Formalism.
Eliot Weinberger, 'What Was Formalism?' (excerpt):
~
For real formalism, we must go back to the Old Formalism, to the days when forms were forms and form had nothing to do with etiquette. We must go back, that is, to the Vikings:
Viking formalism meant, for example, that to write a mere epitaph of ordinary statements and sentiments for a tomb - such as "Here lies a warrior famed for his virtue. Denmark will never know a more honorable sea captain, or one stronger in battle" - one began with a common stanza form, such as the dróttkvatt.
This stanza form had eight lines, broken into two half-stanzas of four lines, each expressing a single thought, that were, in turn, divided into two couplets. Each line had six syllables; only three could be stressed (and Old Norse, as one can imagine, had genuine stresses). The first line of each couplet had to have two stressed syllables that began with the same sound, which was also the sound of the first stressed syllable in the next line. (The other stressed syllables could not alliterate.) The two stressed alliterative syllables in the first line could not rhyme; but the first stressed alliterative syllable in the second line had to rhyme with another syllable in the second line to which it was not alliterative.
The word order was completely unlike that of prose. For example, the structure of a normal prose sentence of 16 words (taking 1, 2, 3, etc. as the words in their proper prose order) looks like this in a relatively simple half-stanza:
2 4 5 3
1 8 9 6 7
12 10 13 14
11 15 16
In a more complex poem, poetic syntax is further stretched by fragmenting and reassembling the clauses. For example, back to the sea captain and the first half-stanza. ("Here lies a warrior famed for his virtue...") The poet employs a kenning, or epithet, for warrior ("the one who carried out the word of Pruðr, goddess of battles"), and the whole sentence reads literally: "Under this mound is hidden the one who carried out the work of Pruðr, goddess of battles, whom the greatest virtues accompanied; most men knew that." (Though the Old Norse only has 15 words.)
The poem (keeping the literal English prose syntax) breaks this into something like:
Under this mound whom the greatest
most men knew that virtues
accompanied the one who carried out the word of Pruðr
goddess of battles is hidden
The pattern of clauses is thus:
1a 3a
4 3b
3c 2a
2b 1b
This was merely a tombstone epitaph, nor a particularly memorable poem. It was written, as all poetry was, in a single line. (The ragged right-hand margin is a by-product of the availability of cheap paper.) There was no spaces between the words. The form of the poem was musically, not visually, evident - and evident to all its readers or listeners - and was only one of many such forms, most of them even more complex.
In a famous Icelandic story in the sagas, Hallbjörn of Pingvellir wanted to compose a poem in praise of a dead poet. He fell asleep on the poet's burial mound and dreamed that the mound opened and a tall man appeared, who said, "There you lie, Hallbjörn of Pingvellir, trying to do something you are incapable of doing - composing a poem in praise of me." The dead poet then taught Hallbjorn all the forms while he dreamed. They took many years to master, but in the end he wrote his poem.
~
For real formalism, we must go back to the Old Formalism, to the days when forms were forms and form had nothing to do with etiquette. We must go back, that is, to the Vikings:
Viking formalism meant, for example, that to write a mere epitaph of ordinary statements and sentiments for a tomb - such as "Here lies a warrior famed for his virtue. Denmark will never know a more honorable sea captain, or one stronger in battle" - one began with a common stanza form, such as the dróttkvatt.
This stanza form had eight lines, broken into two half-stanzas of four lines, each expressing a single thought, that were, in turn, divided into two couplets. Each line had six syllables; only three could be stressed (and Old Norse, as one can imagine, had genuine stresses). The first line of each couplet had to have two stressed syllables that began with the same sound, which was also the sound of the first stressed syllable in the next line. (The other stressed syllables could not alliterate.) The two stressed alliterative syllables in the first line could not rhyme; but the first stressed alliterative syllable in the second line had to rhyme with another syllable in the second line to which it was not alliterative.
The word order was completely unlike that of prose. For example, the structure of a normal prose sentence of 16 words (taking 1, 2, 3, etc. as the words in their proper prose order) looks like this in a relatively simple half-stanza:
2 4 5 3
1 8 9 6 7
12 10 13 14
11 15 16
In a more complex poem, poetic syntax is further stretched by fragmenting and reassembling the clauses. For example, back to the sea captain and the first half-stanza. ("Here lies a warrior famed for his virtue...") The poet employs a kenning, or epithet, for warrior ("the one who carried out the word of Pruðr, goddess of battles"), and the whole sentence reads literally: "Under this mound is hidden the one who carried out the work of Pruðr, goddess of battles, whom the greatest virtues accompanied; most men knew that." (Though the Old Norse only has 15 words.)
The poem (keeping the literal English prose syntax) breaks this into something like:
Under this mound whom the greatest
most men knew that virtues
accompanied the one who carried out the word of Pruðr
goddess of battles is hidden
The pattern of clauses is thus:
1a 3a
4 3b
3c 2a
2b 1b
This was merely a tombstone epitaph, nor a particularly memorable poem. It was written, as all poetry was, in a single line. (The ragged right-hand margin is a by-product of the availability of cheap paper.) There was no spaces between the words. The form of the poem was musically, not visually, evident - and evident to all its readers or listeners - and was only one of many such forms, most of them even more complex.
In a famous Icelandic story in the sagas, Hallbjörn of Pingvellir wanted to compose a poem in praise of a dead poet. He fell asleep on the poet's burial mound and dreamed that the mound opened and a tall man appeared, who said, "There you lie, Hallbjörn of Pingvellir, trying to do something you are incapable of doing - composing a poem in praise of me." The dead poet then taught Hallbjorn all the forms while he dreamed. They took many years to master, but in the end he wrote his poem.