Fonagy. The Voice of Poet

THE VOICE OF THE POET
IVÁN FÓNAGY
The following study by Fónagy, an experimental phonetician and

poetry analyst of international repute, is based on instrumental com-
parisons of several peple, the 'choir', and the poet, Milán F ü s t , reading
aloud his own poem "Old Age" - in Hungarian.
The translation of this essay presented, therefore, enormous diffi-
culties. Fónagy's argument in each place is based on Hungarian prosody
and phonetics as it interrelates with the 'musical movements' of the
poem, and the 'differences in meaning' t h a t were discernible b y ran-
domly chosen, well-educated audiences when hearing the poet himself
for a first time and a second time, an anonymous professor of
linguistics f r o m Budapest, and the neutralized 'choir'. The adjectives
the audiences were to correlate the readings with were 'poetic' 'soft',
'pathetic', 'intellectual', and 'emotional'. The experiments were done
partially in Budapest, b u t also in Stockholm, and Ann Arbor, Michi-
gan.
One way of translating this essay would have been to repeat the
whole experiment with English speaking readers. The poet's voice would
have h a d to be substituted with the translator's voice; we would have
h a d to find another 'neutral, intellectual professor of linguistics' and
a 'neutralized choir' of 5 men reading the English poem out loud.
I cannot even begin to guess whether the experimental results would
be anything similar to what the Hungarian ones are. I t would have
involved the kind of a r t translation t h a t succeeds once in a c e n t u r y :
finding alliteration with the same sounds in the same places, and so
forth.
Clearly this seemed unattainable in this collection of essays deliver-
ed in Maastricht. Instead I decided to cite the entire poem in Hungar-
ian a n d present m y English translation of it. The latter is as close in
meaning to the original as English syntax permits; I have m a d e the
fewest possible 'poetic licence'-type substitutions and alternations.
Keeping the number of syllables line for line was clearly impossible.
The original has no rhymes; it is a prose poem reminiscent of the
laments of Jeremiah in the Old Testament with a distinct Hebraic
flavor of repetition, and variation within the repetition.
I n the t e x t I have left the original Hungarian words everywhere
C
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82 IVÁN FÓNAGY
where Fónagy is making a specific point, giving their raw literal

translation in parentheses right after the cited words. I imagine that
the person studying this analysis will probably wind up knowing a
little bit of Hungarian at the end as well as remembering some of the
lines of the original poem. A careful reading of this study is well worth
the effort. For what it is really about is the METHOD OP ANALYSIS.
I t is a pity, in a way, that the English speaking reader will not have
had the benefit of listening to any native rendition of this poem with the
musical melody of the poem which Fónagy is at pains to point out, but
he can apply similar methodology to Ezra Pound, T. S. Eliot, Edgar Lee
Masters, or even Shakespeare, for that matter. Fónagy has shown with
instrumental precision that what we say may make people receive
different messages depending on the pitch contours we use, the musical
tones, and so forth. This, to put it with daring bluntness, is a study in
PHONO-SEMANTICS, a hitherto uncharted virgin forest with many
obstacles and too few skilled to probe its depths. Fónagy is truly a
pioneer in this regard and I am grateful for the workout this paper
gave me. [A.M.]
OLD AGE
by Milán Füst
I. Where are you, oh my eyes, who did once deem a face so

blesséd?
A n d where are you, my remarkable ears, who became as
pointed as those
of a donkey from some laughter both sweet and sad?
A n d where are you, my teeth, bloodthirsty savages, under
whose bite
not only strawberries, but redder and richer lips as well
would burst out bleeding ?
A n d where are you, oh dreadful singing of my chest?
II. A n d where is the pain and where is the blessing for which
I now search in vain
along my demented paths, holding a crooked stick in my
hand?
Should I run like a madman? Or chase a deer, a deer-footed
girl and recline afterwards
to whisper, not so much to whom I was chasing, but rather
to the Moon ?

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T H E VOICE OF THE POET 83
Concerning some mysteries which no one can fully under-

stand, and whose name,
forever, shall be agitated happiness. . . ?
Where are you, movements, and the haste, and the black
curses? Eternal haste?
And where is the eager mouth and where is my laughter?
Oh Lord, where is my laughter and also the objectless
sobbing,
When, - bloodless distances of thunderous cracks of
dawn, - oh how many times
I prostrated myself in front of you in the dark!
I I I . Listen to me, oh youth. Once upon a time there was an

old Greek
Who, statue-like, did raise his hands, and demanding his
youth back
Did pronounce Aeschylean curses unto him who deemed it
t h a t man must thus grow old.
Half blind, he stood upon the mountain, absorbed in pure
radiance,
with the wind beating his grey shock of hair
And tears dropped from his squinting eyes in front of the feet
of the exalted Deity
But nevertheless his words were so thunderous t h a t the mills
did stop
upon hearing them and the hills shook from their rebound,
Yes, even the five-year old ram lifted his head when he heard
them.
But the Deity
IV. Did not look at him; it did not then answer the old man.
For the Deity wept. I t was as if drums were being beaten
under its ears,
drums of hollow resounding,
6*

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84 I V A N FÓNAGY
And as if a collapse of mountains were answering t h e hollow

drums
a n d t h e sea were answering t h e collapsing mountains.
The Deity now saw t h e eternal misery of old age grow
enormous a n d holy.
For t h e old man stood t h e n already in f r o n t of his own
grave, b u t
still arguing with t h e winds
And still wanting to speak his t r u t h before t h e final collapse.
V, And then, of course, he left a n d silence reigned once again

over this region.
B u t in his heart, too, there was t h e n b u t pure silence, a n d
(don't forget this)
Another, an even greater attentiveness. . .
And a dull, faint glimmer around his head.
OREGSEG
Ft)ST MILAN
I. Hoi vagytok o szemeim, kik oly aldottnak veltetek egy

arcot ?
Es hoi vagy o csodalatos fiilem is, amely oly hegyes lett,
mint a szamare valamely edes-bus nevetestol?
S hoi vagytok fogaim, ti verengzok, kiktol felserkent
nemcsak a szamoca, de az annal d u z z a d t a b b es pirosabb
a j a k is?
S hoi vagy t e mellemnek oly irtozatos dalolasa?
I I . S hoi a kin es hoi az aldas, amelyet most hiaba keresek

eszelos utaimon, gorbe bottal a kezemben?
Loholni bolondul? Kergetni az ozet, az ozlabut, s u t a n a
ledolni, susogni, nem is neki, de a h o l d n a k . . .
Holmi rejtelmekrol, amelyeket senki sem erthet egeszen,
s amelyeknek zaklatott boldogsag mindenkor a n e v e . . .
Hoi vagytok ti mozgalmak es fekete atkok? Orok si e tes?

