of William Blake
In the next line, which concludes the first odd couplet, the internal
syntactic pause arises before the second to the last syllable (6 + 2) , and
with each line the interval between the final and the internal pause
becomes one syllable longer, until the last line of the second odd cou
plet fixes the internal pause after the second syllable of the line: 2 + 6.
Thus the widest swing which the verse takes ( 2Into the dangerous world
/ I leapt) changes gradually into the shortest, bated, constrained span:
6Striving / against my swadling bands.
Each quatrain includes two iambic octosyllables and two trochaic
heptasyllables. One observes the iambic design in the two marginal
lines of the octastich, both of them with the evocation my mothe1j and
in the final line of both odd couplets, each of them characterized by an
oppositive impetus-in the first case toward, and in the second away
from, the "dangerous" environment. The similar length of these two
correlative lines lends a particular cogency to the double ,ontrast of
their rhythmical phrasing and semantic orientation. The thought of
salvation upon my mothers breast as a retort to the image of hateful
swadling bands reinforces the association between the two even lines of
the second quatrain by their rhythmical identity: 6Striving / against my
swadling bands and 8To sulk / upon my mothers breast. The intermediate
line which opens the last even couplet shares, as mentioned above,
several structural features with the initial line of the first even couplet
and duplicates its trochaic measure with a medial pause (4 + 3) .
In the iambic lines the main or only pause always falls before an
upbeat. In the trochaic lines the pause occurs before the downbeat or,
exceptionally, before an upbeat fulfilled by a stressed syllable (4Like a
fiend / hid in a cloud) . The distribution of pauses in Blake's octastich
illustrates its stunning symmetry. In the diagram below, numerals fol
lowed by a dot show the order of the eight lines; the subsequent ver
tical indicates the beginning, and the oblong vertical at the right of the
table, the end of the line. The syllables of the line from its end toward
its beginning are designated by the upper horizontal row of numerals.
The vertical between the two limits of each line renders its inner pause,
while the secondary, optional inner pause is represented by a dotted
vertical. A slant marks the increasingly regressive tendency displayed
by the disposition of the interlinear and then, in the last couplet, pre
linear pauses.
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
SYLLABLES
1\
I ,
8 ' 7 i
6/ 5 1 4 I 3 I 2
1.1
2.
I
3.
4.
LINES END O F LINES
5.
6 1
7.
8. 1
first shot, whereupon the salient metamorphosis comes into being: the
would-be supernatural hero (4Like a fiend hid in a cloud) is victimized
(sStruggling in my fathers hands) .
The eight lines of "Infant Sorrow" are remarkably rich in what Ger
ard Manley Hopkins infers by "figures of grammar" and "figures of
sound," and it is to their eloquent symmetry and palpable interplay
imbued with diaphanous symbolism that this succinct, ingenuous
story owes most of its mythological power and suggestiveness.
The Douanier Rousseau has been compared with Blake and said to
s
be close to him. An octastich of the French painter will be our next
topic.
4-90
The VerbalArt of William Blake
furcation into four masculines and two feminines. The initial as well as
the final line witl:lin each of these two pairs of couplets contains two
nouns: one feminine and one masculine in the initial line (lYadwigha)
reve; 3 sons) musette) , two masculines in the final (sairs) instrument;
6jleuves) arbres) . The global symmetry displayed by the nouns of the
outer and inner couplets finds no support in the distribution between
odd and even or anterior and posterior couplets, but both inner cou
plets comprise one and the same number of three nouns in mirror
symmetry (II : 3 sons) musette) 4charmeur; III : S lune) 6jleuves) arbres),
and, consequently, the relation between nouns of the even and odd
couplets-seven to five-is precisely the same as the relation between
nouns of the posterior and anterior couplets.
Each of the two quatrains comprises one sentence with two subjects
and two finite predicates. Every couplet of the octastich contains one
subject, while in the distribution of the finites-three to one-the even
couplets have the same relation to the odd ones as the inner to the
outer couplets.
The subjects of the outer couplets pertain to the two main clauses
of the poem, whereas both subjects of the inner couplets form a part
of subordinate clauses. The main subjects begin the line (lYadwigha
dans un beau reve; 7Lesfauves serpents) in contradistinction to the non
initial position of the subordinate subjects (4Dont jouait un charmeur;
sPendant que la lune) . The feminine subjects emerge in the odd cou
plets of the octastich, and the masculine subjects in its even couplets.
Thus in each quatrain the first subject is feminine and the second, mas
culine: lYadwigha) 4charmeur; S lune) 7serpents. Consequently, both an
terior couplets (the first quatrain of the poem) , with the feminine gen-
..' cler of their main" subject Yadwigha and the masculine of their
subordinate subject charmeury are diametrically opposed to the poste
rior couplets (second quatrain) , where the main subject serpents is mas
culine and the subordinate subject lune is feminine. The personal (hu
man) gender distinguishes the grammatical subjects of the anterior
couplets ( lYadwigha) 4charmeur) from the nonpersonal subjects of the
posterior couplets (slune) 7serpents) .
These data may be summarized in a table with italic "inscriptions
indicating the placement of the four subjects in the composition of the
octastich and with roman type denoting their grammatical properties.
491
SEM I OTIC VI STAS
anterior posterior
personal nonpersonal
CHARMEUR LUNE
inner
subordinate
left right
upper background
lower foreground
492
Henri Rousseau, The Dream, 19IO (Collection, The Museum of Modern Art, New York)
SEMIOTI C V I STAS
494
The Verba/Art of William Blake
495
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
From Yadwigha and the mysterious charmer the focus shifts to the
second fold of the diptych, separated from the first one by a blue
flower on a long stem, which parallels a similar plant on the left side of
the heroine. The narrative order and successive cognition and synthesis
of the canvas Dream1
6 find their terse correspondence in the transition
from the first quatrain with its two parallel imperfects-or present pre
7
terits, in L. Tesniere's terminology 1 -(3entendAIT-4jOUAIT) to the
two rhyming presents of the second quatrain (srejlETE-7pTEnt) and
in the substitution of mere definite articles (sla lune) 6les fleuves) les
arbres) 7les serpents) Poreille) gaux airs) Pinstrument) for the indefinite
articles, which, with the sole exception of 3les sons) dominate the pre
ceding quatrain ( un reve) 3une musette) 4un charmeur).
