Half Cadence

Performing in the beautiful St. Salvator’s Chapel, St. Andrew’s

An audio recording of this article is available here:

As an accompanist, one of my favorite things to do when a rehearsal needs some comic relief is to begin a cadence but stop before the final chord. Hearing a dominant chord ringing without resolution drives my fellow musicians insane. I revel in this small rebellion.

Usually, though, I cannot handle the aural discomfort either, and I surrender to the tonic chord. Especially with the added suspense of the unresolved preparatory chord, it is lovely when every tone settles at last into consonance. It’s like a period at the end of a sentence, a bow on top of a present, a fitting simile at the conclusion of a quippy blog post.

Unfortunately, a lot of times life is like an unresolved cadence. The more entrenched in adult life I become, the more complicated the world seems. As an aspiring poet, I allowed myself to lament this in verse. However, I am also a pragmatic soul who recognizes that, while angsty poetry can be beautiful, existential crises can only go on for so long and don’t generally make things better. Eventually, we simply must lay aside our journals and return to our work and relationships, no matter how uncertain we may feel.

Several times before, I have drawn on the two constants in my life—faith and music—to make sense of my situation, and this is perhaps why an unresolved cadence became such a striking idea. Musical analogy often makes clear to me what otherwise seems overwhelmingly complex. Well, right now, I am living in an unresolved cadence.

I cannot rush ahead to the resolution as, this time, I am not the one in control of the keys. Still, as dissonance strains toward resolution, I, too, must move forward in anticipation. Although many things are uncertain, I can sound out possibilities as I continue to work, pray, and hope toward my next steps.

I remember, too, the reality that there will always be tensions and unfinished cadences. Indeed, all of life—and especially the Christian life—is lived in the rest between chords and in the expectation of a final, perfect, triumphant cadence. For now, I suppose, just realizing that I am in a time of not-yet resolved tension is enough to sustain me.

Now, how about some poetry?

I rest in preparation of the final chord,
In the echo of a tonic held within—
Unresolved, hearing not what I strain toward,
Riding inverted waves again, again, again. . .

I rest in the plague of an unsung Amen,
A half-writ chorale lacking its last word.
Unsure of the tune, I struggle through the hymn,
Hoping against harmony for a radiant risen third.

I rest in a cadence not yet concluded,
Awaiting consonance beyond my skill,
Unhearing, all my practiced art denuded,
Trusting deafly to my own Composer’s will.

I rest in accented anticipation:
Untempered dissonance awaiting revelation.

To Travel: A Sonnet

I was a stranger here yet better known
Away from all I thought myself to be—
Away from all routines that made me, me,
I found myself in being severed grown.

Away from all the people I loved best
I found myself in newer company—
I found my soul in this older country
Away from where in strivings I would rest.

I came in laughter ready to enjoy
Yet leave a somewhat sadder, wiser heart—
Yet leave more whole for being torn apart,
I return dyed a deeper shade of joy.

Away I went to see the world’s wide wealth,
I return now, a world within myself.

On Departing

My feet pounding the pavement to the beat
Of poetry that laid the cobbled street,
I feel a shaking sense of bittersweet
For a face I only once did meet

And wind that sings its fingers through my hair
Will not again its subtle secrets share,
Nor will the trees and flowers for me bear
The fruits I’ve come to love with reckless care.

The rhymes that seem to flow from displaced heart
I fear will be stopped-up when I depart.

-Cambridge, July 19, 2018

After a Discussion of Tennyson’s “In Memoriam” – a poetic reflection

A stillness falls and dimly-lit,
A bell tolls distantly,
As in this life we numbly sit
For what we cannot see.

The words of grief we hear afresh,
A melody its gloss,
As we seek out our souls ‘neath flesh
Remembered in deep loss.

This room is filled with love-lost ghosts
Of our most private pasts.
We speak but not what we feel most
And calm, though longing lasts.

A heavy hope here drags us high
That “good must come from pain!”
But leave us yet to wonder “Why?”
And slow, revive again.

Still we eat and still we drink,
Though bland without our friend.
Yet passing through, as in a cloud,
We find life in our End.

A Poem Passed-By

That moment gone was but a spot of time
Yet still I yearn towards its eternity,
To find it past yet feel it presently
For such moments are best realized in rhyme.

But somehow this one fails to really be
As full in feeling as it was before;
In that one moment, not a second more,
I find its spirit transcends poetry.