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THE VOICE OF THE POET 85
Ho] a mohó szàj s hol a nevetésem?

tJristen, ho] a nevetésem s a tàrgytalan zokogàs is :
Mikor dòngó hajnalodàsok vértelen messzeségei! hànyszor
Leborultam a sotétben elétek!
III. Hallgass ràm, óh ifjusàg. Volt egy òreg gorog egvkor

Ki felemelte két kezét, raint a szobor s az ifjusàgàt
visszakòvetelvén
Mondott aiszkiiloszi àtkot arra, aki tette, hogy igy
meg kell az embernek oregedni.
Félig vakon àllt a hegyen, csupa sugàrzàsba meriilve,
- ósz hajàt verte a szél is
S pisla szeméból kònnyei hulltak az Istenség magasztos
làba elé.
S mégis szava dòrgòtt, szavàtól megàllt a malom, meg-
rendultek a dombok
S az òtéves kos is felemelte rà a fejét. - Amde az Istenség
IV. Nem nézett rà, nem felelt akkor az òregnek.

Sirt az Istenség. Mert, mintha dobokat vernének a fiiiébe,
tompa dobot
S erre felelne a hegyomlàs s e hegyomlàsnak felelne a
tenger...
O'y naggyà nott meg elotte s oly szentté az òregség osi
nyomora.
Mert hisz ott àllt o màr onnòn sirja elótt s még mindig pòròlve
a széllel
S még egyszer hangoztatni akarvàn igazàt, mielott el-
oraolna.. . .
V. S aztàn hàt elment persze, - csend lett végiil is e vidéken.

De a szivében is csupa csend volt màr akkor, el ne feledjiik
s egy màsik, még nagyobb figyelem. . .
S a feje koriil tompa derengés.

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•86 IVÁN FÓNAGY
THE MELODY OF THE WRITTEN TEXT
This entire experiment was started by an intense personal

experience. While reading "Old Age", a poem by Milán Füst,
I had the distinct impression t h a t the mute text conveyed, in a
sense, the voice of the poet himself, obscuring, as it were, the
text itself. I t transformed the poem into a musical opus. This
imaginary voice was reading the words in scansion, quite differ-
e n t from t h e spoken rhythm, as in the third line of stanza 2:
Holmi rejtelmekrol, amelyeket senkisem eV<het e-grészen...
(Of some mysteries that no one can understand completely...)
Or the fifth line of stanza 3:
megren-dwZtek a dombok...
(The hills suddenly shook...)
I t was as if the silent text had indeed a well discernible
melody. The first stanza, for example, gave variations of t h e
following theme:
Hoi vagytok ó sze-me-im, kik olváldott-nak vél-tetek egv ar - cot...

Fig. 1
This motif of a sigh develops gradually, it swells, carrying
with it and constantly increasing the voices (as in a fugue),
i.e. the lines (see Figure 2) all the way to the end of line 4
(es pirosabb ajak is - and the lips are redder, too). Line
5 briefly recapitulates and thereby closes the First Move-
ment. The musical impression is enhanced by the parallel-

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ism dominating the stanza, since the lines start with interroga-
tive sentences which are to be completed repeatedly, and are
rendered complete by means of adjectival subordinate clauses.
Hoi -, ,
vagytok , dottnak...
kik oly
S ho! hegyes ,ptt

vagyó ,
amely oly
S hoi vagytok f
Fig. 3
The first stanza forms a musical unit while yielding the

first movement of symphony-like whole. The second half of
the first stanza anticipates the chief theme of the second
stanza, the motif of desire, by means of a short anacrusis:
S hoi a kin, es hoi az aZdas, amelyet most /¿¿aba keresek...
(And where is the pain, and where is the blessing, for which I
now search in v a i n . . . )*
Shola*'« dl- me Jyet most '»-a-ba _

no1 a
es das, "
Fig. 4
This transition seems well motivated both from a psycholog-

ical and a musical point of view. The desire-motif comes
about by means of reinterpreting, re-rhythmicizing the sigh-
1
The reader must remember throughout this paper that the discussion
is based not on the English paraphrase, but on the original Hungarian
text. In this case we have the repetition of (i) and (a) in the word hiaba
'in vain', after the (£) of kin 'pain' and the (a) of dldas 'blessing'. [A.M.]

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88 IVAN FÓNAGY
theme. We have already accepted it in stanza 1 as p a r t of

t h e sigh-theme, as if it were a second, deeper sigh, since t h e
voice starts rising in t h e line-initial sigh, and in t h e second
half of t h e line it falls gradually a f t e r screaming out loud
following t h e anacrusis, t h u s resembling t h e first half of t h e
line. The two types of melody are distinguished merely by
t h e fact t h a t in t h e simpler, line-initial sigh t h e pitch reaches
its climax already during t h e first syllable, while in t h e second
this gradually happens later, first in t h e third, t h e n t h e f o u r t h
a n d finally in t h e f i f t h syllable. If we concentrate on t h e slow
rise a n d t h e even slower descent, we can see t h a t t h e two
melody-lines are essentially identical. If we concentrate on
t h e start, t h e second melody-line appears as t h e antithesis
of t h e first. B u t t h e reinterpretation of t h e motif is psycholog-
ically justifiable as well. The sigh of resignation presupposes
an antecedent desire. The desire itself, however, is based on
t h e momentary unattainability of t h e goal, t h a t is, on tempo-
rary resignation.
I n b o t h stanzas t h e music a n d t h e t e x t are in harmony as
well. The melody amounts to t h e musical expression of t h e
atmosphere of t h e stanzas, there being one essential excep-
tion t o this. Stressed syllables follow each other with high
frequency, as if crowded, in emotionally charged speech, a n d
t h e sentences are interrupted by agrammatical pauses. The
pace is very vivid. The same technique is used by Petofi
when he makes stressed syllables collide in t h e middle of
t h e line with a syncopated r h y t h m , which takes t h e reader
by surprise:
Hallod-e -sziv, szivem: hallod e beszedet?