1
In Rousseau's poetic as well as pictorial composition, the dramatic
action is borne by the four subjects of the poem and their visual refer
ents on the canvas. As outlined above, all of them are interconnected
by three binary contrasts, glaringly expressed by the poet-painter and
transforming this unusual quartet into six opposite pairs which deter
mine and diversify the verbal and graphic plot. In the "Inscription"
each of the four subjects is endowed with a further categorial feature
which contrasts it with the three other correspondents: Yadwigha is
the only proper name in the poem; un charmeur, its sole personal ap
pellative; les serpents) its only animate plural; and la lune is the one
inanimate among the four subjects. This diversity is accompanied by a
difference of articles-the zero article which signals the proper name,
the indefinite un) followed by the pluralles and the feminine la of the
definite article.
multifarious interplay of concurrent similarities and divergences
underlies and vivifies the written and painted Dream in all its facets:
the silence of the moonlit night interrupted by the tunes of a swarthy
charmer; the enchantment of moonshine and musical charms; the fe
male's moonlight dream; two auditors of the magic tunes, the woman
and the serpent, both alien and alluring to each other; the serpent as
the legendary tempter of the woman and the inveterate target of the
snake charmer and, on the other hand, the maximal contrast and mys
terious affinity between the pallid Yadwigha on her old-fashioned sofa
and the well-meaning tropical flutist amid his virgin forest; and, after
all this, in the eyes of the inhabitant of 2 his) rue Perrel the equally exotic
and attractive tinge of the Mrican magician and the Polish enchantress
with her intricate name.
The VerbalArt of William Blake
The painter's poem of 1903 about beasts, gods, and men, written
down, according to the author's custom, without any vertical arrange
ment of verses, displays nonetheless a clear-cut rhythmical division in
to eight lines of two hemistichs; the second hemistich in the first and
third lines carries three, and each of the other hemistichs bears two
strong word stresses. Actually the author himself separates the verses
of this poem by spacing the intervals between them, especially when
these verses are not divided from one another by a punctuation mark.21
497
SEMIOTIC V I STAS
A literal translation:
two, three, or four duple feet begins with an upbeat after a masculine
caesura (lines 3 and 6) while after a feminine caesura it begins either
with a downbeat, thus preserving the metrical uniformity of the entire
line (2den Bb;g der Tiere / und den Ber;g der Gotter; seifasst ihn ahnend /
eine unstillbare Sihnsucht), or it begins with an upbeat, and thus
achieves its own autonomous iambic pattern (4Wenn iiner iinmal / nach
6ben sieht; cf. lines 7 and 8).
Three genitive plurals, the only animate nouns of the poem-2der
Tiere) der Gottery 3der Menschen-point to its triadic heroes. The ternary
principle, partly connected with this thematic trichotomy and partly
autonomous, runs throughout the entire octastich. The poem encom
passes three sentences (1-2; 3; 4 -8) which, in turn, comprise three
independent clauses with three finites: Igibt) 31iegt) seifasst) all three of
which are placed before the subject in contradistinction to the predi
cates of the dependent clauses. The accusative plural 1 Bet;ge is followed
finite predicates- 1 gibt es) es hell ist) 31iegt das-begin the poem. The
domiciles of the threefold heroes-2 Bet;g der Tiere) Bet;g der Gottery and
3Tal der Menschen-are associated with three adjectives: 1 hell) klary
3diimmerige) and the contrasting images which end the first two sen
tences are underlined by paronomastic contrivances: 2 Bet;g der Gotter
(erg-erg); 3diimmerige . . . der Menschen (dem.r-derm). The third sen
tence, too, is permeated by ternary repetitions; 4einery einmal) Seine)
4nach) 7nach) gnach) 6ihn) der weiss) dass er nicht weiss- 7ihnen die nicht
wissen) dass sie nicht wissen-gihnen) die wissen dass sie wissen-with the
triple negative nicht thoughtfully distributed in the sixth and seventh
lines. The thrice occurring conjunction 1, 2, 8 und is connected with a
correspondence between the first and last sentences: the accusative
1 Bet;ge) followed by an apposition of the two pleonastic accusatives
interlinked by und) is parallelled by the accusative sihn and its pleo
nastic apposition 6ihn with two subsequent datives 7nach ihnen
. . . gund nach ihnen.
A purely metaphorical, spatial design of biblical stamp underlies the
whole poem. The valley is the only abode of the unsolvable antinomy
between the two contraries, the awareness of one's own unawareness,
which perhaps alludes to its likewise antinomic reversal, the tragic un
awareness of one's own awareness.
499
SEMIOTIC VISTAS
bright clear
mountain mountain
negation affirmation
of of
negation affinnation
dusky
valley
affinnation
of
negation
men. Correspondingly, the last three lines of the poem characterize the
permanent mental status of its heroes, and the outer, final couplet
(lines 7-8) contemplates the beasts and gods, whereas the third line
from the end (6) is consecrated to men. The central of the three sec
tions (lines 4-5) may be defined as dynamic and is concerned with
active processes which occur-once again with permanence-in "the
dusky valley of men." Each of these three sections is signaled by a
stressed monosyllable at the end of its initial line ( 1 kla1j 4sieht) and
6weiss), whereas the other five lines of the poem are closed with a pa
roxytone.
Since the two-line central section (4, 5) jointly with the two adjacent
lines (3 and 6) focuses on men, all four inner lines may be treated in a
certain regard as a whole opposed to the towering theme of the two
outer couplets. The borderlines (3 and 6) are evoked by a stressed
monosyllable at the end of their first hemistich (two parallel verbal
forms 3liegt) 6 weiss), while the two pairs of lines surrounding each of
these borderlines display a feminine caesura.
In their grammatical shape, lines three and six occupy an obviously
transitional position; each of them is basically akin to the contiguous
500
The Verba/Art ojWilliam Blake
outer couplet, but at the same time they share certain formal features
with the two central lines.
This central distich, the most dramatic part of the poem, is endowed
with verbs of process (4nach oben sieht) serfasst), in contradistinction to
the verbs of state in (1-3) and to the verba sciendi in (6-8). The abstract
noun sSehnsucht differs from the six concrete substantives of the three
preceding lines and from the total absence of nouns in the next three
lines. The components of Sehnsucht are related, one with the verb seh
nen) and the other, through folk etymology, with the verb suchen. The
entire line displays an ostensibly verbal leaning, and besides the tran
sitive verberfasst with the direct object ihn) it contains a gerund ahnend
and a deverbative adjective unstillbare.The temporal adverbial clause
(4Wenn . . . ), as compared with the relative clauses in the other two
sections, underlies the primacy of the verb in the central lines. The
verb-oriented hexapodic line which concludes the central distich
serftisst ihn dhnend / eine unstillbare Sehnsucht - cont rasts in particular
with the terminal, purely nominal pentapody of the initial distich-
2den Be1'lf der Tiere / und den Be1'lf der Gotter - the only two integrally
iambic lines with feminine endings in both hemistichs. The indefinite
triplet 4einer-einmal-seine contrasts with two chains of "determinates":
1 denen-2den-der-den-der-3dazwischen-das-der (including the alliterative
501
SE MIOTIC VISTAS
are much more ty pical of Klee's grammatical texture than the numeri
cal correspondences between its different sections.
With the subsequent transitional line the central distich shares the
only singular forms of masculine pronouns (4einer; sihn; 6ihn) de1j er)
and the absence of plurals, against the numerous nominal, pronominal,
and verbal plurals of the other lines.
This singular loneliness, graphically delineated in the acme of Klee's
poem, finds a kindred preamble in the immediately preceding lines of
his diary (no. 538) : '<to reduce oneself completely to oneself, to prepare
oneself for the greatest solitude. Distaste for procreation (ethical su
persensitivity) ."