Oft the poet makes his meaning more
And gives a life to what is dead and dust,
Ascribing value, love where there was lust,
In all his writings, common turned to lore.

But this sweet minute cannot come again
And adding meaning’s mass would wear it thin.

The Road Part Taken

In reading the poetry of Robert Frost for my honors college curriculum, I found myself hit by a wave of nostalgia. (Not to be confused with a “wave of nausea”- I’m not reading Nausea quite yet…)

Throughout the formative years of my adolescent life, Frost provided guidance and comfort. I did not read his work extensively, but I remember my initial delight in “The Road Not Taken” as my sixth grade teacher made her class memorize it before embarking into junior high school.

And I recall with warmth how “Tree at My Window” provided solace during the tragedy of my favorite tree being chopped down.

And, of course, I remember with delight singing the choral arrangement of “A Girl’s Garden” in my first choir and falling in love with the union of literature and music that has since become my life.

As I revisit the beautiful and intriguing world of Robert Frost’s verse, I am not only reminded of these memories, but convicted: Am I still journeying down the road less travelled but ultimately more worthy? Am I appreciating the beauty of the world around me as I used to love that scrawny tree? Am I pursuing the artistic philosophy that began brewing in my mind years ago?

Oh, Mr. Frost…you know how something as simple as a tree or a path or a garden might inspire a world of contemplation and I am in constant awe of such poetic power.




Non-Writing Writer

I was inspired this morning as I walked to practice piano for an upcoming recital… this would have been great, had I been inspired to practice. Rather, I was inspired to set the opening of Wordsworth’s The Prelude to music. 

My roommate (bless her) stopped me just in time: “Ryanne, if you write a melody and add lyrics, you’ll also want to add harmony and piano. You don’t have time!” 


But I felt strongly the annoyance of being unable to create due to the pressures of my ordinary, required pursuits. 

So I wrote a little rhyme to vent: 

A non writing writer’s a monster they say:

A little too frazzled and nearly insane.

She lives in an enchanted, storybook world 

Yet can’t venture in, for life is a whirl.

One single word leads to many and two-

Well, they multiply to be more than a few. 

And should she dare to compose a small line 

She risks the danger of falling behind;

The everyday life has no cares for the muse,

Though the poet’s soul, she hardly did choose. 

So cursed with a mind that brews up ideas 

And a heart that ever ceaselessly feels,

She stumbles about with a businesslike stride 

And forces her little brainchildren to hide

And wait for a time when life will relax 

It’s grip made of boring and ord’nary tasks-

So she might finally write them all down,

These inkling ideas that, impatient, abound. 

Eclipse Coronation

The Solar Eclipse 2017 was the *literal* highlight of today; all anyone seems to be able to talk about are eclipse glasses, viewing parties, live streams, testimonials of why not to stare directly into the sun, apocalyptic premonitions, the stupidity of needing to be told not to stare into the sun, pinhole box tutorials, etc.

Although I did get in the spirit of the eclipse by making a rather shoddy pinhole box and baking “eclipse cookies,”  it became, for me, an opportunity for theological and allegorical contemplation. As with most moments of intense thought, poetry happened. Please read (aloud if possible!) the following and share either this post or your thoughts.


In the beginning were made two lights: 

The Greater gleam to rule the day,

The Lesser govern vassal night.


The First burns of his own pure pow’r,

The Second purposed to reflect,

Yet greedy, grabs a sunlit hour

And, doing so, her rule rejects.


She vain ascends from queenly throne

To tame and topple truer King,

Like we who take more than our own

But conquer only creeping things.


We watch below to cheer her course

For hers is our selfsame desire;

We both image a brighter source

Yet wish to usurp fueling fire.


The Lesser light in pride covers

The shine of right ruler at last.

But lunatic, our governor,

Can only fleeting shadows cast.


Yet we determine just as she

To place self ‘fore the Greater one

And forget in sad irony

That we glow solely by the sun!


Pure gold cannot be dimmed by her

Except to those on lowly earth.

She blots naught but her own silver

And rules as we but dark and dearth.


Though hidden to our sight below

The King yet unabated burns.

The moon cannot his rule o’erthrow

And to permitted path returns.


For when she did achieve her aim

False queen could barely extend night.

Just so, we find ourselves the same;

When seeking more, losing all light.


