Linguistics 001 16: Linguistic Form in Art, Ritual and Play
In the chapter on the phonology of the Mawu language, we talked about the Ngoboobo children's game. This is a language game used by children, based on a systematic phonological distortion of ordinary speech. Specifically, every vowel V is replaced by the sequence VbV (where /b/ is the implosive version of the labial stop), or by VmV if the vowel is nasalized. Thus Ngoo "I say" becomes Ngoboobo, the name of the game.
Such language games are very common, perhaps ubiquitous, in the cultures of the world. They function partly as "secret languages" -- because without knowledge and practice it can be hard to understand what is being said -- and partly just as games.
Some of the language games are almost exactly the same, in detail, as Ngoboobo. For instance, there is a Spanish game called "Jerigonza" or "Jeringonza," which involves replacing every vowel V with the sequence VpV.
Searching the web for "Jerigonza" used to turn up a C program for turning Spanish text into Jerigonza, written by a student at the Universidad Católica de Chile. However, this program applies the Jerigonza rule literally to spelling, and so does not act the way that most Spanish-speaking children would. Becasue the program applies the V-to-VpV change to every orthographic vowel, it turns the (three-syllable) Spanish word escuela "school" into the (eight-syllable) Jerigonza word epescupuepelapa. Spanish-speaking children -- who often learn the jerigonza game before they learn to read -- would think in terms of the categories of their natural and internal phonology, rather than in terms of letters of the alphabet. In the letter sequence "ue" in Spanish spelling, the "u" letter is actually pronounced as a glide /w/, which in phonological terms is a consonant rather than a vowel. Thus we might write the pronunciation of escuela as /e-skwe-la/, with three syllables, not four, even though there are four vowel letters in the word. In the same form of quasi-phonetic writing, the jerigonza version would be /e-pe skwe-pe la-pa/, with six syllables, not /e-pe sku-pu e-pe la-pa/, with eight. Most Spanish-speaking children would produce the six-syllable form -- though there are a few who have learned to apply the jerigonza rules to spelling instead of to sound.
In parts of Brazil, the same language game applied to Portuguese is called "lingua do Pe", or "P language."
There is a very similar American English language game called "Ubbi Dubbi", or sometimes "Double Dutch", popularized on the children's television program Zoom some years ago. In Ubbi Dubbi (rhymes with "hubby"), you insert the VC sequence "ub" (pronounced to rhyme with "hub") in front of every vowel. Usually the "ub" syllable is stressed more than the vowel that it precedes, which makes Ubbi Dubbi very hard to understand.
The writing system of English is (especially on a letter-by-letter basis) much futher from English phonology than Spanish writing is from Spanish phonology. So no American child would every apply ubbi dubbi to spelling -- it is always the phonological vowels that get "ub" inserted in front of them, not the vowel letters a e i o u in the written form of English.
For example, the two-syllable word "speaking" in Ubbi Dubbi will have four syllables, which the official Zoom ubbi dubbi page would write as spubeakubing, and which we might write in IPA as . In an imitation of the conventions of English orthography, the Ubbi Dubbi rendition of "speaking" might be given as "spubby cubbing". This treatment is the natural interpretation of of the Ubbi Dubbi rule ("put ub in front of every vowel") because the digraph (two-letter combination) "ea" in the spelling of the word "speaking" actually represents only one vowel. A child speaking (or understanding) Ubbi Dubbi knows this.
Some other examples from Ubbi Dubbi:
Tune-text alignment in EnglishConsider the first verse of the simple song Skip to my Lou, as presented in Ruth Crawford Seeger's American Folk Songs for Children (Doubleday, 1948).
In this verse, as throughout the song, a single line is repeated three times, against a simple melody that sketches a major triad in the tonic, the dominant, and then again the tonic.The verse ends with the invariant line "skip-a to my lou, my darling."
The songbook gives a couple of dozen other verses. Each has the same
structure -- a single line repeated three times, and the invariant ending
"skip-a to my lou, my darling." Thus the problem of fitting words to music
can be reduced for each verse to the problem of
This is about as simple as songs get. Nevertheless, a four- or five-year-old learning new verses has to solve a non-trivial problem.
One way to look at the problem is to line a few verses up against a depiction of the metrical structure of the first two bars of the song. These two bars contain four "quarter notes". The metronome marking at the top of the music says that the quarter note equals 132, i.e. 132 quarter notes per minute, or a little more than two quarter notes per second.
Standard western musical structure assumes a regular hierarchical subdivision of time. In this case, each quarter note can be divided into two eighth notes, each eighth note into two sixteenth notes, etc. At each level, the first of the subdividing notes is "stronger" than the other -- it is the "downbeat."
Three levels are enough for this musical example. As for the alignment with the melody, the song provides a separate pitch for each quarter note. If that note is subdivided by the syllables of the verse, then the subdividing syllables just repeat the same note.