(Do you har heart, my heart, do you har this speech?)
(The partial repetition, polyptoton, here is meant to imitate

stuttering, great excitement.) The r h y t h m of F u s t ' s "Old
Age", however, is calm, forceful, t h e melody shows a slowly
descending curve when the words recall t h e memory of
excitements:

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Hoi vagy-f-t. moz-oai_

gal
ti mak es...
The content of the sentence as it contrasts with its music

makes the distance t h a t separates the present from the past
palpable. The words bring the past to life; the story-teller
sees the eternal haste and commotion from the perspective
of the present. Restlessness is mirrored in the prosody by
intertwined musical phrases recalling the garlands of baroque
decoration. This musical and visual structure is conveyed by
means of a certain kind of modified repetition, correction
according to classical rhetorics.
Az ozet, az ozlabut...
(The deer, the deer-footed o n e . . . )
The words
ledolni, susogni, nem is n e k i . . . de a holdnak... Holmi rej-
telmekrol...
(to lie down, whisper, not really to her . . . but to the Moon...
Of some mysteries...)
which presuppose the previous sentence, grow out of it,
actually interpret it, amount to a double intertwining: First
the section nem is neki (not really to her) completes the phrase
ledolni, susogni (to lie down, whisper); then, the words holmi
rejtelmekrol (Of some mysteries. . .) reach back, from a greater
distance, to the word susogni (to whisper). In the fifth line
he picks up the word nevetesem (my laughter) in order to lend
greater weight to it and complete it with its antithesis s a
tdrgytalan zokogns is (and the objectless sobbing as well). This
technique is strongly reminiscent of the fugues of Bach suggest-
ing superimposed ogive arches.
(During one of our personal conversations Fust showed
me the letter of one of his translators, who compared the
structure of his poems to gothic cathedrals: "There are poets,
who build cathedrals with words. . . " the translator wrote.)
The music, again, is adequately expressive: I t illustrates

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90 IVAN F 6 N A G Y
and underscores the apparently endless line of reminiscences

stemming from each other. The sixth line of the stanza is left
strangely uncompleted by t h e poet; this uncompletedness
is rendered even more striking by the use of the exclamation
mark (as if turning the line into an agrammatical vocative):
Mikor dongo hajnalodasok vegtelen messzesegei!
(When endless distances of thundering daybreaks!)
The reinterpretation, the re-rhythmicization, of a theme
repeats itself in the second stanza as well, but this time in
an opposite way. The anapaestically rising sentence, render-
ed even tighter by use of anacrusis, dissolves itself into
short-breathed dactylical themes:
S ho/ a kin...
Fig. 5
S hoi a kin es hoi az aZdas, amelyet most /«aba ¿eresek eszelos

wtaimon, gwrbe botinX a fcezemben...
(And where is the pain, and where is the blessing for which
I now search in vain along my demented paths with a crooked
cane in my h a n d . . . )2
The third and fourth stanzas, in contrast to the relatively
restless second stanza, form a molto majeetuoso - literally
sublime, elevated - musical unity. After some low pitched,
damped syllables the tone rises solemnly. The passionate
palpitation is squeezed into a solid encasement. The poet
chases the melody higher and higher within this narrow
frame. The melody, gradually escalating upward reaches its
zenith in the words oly naggyd (to such size) (lit. so big-into),
and the r h y t h m - simultaneously with the crescendo - slows
2
The stressed key words of the Hungarian are: kin 'pain', aldds
'blessing', hidba 'in vain', keresek 'I search for', eszelos 'demented',
utaimon 'along/on my paths', gorbe 'crooked', bottal 'stick/cane-with',
kezemben 'hand-my-in'. [A.M.]
The two parts are separated by the atonic words amelyet most (which
I now), and this renders the shift smooth, almost impercptible.

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down. The start of the sentence is still woven through with

anapaests:
Oly naggya nott meg elotte...
Fig. 6
but the spondees take over powerfully. When the old man
stands on the threshold of the fulfillment of his fate, having
rebelled in vain, the melody freezes:
Mert hisz/ ott allt/ o mar/ dnnon/ sirja e-/ l o t t . . .
(because then there he stood already in front of his own
grave...)
The last stanza, the closing movement, changes modes:
here we have parlando. The pitch steps down; it approaches
the level of everyday speech. The melody of the stanza is
transparent , ordinary, simple. I t opposes nature in its harmon-
nic simplicity (fourth stanza) to the dignity of the hopeless
fight (third stanza). As soon as Man steps off the scene, the
struggle is over, the tension has been resolved:
S aztan hat elment persze, - csend lett vegiil is e videken...
(And then, of course, he left - there was at last silence in the
region...)
Here, too, as throughout the entire poem, the music offers
strict unity with the unfolding of the lyrical plot.
THE TEXT AND THE CHOIR
The tie between the music and the text is so tight that the
question arises: Are we not just imagining this 'verbal music'
basing our sensation on the content ? Is it not merely pious
self-deception t h a t we believe we can hear the poet's voice
behind the text?
The first version of my article on "Old Age" (1967) was
already written when I had a chance to visit the poet person-
ally and listen to his viva voce rendering of his poetry, among
other pieces, "Old Age". I t was with pleasure and reassurance
t h a t I realized I was essentially on the right track. The poet,