Soon scheming moon shall fall away

And eclipse turn coronation;

To crown the sun’s most radiant rays

That lumine ‘cross all creation.


Late Night Writes

When night falls yet I cannot sleep, words crowd my brain. The following two poems, one serious and the other silly, are the products of last night’s writing:


I lay still in my bed

yet hover ‘tween the sheets

propelled by the heart 

which wakefully beats. 

A’whirl my mind spirals

through darkening, deep

space starry with fears, 

that burn bright without sleep.


“Poet’s Ale”

Insomnia is poet’s ale-

no ailment once in words!

And worry is a hearty pie

that fuels the pen to verse. 


Heartache makes a decent draught

to nourish sonnet’s rhymes.

And sorrow’s meal, though bittersweet, 

scribes songs of better times.


No writer ever sleeps with ease;

prose lends him no blanket.

‘Tis poetry for nights like these

to make the best of it! 



Poetic Purpose: Why Meter Matters

“Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.”

~Edgar Allan Poe

Aside from signing my friends’ yearbook with personalized limericks, I admit that I have little experience with poetry. However, I adore reading it, as it was meant to be read, aloud. I love the sounds of its rhymes, the flow of the lines, the imagery and emotion that are woven together into a spoken song… but I’ll stop trying to sound poetic and go back to actually discussing poetry.

As with many of my posts, this one is inspired by my AP Literature class. We are beginning a unit on Hamlet and as it is virtually impossible to separate Shakespeare from iambic pentameter, we spent a period learning about meters of poetry. Right away, it made sense to me and, I noted with interest, my musical friends. However, those who had no musical experience (at least to my knowledge) seemed confused at the entire concept of poetic rhythm and its purpose. While my violinist and vocalist friends were nodding their heads appreciatively, many others were asking why does meter matter? Basically, meter in poetry matters because it helps the poet to give purpose to his or her writing and the reader to understand this purpose. As simple as this answer may sound, though, it is easy to miss if one does not understand the parallel concepts of poetry that are found within music.

To explain this concept further, I’ll provide a brief music lesson which will, I hope, function as a more concrete example that can later be used to clarify upon the abstract ideas of poetry.

In music, like poetry, meter is crucial. Consider for a moment one of the most famous forms of dance music: a waltz. What do you think of when you think of a waltz? The words that come to mind for me would be adjectives such as romantic, gliding, and elegant. Clearly a waltz is not rough, casual, or jerky. But what makes that distinction? For the sake of this example, let’s say that meter does. Obviously, other musical elements such as dynamics, tonality, and chordal structure are key as well, but meter is undeniable the biggest distinguishing trait of a waltz. Waltzes are generally in triple meter, which refers to counting each measure (or small section) of music in three beats, with the first beat receiving the most emphasis.

Listen to this waltz played on the piano by Arthur Rubinstein (Chopin’s waltz in c sharp minor Op. 64 No. 2).

Can you hear the left hand playing on the three main beats? Listen carefully and you will hear beneath the melody a strong “ONE-two-three, ONE-two-three” pattern. This is what triple meter sounds like in music.

This is the opening of the above waltz. See in the lower line the three main beats?
This is the opening of the above waltz. See in the lower line the three main beats?

Why triple meter? This is a fair question. After all, couldn’t a waltz be elegant, gliding, and romantic in any other meter? The answer is no, it probably could not. A waltz is a dance and  the triple meter, with its emphasis on beat one and then lighter beats two and three, is innately dance-able.  (Yes, “dance-able” is a word…) The dancers would make their largest and strongest step on the first beat, the emphasized ONE, and then smaller steps on the subsequent beats, two and three. And not only is the waltz in triple meter fit for dancing, it is fit for elegant, smooth,and lovely dancing. Other music with different meters can be danced to, but not in the same way. You see, the meter here serves a unique purpose.

Let’s consider another musical meter: quadruple. This meter consist of four main beats, giving it a steady one-two-three-four rhythm with each beat being approximately equal in emphasis. Take a listen to this famous quadruple meter pop song, “Love Song” by Sara Bareilles:

This is a passage from "Love Song". The four main beats are depicted in the treble clef.
This is a passage from “Love Song”. The four main beats are depicted in the treble clef.