The three final, strictly relational and cogitative lines manifesting
three varieties of a double hypotaxis and consisting of nine pronouns,
six forms of the verb to know;' three times with and three times with
out the negative nicht) and of six conjunctions and prepositions, put
an end to the metaphorical network of the two prior sections with
their conventionally figurative inanimates and verbs. The reader is
called upon to proceed from spatial visions to stringent spiritual ab
stractions.
In agreement with the longing of the terminal distich for the inhab
itants of the mountains, auf ienen es hell ist und kla1j or perhaps in
agreement rather with the terminal striving for the heights of abstract
meditation, seven full stresses of the two final lines fall on the acute
and diffuse vowel li/-7nach ihnen die nicht wissen) dass sie nicht wissen
8und nach ihnen) die wissen dass sie wissen. Also in the three lines of the
initial section, it is Iii that carries the last stress of the first hemistich.
Among the thirty-four strong stresses of the octastich, twenty-three
fall on front (viz. acute) vowels, and, in particular, thirteen fall on Iii.
The four diphthongs lail with their acute termination in turn reinforce
the '<bright" tinge of Klee's poem, which manifestly avoids back
rounded vowels under stress and tolerates merely two lui and one 101.
An astounding union of radiant transparence and masterful simplic
ity with multiform intricacy enables Klee the painter and the poet to
deploy a harmonious disposition of unusually varied devices either on
a strip of canvas or in a few lines of a notebook. The appended scheme
may summarize those concurrent binary and ternary arrangements of
subject matter and grammatical expedients which lent depth and mon
umentality to the artist's verbal miniature and which appear to exem
plify Klee's dialectic of artistic markedness with his acute sense for cor-
502
The VerbalArt of William Blake
3rd
4. Central II
sentence:
Men distich
c
0
E
. Vi
0 5.
men in ::l
0
-0 6.
Motion
u
relation to 11)
V)
beasts and
gods
Internal
Beasts 7. Terminal
and distich status
gods 8.
Abstraction
503
Notes
Introduction
I.Roman Jakobson, VerbalArt) Verbal Sign) Verbal Time) ed. Krystyna Pomorska
and Stephen Rudy (Minneapolis, 1985).
505
NOTES TO PAGES 2-33
1. On Realism in Art
Originally published in Czech in 1921. The translation from the original Russian
manuscript (see SW III, 723-731) by Karol Magassy reprinted here first appeared
in Readings in Russian Poetics: Formalist and Structuralist Views, ed. Ladislav Ma
tejka and Krystyna Pomorska (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1971).
2. Futurism
Originally published in the Moscow journal Iskusstvo 7 (August 2, 1919). The
English translation by Stephen Rudy appears here for the first time, with notes
added by the editors.
1. Albert Gleizes and Jean Metzinger, Du cubisme (Paris, 1912).
2. Carl Stumpf, Uber den psychologischen Ursprung der Raumvorstellung (Berlin,
1873), pp. II2-II3
3. The Russian term ustanova (orientation, set) is a calque for German Einstel
lung, a philosophical term designating apperception, the viewpoint or mental set
crucial in the perceiver's constituting an object.
+. Umberto Boccioni, Carlo Carra, Luigi Russolo, Giacomo Balla, and Gino
Severini, "Futurist Painting: Technical Manifesto 1910," in U. Apollonio, ed., Fu
turist Manifestos (New York, 1973), pp. 27-29.
5. Carlo Carra, "The Painting of Sounds, Noises, and Smells" (1913), in Apol
lonio, Futurist Manifestos, p. II3.
6. Gleizes and Metzinger, Du cubisme. The quotation from Leonardo is from
Ms. 2038 Bib. Nat. 28r.
7. Aristotle, Poetics 1#8b, in Kenneth A. Telford's translation (Chicago, 1961),
pp. 6-7.
3. Dada
Originally published in the Moscow journal Vestnik teatra 82 (February 8, 1921).
The English translation by Stephen Rudy appears here for the first time, with
notes added by the editors.
506
Notes to Pages 34-52
I. Byta ne ostalos' (there is no'established order of things left). The heavily loaded
Russian term byt suggests "mores," "convention," "daily grind." See Jakobson's
discussion of this term in relation to Majakovskij in "On a Generation That Squan
dered Its Poets;' included in this volume (pp. 277-290) .
2 . Velimir Xlebnikov, "Razgovor dvux osob," i n his Sobranie proizvedenij ed. N.
Stepanov and Ju. Tynjanov (Leningrad, 1933), V, 183.
3. Most of Jakobson's quotations from the Dadaists are taken from Dada AI
manach) ed. Richard Huelsenbeck (Berlin, 1920) .
4. The reference is to Prince V. F. Odoevskij's story "The Improvvissatore"
(1833), later included in his collection Russian Nights (1844) .
5. A reference to the decorations made for the first anniversary of the October
Revolution by various avant-garde artists. The artist Lentulov painted the trees
and grass outside the Bolshoi Theater and the Alexander Gardens in shades of
light blue and red.
6. "Self-valuable words": in Russian samovitye slova) a term coined by the Futur
ists for neologistic, autonomous language.
4. The Dominant
From the unpublished Czech text of lectures on the Russian Formalist school
delivered at Masaryk University in Brno in the spring of 1935. The translation by
Herbert Eagle reprinted here first appeared in Readings in Russian Poetics: Formal
ist and Structuralist Views) ed. Ladislav Matejka and Krystyna Pomorska (Cam
bridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1971) .
6. Language in Operation
Written in English in Hunter, New York, in 1949 as an introductory chapter to
the planned book Sound and Meaning; first published in Melanges Alexandre Koyre)
I: LYAventure de Pesprit (Paris: Hermann, 1964) .
I. Quotations followed by page references are from Poe's "The Philosophy of
Composition," The Works ofEdgar Allan Poe) ed. E. C. Stedman and G. E. Wood
berry (Chicago, 1895), VI, 31-46. Quotations from "The Raven" are given in
italics.
2. The Letters ofEdgarAllan Poe) ed. J. w. Ostrom (Cambridge, Mass., 1948), II,
287
3. "Marginalia," sec. 10, The Works ofthe Late Edgar Allan Poe (New York, 1855),
III, 492.
4. Winston Churchill, My Early Life (London, 1930), p. 84.
507
NOTE S TO PAGES 5 2-69
508
Notes to Pages 69 -80
509
N OTES TO PAGES 80-93
510
Notes to Pages 93-I04
66. John Hollander, "The Metrical Emblem," Kenyon Review 21 (1959), 295.
5 II
N OTES TO PAGES 104-114
512
Notes to Pages I22-I26
513
NOTES TO PAGES 126 - 14-4-
515
N OTES TO PAGES 14-9-1 52
5 16
Notes to Pages 149 -157
517
N OTES TO PAGES 1 5 7 -166
castie velikoe)' or 288: i ja ot nix) gore) minovalosja) 289: a zlocastie na ix v [sic] mogile
ostalosja) .
45. Austerlitz, Ob-Ugric Metrics) p. 80, outlines an "important sub-class" of un
paired lines'' which contain the etymological figure."