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92 IVÁN FÓNAGY
reading his verse aloud, pronounced the words with the same
metric scheme which suggests itself automatically from the
t e x t ; the reader's pitch rose and sank exactly the same way
as I had imagined it would merely on reading it silently to
myself. To be perfectly honest, there were, of course, some
variations. While just reading the poem to myself, for instance,
it seemed obvious t h a t in the line ki felemelte két kezét (who
raised his two hands. . .) both the words két (two) and kezét
(hands) are stressed. I regarded the two juxtaposed loud
stresses, during my first melody tracing experiment, as sym-
bolic of the effort, the gesture of raising the hands, and I was
fortified in this belief by the alliteration of the two Hungar-
ian /k/-s, kct kezét. But the poet, while reading the poem
himself, only stressed két (two), although he read the poem
twice.
Regarding the main currents of the melody-line of the
poem, I concluded t h a t it was indeed the voice of the poet
t h a t came through the text. I n the first stanza there appeared
the double waves, line by line. The increase of these waves,
the crescendo, is retrievable in both readings of the poet.
The melody-line of stanza 2 is more restless t h a n t h a t of
stanzas 3 and 4; the 'elevated tone', the high level of the
reading met my expectations; similarly, there was the expec-t
ed descensión of the melody-pitch suggesting simplicity and
acquiescence in the last stanza. 3
The average pitch-level of the individual lines and stanzas
is easily identifiable, based on the musical transcriptions of
the poet's own viva voce rendering of "Old Age". 4
3
Many of the people who were asked to read the poem out loud, thus
X.Y., in particular, whose interpretations were consistently compared
with those of the author, pronounced both words with a strong stress.
The initials X . Y . are used to denote an anonymous professor of
linguistics who was asked to read the poem in a 'neutral', matter-of
-fact rendition.
4
It seems an arbitrary act to transcribe the melody of speech in musi-
cal notation. Musical notation transforms a continuous curve into a
sequence composed of a small number of discrete units. However, we
do the same when we represent continuous speech with letters (or

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TABLE 1. T h e a v e r a g e d i s t a n c e f r o m t h e ' b a s e - t o n e ' (see t e x t ) in

half tones.
Milán Fiist Milán F ü s t

first second X.Y. choir
reading reading
I. stanza 11,5 14,0 8,3 6,4

II. stanza 13,3 14,1 7,6 6,4
III. stanza 13,3 13,5 7,1 6,3
VI. stanza 13,1 11,1 6,7 6,0
V. stanza 10,1 9,9 7,0 5,3
In Fust's first reading the pitch-level of stanzas 2,3, and 4

is high. The pitch-level is at its lowest in stanza 5. It is possible
to measure the vividness of the fluctuations in pitch-height,
if we accept as measure the magnitude of variation between
subsequent sounds.
Accordingly one may say that the melody of stanza 2 is
more mobile, more changeable than that of stanzas 3 and 4,
in which we find a half note as the dominant interval. In stan-
zas 3 and 4, however, we found most frequently a 2-half-
note interval.
The poet reading his own poem is, of course, merely an
interpreter himself; his reading is but one of the possible
readings of the text. This becomes evident if we consider
that only 30 minutes apart, the author himself interprets
the text differently in many aspects. We conclude that the
no doubt genuine interpretation of the author himself is
by no means identical with the inherent musical structure of
p h o n e m e s ) . T h e f i r s t viva voce r e a d i n g of F i i s t w a s t r a n s c r i b e d i n d e -
p e n d e n t l y b y t w o people, Mr. J â n o s B a r t o k , a n d a 4th y e a r piano
m a j o r f r o m t h e F e r e n c L i s z t A c a d e m y of Music, w h o , i n c i d e n t a l l y ,
had absolute pitch. There was high correspondence between the two
t r a n s c r i p t i o n s ; t o t a l i d e n t i t y in 5 9 . 7 % of all cases, a n d t h e m e a n v a l u e
of d i v e r g e n c e s w a s less t h a n h a l f a t o n e . Q u a l i t a t i v e d i f f e r e n c e s , w h e n
t h e t w o t r a n s c r i b e r s i n d i c a t e d i f f e r e n t d i r e c t i o n s of t h e p i t c h c u r v e ,
w e r e f o u n d o n l y 6 t i m e s . T h e a d v a n t a g e of s h e e t - m u s i c r e p r e s e n t a t i o n ,
u n d e n i a b l y , is t h a t i t f a c i l i t a t e s t o n o s m a l l d e g r e e t h e a v e r a g i n g a n d
c o m p a r i s o n of t h e t w o i n d e p e n d e n t r e p r e s e n t a t i o n s .

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94 IVÁN FÓNAGY
the actual text, which exists independently of all the possible

viva voce renditions.
TABLE 2. Frequency distribution in p. c. of the average intervals in
half tones (ranging from 0 to 20) in stanza I, II, III, IV, V according to
(a) the interpretation of the poet Milán Füst, (b) in a neutral reading
(X.Y.), (c) in the interpretation of five readers, averaged ('choir').
0 1 2 3
Füst X.Y. choir Füst X.Y. choir Füst X.Y. choir Füst X.Y. choir
137,4 35,4 41,8 37,4 14,1 19,4 10,1 19,2 9,2 4,0 5,1 14,3
1153,1 40,0 36,4 22,9 8,0 15,6 8,0 16,0 11,6 10,3 3,4 17,3
I I I 45,0 23,8 35,9 33,1 25,2 20,0 11,3 17,2 13,1 6,0 11,9 18,6
I V 43,1 30,2 43,4 31,0 24,1 12,3 12,9 16,4 19,7 8,6 12,9 13,9
V 38,5 30,8 39,6 17,3 17,3 9,4 11,5 23,1 7,5 13,4 9,6 17,0
4 5 6 7
I 6,1 3,0 6,1 2,0 10,1 - — — - 1,0 6,1
I I 2,3 12,5 5,8 1,7 6 , 3 0,6 0,6 0,6 3,4 - 3,4 4,1
III 1,3 9,3 2,8 0,7 7,9 0,7 1,3 - 2,8 - - 2,1
IV 2,6 6,9 4,9 0,9 6,0 - - 1,7 3,3 - 0,9 1,6
V 11,5 5,8 15,1 1,9 5 , 8 - - 5,8 5,7 5,8 - 3,8
8 9 10 11
I 1,0 2,0 — 1,0 4,0 - - 2,0 1,0 — — —
II 0,6 1,1 1,2 - 1,1 - — 4,0 2,9 0,6 — —
III - 1,3 0,7 - 0,7 0,7 1,3 0,7 — — - 0,7