Here is the first verse -- this is just a schematic presentation of exactly the information provided by the musical notation above:
Here are some other verses, aligned under another copy of the same melodic and metrical schema:
The samples given above are enough to give us a guess about the principles involved. For a start, we can say something about what the principles are NOT:
For instance, both "little red wagon painted blue" and "dad's old hat and mama's old shoe" have eight syllables, but if we used the syllable-by-syllable alignment of the first line for the second line, we'd get:
which gives the impression of stressing the line as "DAD's-old-hat AND maMA's old SHOE" (where the capitalized syllables correspond to the quarter-note beat of the song, and also to the points of pitch change).
No self-respecting American nursery school graduate would ever think to sing the line that way -- except perhaps as a joke.
The principles of tune-text alignment for this song seem to be:
This implies that the minimum plausible line of "skip to my lou" might be seven rather than eight syllables. For instance, "Jane's old hat and Jim's old shoe" might be OK.
We can make some other observations, such as this one:
You can verify for yourself that the rest of Ruth Crawford Seeger's cited lines follow the same pattern:
Rats in the bread tray, how they chew
Chickens in the garden, shoo shoo shoo
Cow in the kitchen, moo cow moo
Going to market two by two
Back from market, what did you do?
Had a glass of buttermilk, one and two
Skip skip skip-a to my lou
Skip a little faster, that won't do
Going to Texas, come along too
Lost my partner, what'll I do
I'll get another one prettier than you
Catch that red bird, skip to my lou
If you can't get a red bird, take a blue
If you can't get a blue bird, black bird'll do
The only real novelty in these additional examples is in the line ending with wagon, where there is an extra syllable aligned after the fourth quarter-note.
We can rephrase our observations by saying that Skip to my lou has a four-beat line, where the beats correspond to the quarter notes of the first two bars of the song, and where one to four additional syllables occur between each adjacent pair of beats.
I have seen four- and five-year-old children making up new verses to this song. No one has to teach them the rules -- they figure them out easily enough by themselves.
Most songs are more complicated than this one, but the basic principles of tune-text alignment in English remain the same: syllables are aligned with notes so that the stress pattern of the text and the rhythmic structure of the tune are congruent. If you have some familarity with designing computer algorithms, you might see if you can design one that will correctly specify the tune-text alignment for a simple song like this one.
To make up new verses -- or to sing old ones correctly -- you have to understand, implicitly, the metrical hierarchy of the music, the stress pattern of the text, and the way that they can be aligned. This understanding comes effortlessly to young children, providing more evidence of the psychological reality (and naturalness) of the linguistic (and musical) concepts involved.
Why should there be something natural about the process of aligning two structures so as to make them rhythmically congruent? One plausible hypothesis is that this is the basis of coordination among speech articulators in ordinary talking. On this view, singing is just a kind of regularized and stylized form of speaking. In both cases, rhythmic structures are serving a coordinative function.
Accentual/syllabic verse in English
The principles of tune-text association for Skip to my Lou are basically the same as the principles that underlie most metered verse in English.
This is especially clear if we look at verse with a very clear rhythmic pattern, like Mother Goose rhymes, or Lewis Carroll's The Hunting of the Snark, or Robert W. Service's ballad The shooting of Dan McGrew, or Run-DMC/Aerosmith's Walk this way.
Let's take a look at how McGrew works. The poem has 58 lines, of which the first six are given below.
The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a rag-time tune;
Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew,
And watching his luck was his light-o'-love, the lady that's known as Lou.
When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and the glare,
There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-dirty, and loaded for bear.
If you read these lines out loud, you can hardly avoid getting an impression of the intended rhythm. It's a seven-beat line, with either one or two additional syllables between each pair of adjacent beats. The beginning of the line can start with zero, one or two "upbeat" syllables. There is always a phrasal break between the fourth and fifth beats of each line, and occasionally there is no intervening syllable at this point (as if it were a line break).
We can annotate the rhythmic structure of the next six lines of the poem
by using a sharp sign (#) for each "beat", a period for additional
syllables, and a slash (/) for the phrase break:
He looked like a man with a foot in the grave and scarcely the strength of a louse,
. . # . . # . # . . # / . . # . # . . #
Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and he called for drinks for the house.
. . # . # . # . # / . . # . # . . #
There was none could place the stranger's face, though we searched ourselves for a clue;
. . # . # . . # . # / . # . . # . #
But we drank his health, and the last to drink was Dangerous Dan McGrew.
. # . # . . # . # / . # . # . . #
There's men that somehow just grip your eyes, and hold them hard like a spell;
. # . # . . # . # / . . # . . # . #
And such was he, and he looked to me like a man who had lived in hell;
. . # . # . . # . # / . . # . # . #
With a face most hair, and the dreary stare of a dog whose day is done,
. . # . . # . # . # / . . # . # . #
As he watered the green stuff in his glass, and the drops fell one by one.
This kind of annotation of the rhythmic structure of a verse is called scansion, and the basic rhythmic pattern of a poem (if it has one) is called its meter. The scansion shows us how the underlying pattern (here a seven-beat line with one or two intervening syllables) is realized in each line of the poem.