46. See A. B. Nikitina, "Iz vospominanij Anatolija Mariengofa," Russkaja lite
ratu1'a 7:4 (1964), 158.
47. Their difference with regard to Chinese has been aptly discussed by Janusz
Chimelewski, "J zyk starochmski jako narzdzie rozumowania," Sprawozdania z
prac naukowych Wydzialu I PAN (1964). Cf. Tchang Tcheng-Ming, Le paraltelisme)
pp. 78-83.
48. Both Lowth, in application to the Proverbs of Solomon (xx) and following
him Davis, with regard to Chinese maxims (p. 412), observed that antithetic par
allelim "is peculiarly adapted . . . to adages, aphorisms, and detached sentences."
Their "elegance, acuteness, and force," according to Lowth, "arise in a great mea
sure from the Antithetic form, the opposition of diction and sentiment."
49. See Heinrich Lausberg, Handbuch der literarischen Rhetorik) I (Munich,
1960), sees. 259, 586-588; Gonda, pp. 93ff.
50. Cf. in Kirsa's bylina on Vol'x V seslav'evic: A vtapory knjaginja ponos poneslli-
ponos ponesla i ditja rodila. Safranov compares this construction to a link of a chain
which is in contract with both the foregoing and the following ring (p. 85).
51. Another paronomastic association-linking three odd hemistichs-may be
suspected here: 2/AvG O R' e/ 3/n AG O mul 5 IGR' ivnal. In this connection
Saussure's precept might be recalled : "Mais si ce doute peut a tout instant s'elever,
de ce qui est Ie mot-theme et de ce qui est Ie groupe repondant, c'est la meilleure
preuve que tout se repond d'une maniere ou d'une autre dans les vers." See Jean
Starobinski, "Les Anagr anunes de Ferdinand de Saussure," Mercure de France 255
(1964).
52. Herman Weyl, Symmetry (Princeton, 1952), p. 43, defines this device as "re
flexive congruence."
53. The older form in Povest' 4(9) I dJetJat'il, must have belonged to the original
version of this line.
54. Opredelenie attributivno-predikativnoe) in terms of A. A. Saxmatov, Sintaksis
russkogo jazyka (Leningrad, 1941), pp. 393-394.
55. A. M. PeSkovskij, Russkij sintaksis v naucnom osvefcenii (Moscow, 1956), pp.
381-382, would ascribe to the infinitive clauses in lines 2-3 "a connotation of sub
jective necessity" and in 6-11 "a connotation of objective necessity."
56. See Jakobson, SW I, 535.
57. V. 1. Varencov, Sbornik russkix duxovnyx stixov (St. Petersburg, 1860), p. 131.
58. A.1. Sobolevskij, Velikorusskie narodnye pesni (St. Petersburg, 1895),1, 533, 536.
59. F. M. Istomin and G. O. Djuts, Pesni russkogo naroda (St. Petersburg, 1894),
p. 60.
60. A. B. Sapiro, Ocerki po sintaksisu russkix narodnyx govorov (Moscow, 1953),
p. 71. .
61. Another possible conjecture is a gore preide (da v) vek zaSel (and grief came
beforehand and forever); then the parallelism of the hemistiches would rest on the
two temporal adverbs preide and vvek (vovek? navek?) . Cf. the corresponding
expression in the Povest' 4J7: ne na cas ja k tebe gore zlocastnoe privjazaLosja) and in
the lyrical-epic song of the grief cycle recorded by A. F. Hilferding, Oneiskie bylin;,
SIS
Notes to Pages I66-I79
II (St. Petersburg, 1896), no. 177: i ne na cas ja k tebe gore privjazalosi and a ja tut
navekgOre rosstavalosi.
62. Cf. the allusion in Povest' 181: at the feast the lad was seated ne v bol'fee mestoJ
ne v men'fee.
63. Robert Austerlitz, "Parallelismus," Poetics Poetyka Poetika (Warsaw, 1961),
states : "Die Spannung, welche zwischen synonymen oder antonymen Parallelwor
tern herrscht, verleiht dem Text eine Art von semantischen Rhythmus" (p. 441) .
The tension between paralleled synonyms and antonyms plays in tum an effective
part.
64-. Cf. Jakobson, SW Iv, 4-34-ff.
65. See A. M. Seliscev, Dialektologicesklj ocerk Sibiri (Irkutsk; 1920), p. 137: rostit'J
etc., and S. P. Obnorskij, Imennoe sklonenie v sovremennom russkom jazyke (Lenin
grad, 1927), I, 244 : konjaJ konju. A dialectal stress on the desinence is most prob
able in mocalami (line 14-) ; c Obnorskij (Leningrad, 1931), II, 384-ff.
66. C Jakobson, SW Iv, 4-25ff.
67. Franz Miklosich, "Die Darstellung im slavischen Volksepos," Denkschriften
der K. Akademie der WissenschaJten in WienJ 38 : 3 (1890), 7-8.
68. See e.g. Marcel Jousse, Etudes de psychologie linguistiqueJ Ie style oral rythmique
et mnemotechnique chez les verbo-moteursJ chaps. 10, 12, 15-18 (Paris, 1925) ; Gevirtz,
Patterns in the Early Poetry ofIsraelJ p. 10.
69. See Claude Levi-Strauss, La Pensee sauvage (Paris, 1962) .
70. A. N. Veselovskij, "Psixologiceskij parallelizm i ego formy v otra.zenijax poe
ticeskogo stilja," in his Poetika (St. Petersburg, 1913), I, 130-225.
71. V. Ja. Propp, Moifologlj"a skazki (Leningrad, 1928); in English: Morphology of
the Folktale (Bloomington, 1958) .
72. Alfred Bertholet, "Zur Stelle Hohes Lied 4-8," Beihefte zur ZeitschriJt for die
alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 33 :18, pp. 4-7-53.
73. Albright" "The Psalm of Habakkuk," p. 7.
74-. Cf. Jakobson, "Linguistics and Poetics," SW III, 23 : "Orientation toward the
ADRESSEE, the CONATIVE function, finds its purest grammatical expression in the
vocative and imperative" [po 67 above] .
75. P. V. Sejn, Velikorus v svoix pesnjaxJ obrjadaxJ obycajaxJ verovanlj"axJ skazkaxJ
legendaxJ i t.p. (St. Petersburg, 1900), no. 1659.
76. See Lausberg, HandbuchJ sec. 737: an isocolon modeled upon the scheme
q( a1b1/a2b2) where q designates "den klammerartigen gemeinsamen Satzteil."
77. Jakobson, "Signe zero;' SW II, 2II-212.
78. Driver, An IntroduaionJ p. 363. "Climactic" parallelism, as Driver defines it,
appears to be a mere combination of the repetitive form with the above-cited form
which in the second line "completes" the first one. Thus in the example he quotes
from Psalm 29 :8, ''The voice of the Lord shaketh the wilderness: / The Lord shak
eth the wilderness of Kadesh;' the initial part of the second line catches up the
end part of the first line and adds "of Kadesh." The repetitive device may be con
fined either to an anadiplosis, as in the above example, or to an anaphora, as in
the other instances of climactic parallelism adduced by Driver.