IV - 0,9 0,8 0,9 - 1,9 — — - — — -
V - - - - - - - 1,9 - - -
12- 15 16-20
I 1,0 4,0 2,0 _ _ _
II - 3,5 0,6 - - 0,6
i n - — 2,1 - 1,3 -
IV - - - - - -
V
17 -
We had to approach the inherent melody of the text by

other means. We asked five poetry loving individuals (not
authors themselves) to read the poem aloud, obeying the
text, as it were, but without trying to do the job of a profes-
sional actor. Following the lead of Sievers (1912), then, we
sought not Selbstleser (authors reading their own composi-
tions out loud) but Textleser ('civilians' reading a poem out

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loud). Eduard Sievers, one of the pioneers of phonetics, and

an excellent Germanist, was one of the very first people to take
the metaphor of the melody of a text, seriously, defying the
superior smiles of his colleagues. He attributed the pitch of
the reading aloud of a poem or of a piece of prose to the
text itself. He was using his theory to identify the author of a
given text in doubtful cases, basing his judgment on the fact
what melody was there would shimmer through a given
number of viva uoce renderings. This method has been proven
workable in many cases. Thus in Hungary, oneof his students,
Zsigmond Laszlo, used it quite successfully during his exa-
minations of poetry from the kuruc era a la Kalm&n Thaly. 5
It was in essence this well trodden path we were following,
then, when we were trying to approach the poetic voice
manifest in the text. In order to neutralize the individual
variations of the five interpreters, we averaged the vocal
results of their interpretations. All of the five interpreta-
tions were taped; then the tapes were transcribed onto sheet
music. (The transcriptions were done, this time also, by Mr.
Janos Bartok.) For the averaging we used not the individual
notes, but the intervals between them. (If, for instance, the
difference between the first and the second syllable, expre-
ssed in the half-notes of the diatonic scale was - 4 in one read-
ing, - 2 on the other, and - 3 in the third, the average posited
for the three readings was set at - 2 ; this corresponds to a
lowering of 1 second.) Thus it is possible to determine the
melody of the 'choir' from syllable to syllable, where by
'choir' we mean the collective interpretation of the text.
5 The kuruc were the freedom fighters of the early 18th century,
before, during, and after the war for freedom against Austria, led by
the Transylvanian Duke, Ferenc Rakoczi II. The kuruc, many of
whom were forced into illegitimacy or exile, were credited with creat-
ing a widely spread folk art, the kuruc dalok (songs of the kuruc).
Unfortunately not all were genuine; some were late 19th century
contrivances actually composed by the 'collector', K a l m a n Thaly.
Thus it became necessary t o identify those which were genuine from
those which were somehow Ossianic, made-up, inspired perhaps by
the late Mr. Fitzgerald. [A.M.]

Authenticated
96 IVAN FÓNAGY
Sievers and Zsigmond Laszlo were unable to contrast the

voice of the 'collective reader' with t h a t of the author hi m-
self. We are fortunate in t h a t we are able to do so. The dis-
tance between the interpretations is numerically determinable
on the level of expression. As we can see, 'the choir' follows
TABLE 3. The average divergence between the interpretations:
(a) Fust first vs. second reading, (b) Fust first reading vs. neutral reading
(c) Fiist first reading vs. 'choir' (reading average), (d) Fust second
reading vs. 'choir'.
Fiist A vs. B Fiist A vs. Fiist A vs. Fust B vs.

X.Y. choir choir
I. stanza 1,3 2,1 1,0 1,2

II. stanza 0,8 2,7 1,2 1,2
III. stanza 0,9 1,9 1,2 1,0
IV. stanza 1,2 1,6 0,9 1,1
V.stanza 1,9 1,7 0,9 1,6
1,2 2,0 1,0 1,2
the inherent melody even more closely t h a n the poet himself

does, during his second viva voce rendition.
Reading the sheet music drawn to the melody of the
'choir', I was able to see a mellower version of the melody
I discovered from analyzing the poem silently myself. The
first two lines of stanza 1 consist of two voices descending
slowly and gradually. The words dldottnak veltetek egy (you
considered blessed a . . .) hold the same level contrasting
with both renditions of Fust in which the pitch-level des-
cends staircase-like, in a staggered fashion. The words S hoi
vagy o (And Oh, where are you. . .) bring the pitch up higher
where it undulates at a medium frequency, lowering itself
to the extent of a third, a fourth, and a second following the
parts (i.e. voices of the 'fugue'), and levels itself off in the
words hegyes left (became pointed). It is this slow descent
and certain levelling off, characterizing the clause valamely
edes-bus nevetestol (from some sweet-sad laughter), which is
the part closing the sentence.

Authenticated

Authenticated
98 IVAN FONAGY
"f f p f r r r ' T f C f r J j j J
Shot vagy te md -lem-nek oly ir • t6 - za - tos da• lo - la - sa?
; i t J- i
ji " " " •«•••."* » « . ~
-w-
i t I
-n-
1 1
•r f i.- . « , « . i =
; i i I t
B " „ „ jt
Fig. 8
The line t h a t concludes stanza 1 and summarizes it musi-
cally, descends, again, doubly, as if gradually per part, and
stands a great deal closer to the first interpretation of the
poet t h a n to the intended logical-neutral interpretation.
We see clearly t h a t the choir here, too, mellows and blunts
the contrasts. I n the poet's reading the word dalolasa (the
singing o f . . . ) falls by a fourth, in the choir's reading only
by a second.
But the relation of the poet's reading, the 'neutral' reading,
and the reading by the choir stays the same in the rest as
well. Thus, for instance, the words hidba keresek (I search for
in vain. . . ) are less intellectual than the neutral reading
S hoi a kin es ho! az dl - das, a-me-lyet most hi - a-ba kc-re-sek

i ; „ i i - i i
Fig. 9

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t h a t lends a more cerebral ring to the word hidba (in vain),

and are less passionate, than the poet's voice which raises t h e
pitch in both words. A reading by the choir of the word ozet
(the dear [acc.]) follows the poet's own interpretation almost
unequivocally by giving it extra emphasis.
lo - hoi - ni bo - Ion - dui? Ker-gct-ni az 6 - zct, az oz - ià - but
S
F i g . 10
In stanza 4 the choir, too, raises the pitch level and holds
it at a solemn level when reaching the line mert mintha dobo-
kat vernenek a fiilebe (because as if drums were being beaten
next to its ears. . .), and the same repeats itself with the
word tenger (sea) t h a t lights up toward the end of the line.
1*