There is quite a bit to say about meter and scansion, even of metrically simple poems (some might even say doggerel) like McGrew. The point that we want to draw out here is that the basic principles are the same as those that applied in the case of Skip to my lou -- a certain number of beats per line, with variable (but constrained) numbers of syllables between the beats, and a regular break in a certain position.
Theorists distinguish among various kinds of poetic meter. The word meter means measure, and in each case, something is being measured or counted. In syllabic meters (as in French poetry), the only thing that matters is the number of syllables per line. In some languages (Classical Greek, Latin, Arabic, Hausa), the pattern of "long" and "short" syllables is regulated. In accentual meters, what is counted is accents -- or more properly beat-aligned accents. Most English metered verse is accentual-syllabic -- each line has a given number of "beats", but there are also more or less strong restrictions of the number of intervening syllables.
It is important to remember that poetic meter is an abtract pattern, a kind of grid against which the poet arranges his or her lines according to some geenral principles of congruence. How the congruence is defined depends on the poetic style, but also very much on the sound structure of the language that the poetry is written in. For metered verse to be a living form -- as it has been in many cultures around the world, both ancient and modern -- its patterns have to be defined in terms of phonological categories whose patterns poets and their audience can hear and feel.
In the notation we've been using, The shooting of Dan McGrew is
written in a fairly even mixture of . # and . . # rhythmic
Thus Walk this way has exactly the same meter and rhyme scheme as The shooting of Dan McGrew, except for a slight relaxation of the meter: instead of one or two weak syllables between beats, Aerosmith's song has one, two or three.
Lewis Carroll's mock epic The Hunting of the Snark also has the same basic meter as The shooting of Dan McGrew: Here are the first two stanzas:
. . # . .
# . # .
Snark has alternate lines of four and three beats -- corresponding to the four/three division of the seven-beat line in McGrew. With the promotion of the half lines to full lines, additional rhymes are added (here cried/tide and twice/thrice) to reinforce the stanzaic form, but the meter is basically identical.
In Snark, however, the balance between . # and . . # shifts dramatically towards . . #
There are 1754 . . # sequences, to only 251 . # sequences, for a ratio of about seven to one, while the . # sequences that do occur are essentially all at the beginning or the end of a line. Thus Snark is moving in the direction of fixing not only the number of "beats" -- of strong syllables in the line -- but also the number and placement of weak syllables.
In order to characterize poetic forms in which the arrangement of strong and weak positions is regulated in this way, poets and critics have borrowed the terminology of Greek (and Latin) metrics. The Greek metrical system was based on patterns of totally different units -- their meters did not care about the location of accented syllables, but rather regulated the pattern of long and short syllables. They then established a congruence between long and short syllables and patterns of long and short time-units in the musical meters of the period. Metrical systems that depend on syllable-length in this way are called quantitative. By contrast, English lyric poets rely on a congruence between stress patterns and the beat structure of our music, resulting in a metrical system that is called accentual or accentual-syllabic.
These different choices of basic poetic stuff are not arbitrary. The (classical) Greek language made a systematic distinction between long and short vowels, whereas English does not; English word-stress organizes the rhythm of English speech in a way that Greek accent did not.
Nevertheless, all poetic forms are based on analogies among different
sorts of patterns, and it is easy enough to make an analogy between the
Greeks' patterns of long and short syllables, and our patterns of strong
and weak syllables. Thus we can borrow the Greek term iamb
-- applied to the Greek pattern "short long" -- and apply it
to the English pattern "weak strong." The Greeks called these
basic patterns "feet" (actually of course they called them the
equivalent in Greek). Here are some of the commoner foot names, represented
with the typographically convenient (but non-standard!) notation of "."
for short positions and "#" for long ones:
In discussing classical (Greek and Latin) metrics, it's more common to see the macron used for long positions and the breve for short ones, with a vertically-stacked combination of the two symbols used for "common" positions that might be either long or short, thus:
For English accentual/syllabic verse, we are dealing with patterns of stressed and unstressed (rather than long and short syllables), and the usual notation is something like acute accents over stressed syllables with breves over unstressed ones, as exemplified in this page. This explanation of English verse scansion uses the symbols / and u as substitutes for the acute accent and breve respectively.
Using whatever notation, the meters we've been examining (The Hunting of the Snark, The Shooting of Dan McGrew, Walk This Way) combine iambic and anapestic rhythms, with alternating lines of four and three feet. This ballad stanza is a common form in English folk poetry.
The Greeks (and their Roman students) identified types of poetic lines in terms of the type of rhythmic pattern (foot) used, and the number of repetitions of the pattern. Thus a pattern consisting of five iambs would be an iambic pentameter; a pattern consisting of six dactyls would be a dactylic hexameter; and so on.
Thus the ballad stanza alternates tetrameters (four-foot lines) with trimeters (three-foot lines). A limerick is typically two lines of anapestic trimeter, followed by two lines of anapestic dimeter, followed by a final anapestic trimeter:
I used to think math was no fun
. . # . . # . . #
'Cause I couldn't see how it was done
. # . . #
Now Euler's my hero
. . # . . #
For I now see why zero
. # . . # . . #
Is e to the pi i plus 1.