79. B. M. and Ju. M. Sokolov, Skazki i pesni belozerskogo krajaJ no. 73 (Moscow,
1915).
80. Jakobson, 0 cefskom stixe (Berlin-Moscow, 1923) , p. 105; SW v, 108.
81. C "Lettres de Ferdinand de Saussure a Antoine Meillet," ed. Emile Benven-
519
NOTES TO PAGES 179 - 1 97
iste, Cahiers Ferdinand de Saussure, no. 21 (1964.), p. 110 : "II est d'emblee accorde
que l'on peut se rattraper pour un couple sur Ie vers suivant, et meme sur l'espace
de plusieurs vers."
520
Notes to Pages 197-2II
and the sexual point of view must have played a role along with the grammatical
analogy" (p. 49) .
Inasmuch a s this alternation o f rhymes based upon the presence o r absence of
an unstressed e at the ends of lines is no longer realized, in Grammont's view it
has been replaced by an alternation of rhymes ending either with a consonant or
with a stressed vwel. While fully prepared to acknowledge that "the final syllables
ending with a vowel are all masculine" (p. 46), Rudrauf is at the same time
tempted to establish a scale of 24 degrees for the consonantal rhymes, "ranging
from the most brusque and virile end syllables to the most feminiely suave" (pp.
12ft) . The rhymes with a voiceless stop at their end form the extreme masculine
pole (1) and the rhymes with a voiced spirant are viewed as the feminine pole
(24) on Rudrauf's scale. If one applies this tentative classification to the conson
antal rhymes of "Les Chats," one is conscious of a gradual movement toward the
masculine pole, which results in an attenuation of the contrast between the two
kinds of rhymes: lausteres-4sedentaires (liquid: 19) ; 6tCnebres-7funebres (voiced
stop followed by a liquid: 15); 9attitudes-losolitudes (voiced stop: 13) ;
1 2magiques- 1 4mystiques (voiceless stop: 1) .
521
NOTES TO PAGES 2I I-219
522
Notes to Pages 219 -246
523
N OTES TO PAGES 246 -263
524
Notes to Pages 263-320
5 25
N OTES TO PAGES 3 20 -3 3 9
and S. Lifar', eds., Pis'ma Pus"kina k N. N. Goncarovoj (Paris, 1937) ; B. and L . Mod
zalevskij, eds., Pis'ma Pufkina) 3 vols. (Moscow-Leningrad, 1926-1935) ; v. Saitov,
ed. , Socinenlj'a Pufkina: Perepiska) III (St. Petersburg, 1911) .
2. D. Darskij, Malen' kie tragedii Pufkina (Moscow, 1915), p. 53.
3. B. V. TomaSevskij, ("Cygany' i (Mednyj vsadnik' A. S . PuSkina," foreword to
the edition of both poems (Leningrad, 1936), p. 6.
4. Anna Axmatova, Poslednj aja skazka Puskina:' Zvezda 1 (1933), 17Sff; this ar
ticle has been reprinted in Axmatova, Socinenlj'a (Munich, 1968) , II, 197-222.
5. See D. K. Zelenin, Kul't ongonov v Sibiri (Moscow-Leningrad, 1936), pp. 6-7.
6. Perhaps the very difference between the metonymic relationship ofthe golden
cockerel to the astrologer and the metaphoric relationship of the monuments to
Peter and the commander prevented scholars from seeing the affinity of the fairy
tale to The Bronze Horseman and The Stone Guest) when they were pointing out
single points of contact between those two works in passing (V. Ja. Brjusov, Moj
Pufkin [Moscow, 1929] , p. 87; V. F. Xodasevic, Stat'i 0 russkoj poezii [Petersburg,
1922], p. 94; Wacjaw Lednicki, Jeidziec miedziany [Warsaw, n.d. ] , pp. 47-48) . By
the way, in The Stone Guest it is a question of a tombstone monument, so that an
association according to contiguity accompanies the main association according
to similarity. PuSkin consciously calls attention to it and suggests its irrationality:
0, let me die right now at your feet,! Let them bury my poor remains here/ . . .
So that you might touch my stone / With your light foot or your dress." To which
Dona Anna replies: You aren't in your right senses."
7. Puskin, PSS VII, 568-569.
8. Cf. the following scene with Dona Anna, which develops similarly: Here,
near this grave? !I Go away!"
9. Cf. the poem At the beginning of life I recall school" ((V nacale zizni skolu
pomnju ja," discussed below) , where a youth is paralyzed" and dumb in the pres
ence of stames.
10. For a characterization of the first Boldino aummn see D. D. Blagoj, Socio
loglj'a tvorcestva Pufkina (Moscow, 1929), pp. IS6ff, and Alfred Bern, 0 Pufkine
(Uzhorod, 1937) , pp. 64ff.
II. The monstrous tree of death in the poem The Upas Tree" ((Ancar:' 1828)
can also be included with these ghastly monsters.
12. Xodasevic, Stat'i) p. 84.
13. See Iskoz-Dolinin in PuSkin, Socinenlj'a) ed. S. Vengerov, 6 vols. (St. Peters
burg, 1907-1915), Iv, 19-20.
14. S. N. Goncarov's account recorded by P. Bartenev in Russklj' arxiv 15:2 (1877),
98ff.
15. PSS III, 113.
16. PSS VII, 353.
17. From a letter to Zukovskij, March 7, 1826.
18. PSS VIII, 368.
19. PSS VIII, 128.
20. Cf. Pis'ma 2 (1928), 439-440, and 3 (1935), S02ff. A list of pertinent literamre
can also be found there.
21. Cf. Innokentij Annenskij, Pufkin i Carskoe selo (Petrograd, 1921), p. 18.
22. Dmitrij S. Meretkovskij, Vecnye sputniki) 3rd ed. (St. Petersburg, 1906), p.
313
526
Notes to Pages 339 -344
527
N OTES TO PAGE S 3 44-3 60
rose . . . Around its pedestal) resounding, grey billows I subsided in the glistening
foam."
40. See G. Vemadskij, c"Mednyj vsadnik' v tvorcestve Puskina," Slavia 2 (1923-
24), 645-654; Blagoj, Sociologija) pp. 263-264; Belyj, Ritm. The combination and
opposition of a storm and Peter's monument in direct proximity with mention of
the cruel executioner's law, however, occurs in Puskin's stock of poetic images even
before the Decembrist rebellion-the poet's somewhat enigmatic, derisive cou
plets "The Tsar, wrinkling his brow" ("Brovi car naxmurja") , written two or three
months before the rebellion, acquired shortly thereafter a tragic fulfillment that
may have provided at least one of the impulses for the poet's later "sad story."
Perhaps there is a similar relationship between the fragment "The terrible hour
will come" ("Pridet uZasnyj cas") and "Conjury" ("Zaklinanie") : following a draft
of a poem about a lover's death (1823) comes a lover's death (1825) and later, in
Boldino, a poem about her death (1830) .