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100 IVÁN FÓNAGY
S e r - re f e - l e l - n e a h e g y o m - l a s s e h e g y o m l á s n a k fe-lel-ne a ten - ger...
; : i i i i i w i i ; i ; w i
s
Fig. 12
According to the choir's interpretation the pitch-level of

the last stanza is much lower than t h a t of the rest.
T H E 'MESSAGE' OF THE VOICE
Looking at the neutralized choir reading reveals additionally

t h a t not only the poet but the 'neutral reading' as well may
differ more t h a n once from the general melody suggested by
the text itself. Both readings by Milán Füst, even as opposed
to the choir, are characterized by high pitch, and narrow
vocal range. The second reading by the poet even shows a
literally more elevated voice level t h a n the first. This narrow
vocal range and high pitch lends the reading a solemn charac-
ter, resembling a liturgical incantation. During the second
TABLE 4. Average interval between tone-digrams, in halftones, in the

I, II, III,IV, V stanza according to three interpretations: Milán Füst
(first reading), neutral reading, the 'choir' (average of five readings).
Milán Füst X.Y. Choir
I. stanza 1,3 2,6 0,9

II. stanza 1,0 2,6 1,1
III. stanza 0,9 2,0 1,0
IV. stanza 1,0 1,8 0,7
V. stanza 1,8 2,0 1,1

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THE VOICE OP THE POET 101
reading the poet varies less on this high-pitch narrow-range

frequency than during the first. The pitch level of the 'neu-
tral reading' is low, its vocal range, however, is far greater
than t h a t of the choir. The deviation is particularly striking
when we average the intervals between the stressed syllables
and the subsequent unstressed ones.
TABLE 5. Average interval (in half tones) between the stressed
syllable and the n e x t unstressed syllable in the five stanzas, according
to three interpretations: Milán Fiist's first reading, second reading, the
neutral reading.
Milán F ü s t Milán F ü s t
neutral reading
first reading second reading
I. stanza 1,3 0,9 3,6

II. stanza 1,1 1,1 3,5
III. stanza 1,1 0,7 1,6
IV. stanza 1,1 0,7 1,7
V. stanza 1,8 0,5 1,8
A global comparison does not show the occasional varia-

tions. However, one can also compare the variations stanza
by stanza, line by line, or part by part. I t becomes apparent
by so doing t h a t Fust's own two interpretations show the
greatest deviation in stanza 5: 1.9 half-tones on the average.
His first interpretation deviates most from the neutral read-
ing in the second stanza giving an average 2.9 half-tones of
variation between the two. Within this the greatest devia-
tion values are found in the first line of stanza 2: es hoi a kin
es hoi az aldas (and where is the pain and where is the blessing)
where the deviation is 5 half tones, and in the fourth line, s
hoi a moho szdj (and where is the eager mouth. . .) where the
deviation is 4.5 half tones; the deviation is, however, of a
lesser degree in line 3 of stanza 3 (0.9 half-tone), when the
meter was clearly felt even in the 'neutral reading' (dactyls):
amelyeket senki sem erihet egeszen (which no one can underst
and fully).
The deviation between the individual interpretations - at
least as far as the melody-sequence is concerned - can be

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102 IVÀN FÔNAGY
reassuringly measured. The only question is : Is the deviation

significant, and if so, what does it mean ?
A definition of deviations in meaning, despite the applica-
bility of recently available newer methodology, is no easy
task even if we are dealing with content expressed in words.
This difficulty is greatly enhanced when we try to define
the meaning carried by the mimicry of vocal performance
and by intonation. The phonetician's instruments only allow
him to circumscribe the deviations noticed in the measure-
ments. This is what gives us a clue where to look for the
secret message. The instruments are no help in solving the
problem. From a regrettably very early point onward we are
left to suppositions. But it would be unnecessary here to
apologize for the tentative nature of such experimentation,
as it should be rather obvious from all that has been said so
far.
A Sound level pressure and a fundamental frequency
measurement was made of both readings of the poet and of
the 'neutral reading'. 6 We measured spectrographically every
sentence read by the poet and by the neutral reader as well7
in order to be able to analyze the characteristic individual
articulatorv distortions beyond the prosodie features.
s
The fundamental frequency curve was first measured by Ferenc U j vâri
on the automatic melody-writer of the Linguistic Institute of the
Hungarian A c a d e m y of Sciences; this tool was constructed b y
Kâlmân Zsdânszky and modified b y Ferenc Ujvari. Since the instru-
ment proved unable to measure every sentence — it was especially
the low pitch level of the 'neutral reading' that caused insurmountable
difficulties - all three takes were remeasured at the Communications
Research Institute of the Stockholm Technological University, under
the direction of Gunnar Fant, b y Jânos Mârtony. I seize upon this
opportunity t o register m y lasting gratitude to both of these gentle-
m e n for enabling me to carry out this melody-solving experiment.
7
The laboratory work was done partially by myself at the Communica-
tions Research Department (headed b y G. Peterson) at the Univer-
sity of Michigan using a sonograph prototype, and also on a key sono-
graph of the Austrian Academy of Sciences (headed by Walter Graf) ;
other measurements were received from É v a F ô n a g y who used the
identical sound spectrograph of the Institut Phonétique of Paris.