Would you say this is a graceful song? Or perhaps a delicate song, like a lullaby? Of course not! This is a energetic, determined, and even angry song. Listen to the driving chords that create the strong one-two-three-four rhythm. These are crucial to making this song what it is! “Love Song” would sound ridiculous if performed in triple meter like a waltz, but the continuous one-two-three-four rhythm of quadruple meter provides a forward drive and a memorable riff that are guaranteed to not only communicate the frustrated feelings of the artist but become stuck in the listener’s head for the rest of the day. (Or, in my case, from 8th grade until now.)

So how does this relate to poetry? Exactly. Meter in music relates exactly to meter in poetry; that is why the choir and orchestra geeks understood our poetry lesson while others found it puzzling. Not only are lyrics to songs poems set to music, but the meters of the two are often the same! For instance, the quadruple meter we just listened to is the musical equivalent of spondaic meter in poetry, which consists of repeated stressed syllables. See the similarity?

In music: one-two-three-four

In poetry: / / / /                    ( / refers to a stressed syllable)

“Love Song” was a quadruple meter song, so let’s look at a spondaic poem for comparison. The internet for once failed to provide me with what I needed, so I was forced to write my own example, which shall remain untitled.

   /       /      /       /

Coffee now please

 /    /      /      /

I need caffeine.

  /         /       /     /

Two more coffees

 /    /    /      /

Or I’ll be mean.

I think the emotion behind this piece is pretty clear: I’m tired and need coffee in order to avoid being cranky. Not exactly “Love Song”, but the frustration and forcefulness of the writer is as apparent in my untitled snippet of a poem as it is in Sara Bareilles’ famous breakup song. The only difference is that my poem is not set to music and therefore referred to as spondaic dimeter, meaning there are two sets of two stressed syllables per line (thus four syllables total per line). If I were to set this poem to music, it would probably be in quadruple meter like “Love Song”, with each stressed syllable placed on a strong beat. Like quadruple meter, spondaic meters tend to communicate power and potentially anger with their clearly-defined emphasis and lack of unstressed (softer) syllables.

Swing/jazz music and dance are characterized by a fun, energetic vibe given by their swung rhythm.
Swing/jazz music and dance are characterized by a fun, energetic vibe given by their swung rhythm.

There are many other meters in both music and poetry and the parallels between the two are undeniable. For example, trochaic meter, which consists of an stressed syllable followed by a unstressed syllable, is remarkably reminiscent of jazz music with its rhythms of swung notes. The link below features a swing song, “Sing, Sing, Sing”, with its characteristic “long-short-long-short” rhythm which is comparable to the stressed-unstressed meter of trochee poetry. This rhythm can indicate a sense of freedom from regulations of strict meters as it bends from straight, even beats.

These parallels fascinate me and I could discuss them forever, but I must answer the question I began with: Why does meter matter? We looked at why it matters in music, that is, to communicate the composer’s emotions and purpose in writing the piece. Chopin’s waltz was in triple meter to convey the sensation of dancing with poise and beauty; Sara Bareilles’ “Love Song” is in quadruple meter to demonstrate her determination and frustration as she tells off her needy ex; and jazz music has a swung rhythm to give it its carefree, spontaneous feel. In poetry, meter is used in the same way: to provide a structure that supports the ideas of the poet and communicates them better to the reader. I used spondaic dimeter to convey my urgent need for coffee through its demanding, blunt rhythm and I feel that my choice of meter made my emotion more apparent to the reader than if I had, say, written about my need for coffee in an iambic pentameter sonnet, which probably would have come across too flowery and romantic for my topic. In the same way, real poets (meaning not me) use specific meters for specific purposes. Whether or not they do so intentionally is a question for another day, but there can be no doubt that they do use different meters for different purposes and this allows for effective communication of ideas and emotions through verse.

To conclude, I will address another question that a peer of mine asked: Why do we, as students and readers, need to know the various types of meters? Again, I will return to my music comparison; as a music student, I obviously need to know the meters of the pieces that I play, but even as a listener, I should be aware of these meters so that I can fully appreciate the artistry of the music. By being aware of the elements that combine to create music, such as meter, I am better able to understand and appreciate a waltz for its elegance, or pop for its energy, or jazz for its freedom.  When reading and studying poetry we ought to be aware, as educated readers, of meter just as we ought to be aware of elements such as figurative language, diction, and point of view, to deepen our understanding of the piece and allow the purpose of the poet to be fully communicated to us as his or her audience.