41. PSS IV, 534
42. See Blagoj, SociologiJa) pp. 283ff, 347-348.
43. From a letter to N. I. Krivcov, February 10, 1831.
#. See D. Jakubovic in Pufkin) 1834god (Leningrad, 1834) , p. 45.
45. From a letter to his wife, September 20-25, 1834.
46. D. S. Mirskij, "Problema PtiSkina," Literaturnoe nasledstvo 16-18 (1934) , 103 .
47. "Poslednjaja skazka," pp. 171-172; cf. PtiSkin, Socinenija) ed. B. V. TomaSev
skij (Leningrad, 1935), p. 845.
48. Belyj, Ritm) 71.
49. M. P. Alekseev, Stixotvorenie Pufkina (7a pamJatnik sebe vozdvig" (Leningrad,
1967) .
50. Abram Efros, Avtoportrety Pus"kina (Moscow, 1945), p. 139.
51. Given here in the English translation edited by George R. Noyes (New York,
19#) .
52. Wacjaw Lednicki, Bits of Table-Talk on Pushkin) Mickiewicz) etc. (The Hague,
1956), pp. 195-196.
53. Efros, Avtoportrety, p. 139
54. See esp. Jurij Tynjanov, Atxaisty i novatory (Leningrad, 1929), pp. 241-242.
55. "DviZen'ja net, skazal mudrec bradatyj" (There is no movement, said the
bearded wiseman), PSS II, 279.
56. Cf. Camille Mauclair, Auguste Rodin) l'homme et l'oeuvre (Paris, 1918) : "J'ai
dit un jour a Rodin: 'On dirait que vous savez qu'il y a une figure dans ce bloc, et
que VollS vous bomez a casser tout .autour la gangue qui nollS la cache.' II m'a
repondu que c'etait absolument son impression en travaillant" (p. 51) .
57. Auguste Rodin eloquently testifies how a sculptor strives intentionally to
master time: "Dans son oeuvre, on disceme encore une partie de ce qui fut et l'on
decouvre en partie ce qui va etre" (L'l1.rt [Paris, 1911] , p. 77) .
58. "Gotovyj past' na nix s otvainoj krutizny." There is an intentional play on
the two meanings of Russian past' : (I) to fall; (2) to descend upon, to attack.
59. See "Poetry of Gramm ar and Grammar of Poetry" [included in this volume] .
60. See O. Ostrogorskij, "Gnoseologiceskie osnovy vizantijskogo spora 0 sv.
ikonax;' Seminarium Kondakovianum II, 47-48.
61. PtiSkin's dearest friend and faithful admirer, author of the idyll "The Inven
tion of Sculpture."
5 28
Notes to Pages 360 -373
62. "Poezija Puskina" in his Etjudy po russkoy poezii (Prague, 1926), pp. 65-224,
esp. 129ff.
63. Cf. Mixail D. GerSenzon, Mudrost' PuSkina (Moscow, 1919) , pp. 14ff.
64. Rodin, L:Art, p. 72.
65. Cf. T. Zenger, ''Nikolaj I, redaktor Puskina;' Literaturnoe nasledstvo 16-18
(1934) , 522.
66. Cf. V. F. XodaseviC's interesting article "Koscunstva Puskina," Sovremennye
zapiski 19 (1924), 405-413, and E. G. Kislicyna's mass of material in "K voprosu ob
omosenii Puskina k religii," PuSkinskij sbornik pamjati proftssora SemenaAfanas'eviCa
Vengerova (Moscow-Petrograd, 1923), pp. 233-269.
67. The Russian Old Believer tradition very sharply opposed the statue as a
pagan feature, and it is noteworthy that according to one of the original sketches
for The Bronze Horseman, Evgenij's ancestor fought against Peter on the side of
the Old Believers.
68. Bern, 0 Pulkine, p. 80.
69. See Gedenzon in Iskusstvo 1 (1923), 137.
70. "Mne naplevat' na bronzy mnogopud' e, mne naplevat' na mramornuju sliz'
. . ." (I spit on the tons of bronze, I spit on the marble slime) .
71. "Je dis: une leur! et, hors de l'oubli OU rn a voix relegue aucun contour, en
tant que quelque chose d'autre que les calices sus, musicalement se leve, idee meme
et suave, l'absente de taus bouquets." Stephane Mallarme, "Crise de vers," Oeuvres
completes (Paris, 1945), p. 368.
529
N OTES TO PAGES 373-394-
530
Notes to Pages 394-434
to let him stay in the proximity of the seductive flame; however, the mother dreads
the destructiveness of that longing or, on the contrary, draws him toward the
ominous fire, while the son is horrified by Lucifer's menacing singing. When he
wakes up, he has in mind an association with the folk ballad about the maiden
whom the black men drag to hell, while she begs that they leave her: "When I sing
to you, I will call my father." This association already reflects Erben's attempt to
supplant an infantile dream by a dream.
8. [A lengthy juxtaposition of passages from Eroen's "Prophesy" and Macha's
"On the King's Arrival" is omitted, since it depends on nuances of Czech inacces
sible to most English readers.]
531
NOTES TO PAGES 434- 4 4 8
Patricia Baudoin reprinted here first appeared in Jakobson's The Framework ofLan
guage (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 1980) .
I. Emile Benveniste, Coup dJoeil sur Ie diveloppement de la linguistique (Paris:
Academie des inscriptions et belles-lettres, 1963).
2. John Locke, Essay Concerning Human Understanding (1694), book Iv, ch. 21,
sec. 4.
3. Jean Henri Lambert, Neues Organon) oder Gedanken uber die Eiforschung und
Bezeichnung des Wahren und dessen Unterscheidung vom Irrthum und Schein 1-2
(Leipzig, 1764) . Reprint: Philosophische Schriften 1-2, ed. Hans-Werner Arndt (Hil
desheim, 1965) .
4. Cf. Max E. Eisenring, Johann Heinrich Lambert und die wissenschaftliche Phi
losophie der Gegenwart ( Zurich, 1942), pp. 7, 12, 48, 82.
5. Charles Sanders Peirce, Collected Papers) I (Cambridge, Mass. , 1933), p. 588.
Further references to this edition, vols. I-VIII (1931-1958), are given in text with
volume and page number in parentheses.
6. J. M. Hoene-Wronski, "Philosophie du langage:' Septs manuscrits inedits ecrits
de 1803 a 1806 (Paris, 1897) .
7. Jerzy Bronis)'aw Brau, Aperfu de la philosophie de Wronski (Rome, 1969) .
8. Bernard Bolzano, Wissenschaftslehre. Versuch einer ausjUhrlichen und grossten
theils neuen Darstellung der Logik mit steter Rucksicht auf deren bisherige Bearbeiten
1-4 (Sulzbach, 1837; reprint ed. Wolfgang Schultz, Leipzig, 1930-31) .
9 . Edmund Husserl, "Zur Logik der Zeichen (Semiotik)," Gesammelte Werke 12
(The Hague, 1970).
10. Elmar Holenstein, LinguistikJ Semiotik) Hermeneutik: Pliidoyersfor eine struk
turale Phiinomenologie (Frankfurt, 1976), p. 206, n. 9.