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METAPHORS OF MELODY AND COMPLEX MELODIES
I should like to illustrate on some selected examples how we

augmented our textual analysis with melodic analysis. Let
us start with a part of the first sentence (stanza I, line 1):
. . . kik oly aldottnak veltetek egy arcot (who deemed [thought
t h a t ] a face could be so blessed.. .). This portion of the first
sentence was given to fifteen men and women, none of them
professional linguists or phoneticians, in all the three dif-
ferent readings (two readings by the poet and the neutral
reading). First they were asked to compare the three readings
informally, spontaneously. These responses were tape record-
ed ; then we selected three typical attributes with which they
were now asked to associate the various readings, these three
attributes being ones t h a t emerged frequently during the in-
formal discussion: they were'intellectual', 'hard', and 'plain-
tive'. They were encouraged to assign the adjectives to any
or all or none of the readings. By so doing it emerged t h a t
Fust's first reading was felt to be 'plaintive', the second
'hard', and t h a t the neutral reading sounded 'intellectual'.
Comparing the two readings by Fust himself, they felt t h a t
the first was more 'intellectual'.
TABLE 6. Attributes assigned to three interpretations by 15 subjects.
Milân Fust Milân Fiist Neutral reading

first reading second reading (X.Y.)
Intellectual 3 0 15
Hard 1 12 2
Plaintive 15 4 0
The physical differences between these interpretations are

precisely statable in terms of speed, intensity, melody, and
sound color. Uncertainty begins when we try to establish cor-
relations with the deviations measured on the acoustic level.
According to H u t t a r (1967: 39-126) globally valid corre-
lations can be shown between the intensity of the sentiment
and the magnitude of the musical intervals involved. Based

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104 IVÁIST F Ó N A G Y
on this, we would have to judge the 'neutral' interpretation

more emotive, since the vocal range here is a seventh, whereas
during Füst's first interpretation the melody moves within
a fourth. Numerous dilemmas made us dissatisfied with
statistical correlations, so we had to look in each case for
actual causal connections.
I t appears on comparison of the frequency curves t h a t
during Füst's interpretations (especially the first one), the
tone descends slowly and gradually and remains all the time
well over the base-tone. (As base-tone we may regard
the lowest level reached during a given interpretation.) The
word áldottnak (blessed) stays almost on the same level
(180-175-160 Hz). I n the spoken language, as was shown in
Fónagy-Magdics (1967) the tone drops generally a third or
a fourth after the tonic syllable (180-175 Hz, amounts to
a quarter tone). I n the more impersonal reading of Professor
X.Y. the distance is even greater, as the note drops a fifth.
The strong impetus, the determined lowering of the note,
mirrors a contrasting intention and this may be the reason
why the selected test group felt t h a t X.Y.'s reading sounded
the most 'intellectual' to them. In both readings by the poet
himself the tonal level is held high and the melody seems to
describe in its course a wide arc; this, then, may be the rea-
son why 13 out of the 15 listeners during the spontaneous
discussion used such adjectives to describe it as 'poetical',
'solemn', 'dignified', and 'plaintive'.
This still does not explain, however, why the sentence
above was judged to be sad and sentimental in the poet's
first reading, but 'hard' in the second. During the sponta-
neous discussion several listeners remarked about the first
reading: "he is sighing a deep sigh in this sentence", "it
reminds me of someone sighing", "it sounds like a renouncing
sigh of acquiescence". Now sighing, physiologically, amounts
to passive outward breath after an active inward breath.
There is Jess muscular involvement during the outward
breath (as opposed to deliberate blowing) insofar as it is the

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result of the relaxing of the breathing muscles rather than

their deliberate activation. In the case of loud outward breath
(deliberate blowing) we see a frequency curve that is rapidly
raised at the beginning of the phrase, then it descends slowly.
The melody curve of the very mildly articulated, drawn out
word in the first reading clearly resembles the curve of the
sigh, i.e. nonactive outward breathing.
In the second reading the frequency curve shows a slight

rise in the first syllable (170-180 Hz), the second syllable
holds its level somewhat stiffly; in the first half of the third
syllable it steadily holds at 170 Hz, but in the second half
of the syllable it suddenly shifts down to 140 Hz.
Such a progression of frequencies implies a stiffer attitude:
a certain amount of perseverance, will, and deliberate steer-
ing. During the course of exhaling, the sub-glottal air pres-
sure under the larynx gradually decreases, which would
entail a gradual decrease of vocal frequency if the speaker
did not counterbalance it with a tightening of the vocal
chords. The melody which shows a bolder, wider arc here
merely imitates the curve of the sigh, stylistically suggesting
in fact, strength and a definite amount of will.
These two melody-attitudes, i.e. the divergence between
the two human attitudes reflected in the sounds, are even

Authenticated
106 IVAN FÓNAGY
Fig. 14
more striking in the second part, the words veltetek egy (you
deemed [judged to be] a . . .)• I n the first reading by Fust
the voice gradually rises in these words, in the second it
stays level, resisting gravity, as it were. We cannot, of course,
see the poet's index finger which was energetically keeping
track of the beat, yet the gesture becomes apparent thanks
to the strong loud stress on the first syllable of the words
that follow one another: didottnak f ^ t e t e k egy arcot (you
deemed [judged to be] a face so blessed.. .). (Both the Latin
and the Russian words for stress, ictus and udarenije orig-
inally meant 'strike'.) The more evenly distributed stress in
the first interpretation creates a curve reminiscent of gentler
hills and dales. I n the second the stressed syllables rise up
as peaks. I n the 'neutral reading' the intensity falls suddenly
after the first syllables of the words oly (so) and dldott (bles-
sed) then rises once more gently in the first syllables of veltetek
(you deemed) and egy arcot (a face), but they don't even
approach the first peak.
The intensity and melody curve do not show the tight-
ness of the pronunciation in Fust's first interpretation, for
instance in the case of the strongly rolled quality of the /r/
of the word arcot (face, acc.), though this, no doubt, contribut -
ed to the sensation of 'hardness' perceived by the 15 listeners.

