Fantasy Writers 1860

Chapter 100 Congratulations to Dorian on becoming a laureate poet!

His voice was deep and magnetic, carrying a hint of melancholy, as if transporting everyone to a bizarre and fantastical future world:

"Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails, Pilots of

The purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales; (Seeing the sky filled with commerce, a fleet of ships raising their magical sails, pilots descending with exotic cargoes in the purple twilight)

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As the verses flowed, the atmosphere in the hall underwent a subtle change.

Those who had initially looked skeptical fell silent.

Most people who don't know much about poetry are simply attracted by this captivating and beautiful imagination, while also feeling a touch of the wonderful beauty of rhythm and melody.

But the middle-aged poet, who had been writing poetry for at least 10 years but had yet to achieve anything significant, was completely dumbfounded.

Because he had already discerned that this young man not only truly understood poetry, but had also chosen the extremely rare and most difficult-to-master eight-step rhyme scheme!

Each sentence consists of 16 syllables, with 2 syllables forming a foot, for a total of 8 feet. The feet are arranged in a rhythm of stressed syllable-unstressed syllable-stressed syllable-unstressed syllable, which is called the eight-foot rhythm.

This meter is extremely rare and the most difficult to master because it actually goes against the natural feel of the Britannian language.

Britannian's natural rhythm is actually biased towards unstressed and stressed syllables (such as in "abook" and "theman"). The stressed-unstressed anagram rhythm generally only appears in the chanting of commands and spells.

In most normal conversations, sentences begin with a preposition or pronoun (such as And, But, I, He, The), which are usually pronounced lightly. However, this meter requires that the first word of a line of poetry must be stressed.

A line or two here and there is nothing wrong with that, but to write a poem with this kind of rhythm and meter can easily seem extremely deliberate.

It's affected, unlike normal human speech. The poet has to rack his brains to arrange his vocabulary so that the sentences barely fit this anti-everyday rhythm.

Finally, it must rhyme and have some intellectual depth. This greatly limits the poet's choice of words, and a slight misstep can result in a hodgepodge of words and a forced, contrived composition.

Moreover, because the accent always falls precisely on every odd-numbered syllable, this creates a strong "drum beat effect".

Imagine someone continuously tapping a rhythmic "dong-da-dong-da-dong-da-dong-da" in your ear. Longer poems and prose using this meter will create this feeling in the reader's ears.

"Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain"da ghastly dew

From the nations, "airy navies grappling in the central blue; (the sky was filled with shouts, and terrible dew was falling as air fleets from various nations clashed fiercely in the central blue sky)."

Dorian's tone shifted abruptly, from uplifting to low and slow, drawing the audience into a scene of war.

There are many poems about war, but no one has ever described war in the air.

The fleets clashed in the sky, in the heart of the azure firmament!

"My God—" A woman felt dizzy, terrified by the grand and terrifying battlefield described by Dorian.

The middle-aged poet was equally startled.

Because Dorian actually avoided the mechanical feeling that the "drumbeat effect" would bring by doing so!

Themes of war and the military are best suited to this mechanical feel, which evokes the image of an army marching. This weakness is thus transformed into an advantage.

His heart was filled with resentment and anger at that moment.

Why? Why?!

I've been writing poetry for 12 years—I've been writing poetry for 12 years! A true 12 years!

How can this kid, who's not even as big as my belt size, write so well?!

I've been writing for 12 years, penning millions of lines of poetry, and I'm still completely unknown—why is it that this newcomer, who's only written two novels, can spout such excellent poetry so easily!

This is impossible—this is impossible!

I've been writing for 12 years and I still can't write a poem like this. How could he, a mere novelist, possibly write such verses?

A fire of jealousy burned within him, and he stared at Dorian with wide eyes and a ferocious expression.

"Far along the world—wide whisper of the south—wind rushing warm, With

The standards of the peoples plunging through the thunderstorm; (the echoes carried across the world by the warm, swift south wind, accompanied by the battle flags of various peoples moving through the thunderstorm)

The young poet was drawn to these bold images and once again felt that his love poem was so small and crude.

"Till the war-drum throbb"d no longer, and the battle-flags were furl"d

In the Parliament of Man, the Federation of the World. (Until the war drums cease to beat and the battle flags are rolled up, in the Parliament of Man, in the Federation of the World.)

Dorian's voice gradually rose, carrying a resolute force.

At this point, the unimaginable war had come to an end, and everyone realized that this was a poem depicting a peaceful future.

Even more far-reaching than the prospect of peace, Dorian actually envisioned a world federation here.

What a wonderful vision it is for people all over the world to be united!

Dickinson was captivated by Dorian's grand imagination and beautiful vision. Her heart was filled with longing, and her eyes were glazed over, as if she had already pierced through the mists of history and seen the miracle that was about to happen.

When she came to her senses and looked at Dorian, she found that there was no longing for this beautiful vision in his eyes at all.

But these are clearly the verses he recited, so why does he seem completely unaffected?

Dickinson saw no longing in his eyes, only a calm as if stating a fact.

He seemed to have truly witnessed those things he had previously considered magnificent fantasies: flight paths spanning the skies, vast fleets of ships soaring through the air, aerial battles, the World Council—

He seemed to have actually seen it before.

"There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe, And

The kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law.

"So I triumph"d ere my passion sweeping thro" me left me dry, Left me

With the palsied heart, and left me with the jaundiced eye; (Thus I triumphed after passion swept over me, before leaving me a withered shell, leaving me with a numb heart and a prejudiced eye.)

"Eye, to which all order festers, all things here are out of

Joint: Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on from point to point. (In these eyes, all order is decaying, everything here is disconnected: science is advancing, but extremely slowly, creeping on from one point to another.)

"Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion creeping nigher, Glares at one

The nods and winks behind a slowly dying fire. (The approaching crowd, like a lion drawing ever closer, glared at the man dozing behind the dying fire.)

"Yet I doubt not thro" the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the

The thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns. (However, I have no doubt that throughout all ages, there is an ever-growing purpose at work, and the human mind expands with the movement of the sun.)

"—For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go. (Because the wind has risen and is howling towards the sea, and I am leaving.)"

As the last word faded, a brief silence fell over the hall.

Even Mrs. Castells, who had maintained her haughty demeanor, narrowed her eyes slightly and tapped her fingers lightly on the armrest of the sofa, as if she were thinking about something.

A moment later, applause erupted.

This time, the applause was even more enthusiastic than the one given to Dickinson before.

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"good!"

"My goddess, such magnificent imagination is truly unprecedented!"

"The poem is profound in its imagery, bold in its imagination, and well-structured. I haven't heard such excellent poetry in many years. I never expected to see it at a literary salon of this caliber."

"The sky is filled with commerce—can Britannian really be combined like that? I never would have guessed—"

"That description of aerial fleets from various countries fiercely battling in the center of the azure sky is truly astonishing. Can warships weighing tens of thousands of tons really fly like birds? Magic can only levitate things weighing the weight of one or two people, but the way he acted just now—it was as if he had witnessed such a scene firsthand!"

"I never knew Mr. Dorian was such a talented poet!"

The crowd began to chatter, praising the event endlessly. Many realized that they might have just witnessed a historic moment.

This work is so excellent that even those who are nitpicking cannot find any fault with it.

And this was just a newcomer's debut work at a small salon.

At this moment, everyone had another incredible and bold idea, but because it was too bold, even among those who were full of praise, no one dared to say it out loud.

Except for one person.

"I never expected you could write poetry, let alone write it so well. The title of Poet Laureate, which the Empire has suspended for almost 60 years, is finally about to welcome a new master!" Dickinson said.