II. Cf. Irwin C. Lieb, ed., Charles S. Peirce's Letters to Lady Welby (New Haven,
1953), p. 40.
12. Jakobson, "Quest for the Essence of Language," SW II, 345ff [included in
this volume] .
13. Lieb, Peirce's Letters) p. 39.
14. Ibid., pp. 51-53.
15. See Ferdinand de Saussure, Cours de linguistique generate) ed. Rudolf Engler
(Wiesbaden, 1974), II, 47ff. Further references to this edition (1, 1967; II, 1974) are
given in text with volume and page number in parentheses.
16. Robert Godel, Les Sources manuscrites du cCCours de linguistique generate'J de
F. de Saussure (Geneva, 1957), p. 275.
17. Ibid., p. 49.
18. "Notes inedites," Cahiers Ferdinand de Saussure 12 (1954), 71.
19. Cited in Jakobson, ''World Response to Whimey's Principles of Linguistic
Science," SW VII, 228ff.
20. Ibid.
21. Adrien Naville, Nouvelle classification des sciences. Etude philosophique (Paris,
1901) , chap. 5.
22. Cited i n Jakobson, "World Response," SW VII, 228.
23. Ibid.
24. Cf. Jean Starobinski, Les Mots sous Ie mots: Les Anagrammes de Ferdinand de
Saussure (Paris, 1971), p. 15.
25. Cf. his notes published by D'Arco Silvio Avalle, ''Noto sul 'segno,'" Stru-
5 32
Notes to Pages 448 -46I
menti critici 19 (1972), 28-38; cf. D. S. Avalle, "La Semiologie de la narrativite chez
Saussure," in Essais de la theorie du texte, ed. C. Bouazis (Paris, 1973 ) .
26. Rene Thorn, "La Linguistique, discipline morphologique exemplaire," Cri
tique 30 (197+), 244ff.
27. Ernst Cassirer, "Structuralism in Modem Linguistics," Word 1 (19+5), 115.
28. Gerard Manley Hopkins, "Poetic Diction" (1865), in Journals and Papers
(London, 1959), p. 8+.
29. Starobinski, Les Mots, p. 3+.
30. Ibid., pp. 21, 3 Iff.
31. Ibid., p. 55.
32. Ibid., p. +7.
33. Igor Stravinsky, Poetics ofMusic in the Form ofSix Lessons (Cambridge, Mass.,
19+2) .
3+. Leonard B. Meyer, Music, theArts, and Ideas (Chicago, 1967), pp. 6ff.
35. Jan Maegaard, Studien zur Entwicklung des tWdekaphonen Satzes bei Arnold
Schonberg (Copenhagen, 197+) .
36. Christian von Ehrenfels, 'TIber 'Gestaltqualitaten,'" Vierteljahrsschriftfor wis
senschaftliche Philosophic 1+: 3 (1890), 263ff.
37. Cf. Jakobson, "On Visual and Auditory Signs" and "About the Relation
between Visual and Auditory Signs," SW II, 33+-3++. [A combined version of
these two essays appears in this volume as Chapter 27.]
38. Cf. Heinrich Lausberg, Handbuch der literarischen Rhetorik (Munich, 1960),
pgh. 572.
533
N OTES TO PAGES 4 6 1 -4 73
534
Notes to Pages 473-477
5 35
NOTES TO PAGES 4-7 7- 5 03
5 36
INDEX
537
I N D EX
Belyj, A. (B. Bugaev), 22, 302, 303, 310, 349 Cajanus, E., 150
Benitckij, A P., 353 Canaanite, 125, 147, 172, 174
Benkendorf, A X., 331, 335, 336 Canon, 24, 36, 42, 43, 46; deviation from,
Bentham, J., 123, 124, 142, 211 22, 46
Benveniste, E., 417, 436 Canova, A., 353, 360
Berry, E, 127 Carmen style, 125, 149
Bertholet, A., 174 Camap, R., 103
Beucler, A., 459 Carra, C, 32
Bhartrihari, 472 Cartwright, D., 420
Bible, 174, 176 Casanova, G., 316
Biblical verse, 125, 146-148 Cassirer, E., 449
Bilingualism, 104 Categories: grammatical, 81, 121-123, 144,
Biography, 43, 291, 307, 316-317, 320; liter- 146, 181, 239-241, 259, 432; phonological,
ary, 292, 340, 371 146; obligatoriness of, 433
Birds, talking, 53, 69 Catherine II, 332, 336-337, 344, 345, 364
Blake, W, 63, 4II, 479-489, 497 Causality, 310, 3II, 312
Blin, G., 197 Cezanne, P., 24, 29, 32, 299
Blok, A., 274, 275, 303, 363 Champfteury (T. Husson), 181
Bloomfield, L., 413, 416 Chaplin, C, III, 307, 464
Boas, E , 432 Chatman, S., 67, 79
Bogdanov, V. v., 32 Chatterton, T., 405
Bohr, N., 431 Caadaev, P. Ja., 277
Boileau, N., 383 Capek, K, 26
Bolinger, D. L., 417, 423 Capek-Chod, K M., 27
Bolzano, B . , 439, 444- CelakovsIcy, E L., 46, 404
Bonnefoy, Y., 219 Cheremis, 83
Boodberg, P. A., 148 Cherry, C, 75
Botticelli, S., 30 Chess, game of, 447
Bouret, J., 495, 497 Cexov, A, 465
Bragdon, C, 133 Child language, 96, 104, 109
Braque, G., 15 Chinese, 147-149, 152, 156, 172; poetry, 74,
Braun, J" 438 153, 173; verse, 125, 147-149; conception of
Brentano, E, 308 world, 149; poetics, 171
Brik, 0., 78, 255, 293 Chinookan, 424
Brizeux, A., 197 Chmielewsky, J., 149
Brjulov, K , 355 Chopin, E, 467
Brjusov, v., 302, 363, 364 Chuckchee, 431
Bronowsky, J., 486 Churchill, W, 52
Brooke-Rose, C, 127 Chuvash, 174
Bruitism, 38 Cinema, 39, III, 128, 307, 326, 377, 434, 451,
Bi.ihler, K, 68 458-465, 469, 470. See also Film
Bulgarian, 477 Classicism, 302, 380-381, 383, 388, 395
Bufmel, L., 63, 464 Clemenceau, G., 278
Bush, D., 205 Code, 65, 66, 69, 79, 88, 97-99, 100, 103-
Butor, M., 197 104, 108, 429-430, 433, 450-451, 4-52, 454;
Buxarin, N., 36 artistic, 22, 23; switching of, 104; linguis
Byliny, 125, 126, 153, 174 tic, 146
Byronism, 390 Cognition, 439; symbolic, 4-37
Byt, 35, 277-279, 281-282, 289, 294, 299 Cohen, H., 311, 312
Color, 29, 39
