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Friday, August 01, 2008

Grails and Legacies: Thoughts on the Line by Annie Finch

The lines that haunt me most, those that sound in my head literally for years as I try to encompass and fathom their waves, are lines in meter such as the solemnly counted-out beats of Robert Hayden’s famous opening line, ringing with their hollow echo, as if they know ahead of time how their initial trochee will continue to sound with a stubbornly unforgettable shudder through the rest of that iambic poem:

Sundays too my father got up early . . .

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