Caesar, J., 72, 418 Combination, 71, 97-100, 106, 107, 109
Caesura, 199 Common Slavic, 260
Index
Communication, 50-51, 57, 61; internal and Delluc, L., 459, 460
interpersonal, 440 Del'vig, A. A., 296, 331, 353, 360
Concatenation, 97, 99 Denouement: anticipation of, 55, 57
Concepts: relational and material, 122; Derivation, 108
grammatical, 124, 128, 132 Deciavin, G. R., 353, 358
Concurrence, 97, 99 Devices, 29, 44, 63, 71, 89, II4, 369, 370; lay-
Condensation, II3 ing bare of, 29, 38
Constantine the Philosopher (St. Cyril), Diachrony, 46, 48, 64
434 Diagrams, 418-422, 424, 426
Contact, 66, 68 Dialogue, 53, 54, 57, 58, 101, 103, 309
Context and contexture, 58, 66, 99, 100, Dickinson, E., 64, 65
101-102, 104-105, 106-109, lIO, 443, 450 Dionysius the Areopagite, 434
Contiguity, 21, 71 , 85, 86, 87, 99, 100, 102, Discourse, 63, 85, 93, 101, 109
104-105, 109-IIO, III, II3, 127, 163, 178, 195, Displacement, II3
219, 244, 307-308, 310, 312, 361, 415, 417, Dissimilation, regressive, 54
424, 443, 451, 460, 463, 468, 471 Distinctive features, 97-98, 99, 426, 434,
Contradictories, 158 469, 470
Contraries, 158, 160, 209 Divisionism, 29
Convention, 443, 453, 468; language as a, Dobrovslqr, J. , 399, 404, 405
416; artistic, 451 Dominant, 41-46, 49
Cooke, P., 55 Donne, J. , 6S
Copernican doctrine, 430 Dostoevskij, E M., 24, 25, 26, 39, 53, 284,
Copernicus, N., 31, 35 287
Crepet, J., 197 Dougherty, A., 237
Criticism, literary, 64 Doyle, A. Conan, 67
Cubism, 26, 28, 29, 30, 32, III, 3II, 378; as a Drama, 309, 326
school, 29 Dreams, II3
Cummings, E. E., 21:' Driver, S. R., 156, 178
Czech, 89, 134-135, 404, 425; literary his Dupont, A., 489
tory, 464-465; poetry, 403, 465 Durand, M., 187
Czech National Revival, 380, 399 Dynamics, 65
539
INDEX
Epic, 26, 3 3 , 7 3 , 128, 150, 155, 172, 274-, 305, French, 88, 101, 108, 4-21, 4-22, 4-25, 4-65
326, 4-01, 4-64-; folk, 72, 151, 153; heroic, III Freud, S . , 101, 113
Epithet, 26, 93, 167, 203, 225, 24-4--24-5, 4-83; Frietch, J. v., 397
poetic, 179 Frost, R., 77
Epstein, J., 4-61 Frustrated expectation, 77, 80
Equivalence, 71, 72, 80, 81, 83, 102, 127, 14-6, Function, 65-71; aesthetic, 4-3, 378; linguis
14-7, 173, 177, 195, 4-29-4-30, 4-52 tic, 4-3, 66; poetic, 4-3, 60, 69-71, 73, 85,
Erben, K. J., 4-6, 270, 271, 379-396, 4-04- 173, 216, 378, 4-34-; referential, 4-3-#, 66,
Ermakov, 1. D., 339 68, 70-71, 85, 124-; expressive (or emo
Ernst, M., 63 tive), #, 66-67, 68, 70-71; conative, 67-
Esenin, S., 157, 274-, 275, 291, 292 68, 70-71, 175; phatic, 68-69, 71; metalin
Erymology, 4-23; poetic, 86, 382 gual, 71
Euphemisms, 21-22 Functionalism, 4-8
Eveleth, G., 56 Future, 30, 59, 60, 277, 280, 283, 285, 287-
Evgen'eva, A. P. , 153, 177 288, 294-, 296, 300, 311, 317, 4-27, 4-52-4-53
Evolution, 4-5, 48, 4-9; literary, 22, 4-7, 4-64-; Futurism, 28-34-, 36, 37, 38, 274-, 302, 303, 317
of art, 32, 36, #; poetic, # Futurists, 24-, 32, 284-, 289, 293, 304-, 4-74-
Exner, R., 219
Expectedness, 52, 57 Galfredus de Vino Salvo, 124-, 133
Expressionism, 24-, 37 Gaumont, 4-64-
Gebauer, J., 399
Fairy tale, 174-, 326 Gender, 182, 24-3, 368, 4-33, 4-91-4-92; and
Falconet, E . M., 321, 323, 3#, 34-9, 356, 365 sexualiry, 197, 4-94--4-95
False recognition, 33 Generation, 274--275, 292, 299
Fate, 385-386, 391 Genesis, nonsystemic, 48
Fedorov, N. F., 285 Geneva School, 48
Fejfal1k, J., 399 Genre, #, 69, 321; transitional, 4-5
Fet, A. A., 4-5 German, 101, 4-23, 4-33-4-34-
Fictions: linguistic, 90-91, 123-124-, 211, 308 Gevirtz, S., 177
Figure: erymological, 56, 60, 130, 188, 204-, Ginneken, J. van, 4-55
391; of grammar, 124-, 127, 128, 209, 214-, Glagolevskij, P., 258
4-89; of sound, 124-, 4-89 Gledion-Welcker, c., 4-97
Film: silent, 4-60-4-64-; sound, 4-60-4-64-; Gleizes, A., 29, 33
titles in, 4-62; abstract, 4-70 Goethe, J. w., 85, 251, 296, 380
Finnish, III, 125, 151, 152, 172; verse, 150-151; Gogol', N., 22, 23, 25, 4-5, 288, 302, 311, 362,
poetry, 173 369, 4-65
Finnish-Karelian, 150, 151, 156; runes, 156 Gogolian School, 25
Finno-Ugric, 125, 150, 151; verse, 83 Goldstein, K., 100, 101, 102, i05, 108, 109
First person, 70 Gomperz, H., 4-14-
Flajshans, v., 399 Goncarova, N. I., 335, 34-2
Folklore, 83, 85, 125-126, 14-9-152, 155, 172, Goncarova-PuSkina, N., 329, 330, 336, 34-0,
254- 3#, 34-7, 355
Folksongs, 259, 383-384-, 4-04- Gonda, J., 125, 14-9, 173, 176
Forgery, 398 GOlU1e, M., 24-8
Form, 20, 29, 39, 4-16; conservative and in Gor'kij, M., 275
novative, 65 Gothic, 134-, 136
Formalism, Russian, 4-1, 4-3-#, 4-6, 78, 79, Grammar, 4-32; and poetry, 122, 135, 221-
288, 293, 377-378 24-4-; and geometry, 132-135, 239-24-0,
Fortunatov, F. F., 124- 4-86; poetic, 1#
Francev, V. A., 398 Grammont, M., 181, 187
Frazer, J., 113, 322 Graph theory, 4-20
540
Index
541
I N D EX
542
Index
5 43
I N D EX
54-4-
Index
545
INDEX
546
Index
547
I N D EX
54-8