Authenticated
dB
Fig. 15
But is it reallys ufficient to look at the sigh-curve to tell

whether the listeners perceived plaintiveness in the inter-
pretation? In an artistic interpretation, just as if one is
merely reading, one always discovers something new. I don't
exactly remember how many listenings it took for me to
realize t h a t this plaintiveness was present, superimposed on
the sigh-motif, in the half-tone up and down glides of the
stressed syllables. (One of the sheet music transcribers indi-
cated here a 'glissando'. Some of the listeners actually re-
marked: "He is almost crying when he comes to the word
arcot" (a face). A constriction of the pharyngeal muscles, but
mostly a laryngeal squeeze, may play a role in this articulation
faintly imitating weeping, resulting in this tortured quality.
Reading the intensity and frequency curves there is a signi-
ficant, though minute, detail t h a t stands out: the words oly
and dldottnak (so blessed) ought to blend on both of these
curves in a smooth transition, because of the liquid /j/ (spel-
led ly) in the middle, but the larynx squeezes between the two
words as during crying, and the vocal chords stop resonating
for 0.9 seconds. I t is the glottal squeeze which is responsible
for the slowing down of the vibration and its brief interruption.

Authenticated
IVAN FONAGY
We meet this melodic formula - which can easily be traced

back to crying - in a great number of unrelated languages
(Fonagy-Magdics 1963), and even in the language of music.
I t can be heard both in Verdi's Requiem and in Kodaly's
Psalmus Hungaricus (see Fonagy-Magdics 1963:311). I n
Fust's own reading this lamento is not as clearly and unequi-
vocally present as in the speech of a child who speaks while
Hz
400
300-
260
200
160-
1 1
I I 1 I ' 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 I r 1 1 1 1 1 r-
20 UO 60 80 100 120 M 160 180 200 220 csec
a P g t e r mi n d i g ha z u d / k
Peter is always lying
F i g . 16
crying, or as in music. But the same is true about the sigh;

it does not reveal itself straightforwardly in the form of a
voiced sigh, but merely through the main intonational con-
tour of the entire sentence. Melodic analysis is rendered
difficult - and simultaneously interesting - primarily by the
fact t h a t the two schemes, i.e. the scheme of the sigh and
t h a t of the complaint, manifest themselves simultaneously,
as if layered on top of one another. An expressive artistic
melody is usually the simultaneous integration of several col-
loquial melodic formula patterns,8
8
T h e t r o u b l e w i t h m o s t of c o n t e m p o r a r y l i n g u i s t i c s p e c u l a t i o n h a s
b e e n f o r q u i t e s o m e t i m e , b u t e s p e c i a l l y since 1957, a r e f u s a l t o allow
simultaneity c o m p o n e n t s in linguistic descriptions. This h a s ruinous
c o n s e q u e n c e s f o r t h e a n a l y s i s of c o n t e x t , s o m e t h i n g l i n g u i s t s a r e
beginning to p a y m o r e a n d more a t t e n t i o n to, as does R o b i n L a k o f f
( 1 9 7 2 : 907 — 927). T h e n e e d f o r s i m u l t a n e i t y c o m p o n e n t s , o n t h e o t h e r
h a n d , is c l e a r l y r e c o g n i z e d a n d s u c c e s s f u l l y p r a c t i c e d b y t h e s t r a t i f i -
c a t i o n a l i s t s , see L a m b (1966), L o c k w o o d (1972), a n d M a k k a i (1972,

Authenticated
The question arises: How can we be certain that artistic

intonation occasionally carries several simple melody-con-
tours at once? The following simple test proved, so far, to
be the most effective: we play the suspected sentence (or
part of a sentence) once or more to a test subject who then
is asked to repeat it exactly as he heard it after five or ten
seconds. Tested subjects, in the overwhelming majority of
cases read back such suspected complex intonation patterns
with one or another customary colloquial, ordinary intonation
which they attributed to the sentence they just heard. I n the
given case the test subjects pronounced the sentence kik oly
aldottnak veltetek egy arcot (you who have deemed [judged to
be] a face so blessed. . . ) either with the sigh-arc contour, or
Hz
wo-
rn
7«H C)
120 •
100
90 k i k o lu a ! d ottn a k ve I t et e k i
SO J
~20 40 7o ~80 100 120 1ÌO 150 ISO ZÒO 220 240 260 280 csec
Hz
160.
m
120
wo H \ "X
90
SO A ofu a ! d oit nak vêt t e i e k e gy a r c o t
Z0 40 60 SO WO 120 M ' 760 WO 200 ' ZZO csec

Fig. 17
1973). If it b e c o m e s fair g a m e for linguistics to analyze intended mean-

ing b y looking a t i n t o n a t i o n contours, the s y s t e m a t i c s t u d y of simul-
t a n e i t y will b e c o m e a compelling necessity. Consider the emotional
correlates t h a t c a n be found in simple 'yes' or 'no' answers to ques-
tions s u c h as 'shall we go?' 'Wouldyoulike to come with me?', etc. Disgust,
dragging one's feet, eagerness, matter-of-factness are easily performed
b y a n y skilled professional actor. The p l a y w r i g h t usually includes his
instructions in his script a n d it is t h e director's job to see to it t h a t
t h e actor performs t h e author's message never b y e x t r a words but
precisely b y using his voice appropriately. [A.M.]

Authenticated
110 IVAN FÓNAGY
with the plaintive melody heard in the rendering with t h e

stressed syllables lurching upward now and again. Thus we
can see t h a t the complex melody decomposes during t h e
experiments into its component base-melodies.
I t is the complaint-theme growing out of this complex
melody t h a t dominates in the second line, particularly in t h e
poet's own first interpretation: . . .amely oly hegyes lett mint
a szamdre (which became as pointed as t h a t of a d o n k e y . . .).
dB
+ 10-Ì
0-
-10-
-20-
-30-
ZO kO BO BO 100 120 m ISO ISO 200 220 ZkO 260 280 csec
Hz
ZOO.
160.
m\
BO-
20 io 60 ' 80 ' 100 ' 120 ' lùo ' ISO 180 ' 200 220 2W ' 260 ' 280 CseC
amely ? oly fie gy e s lett mint a szam a rè
Fig. 18
This transdevelopment of themes, this latent, suggested

motif-unfolding, is satisfactory from both a musical and a
psychological point of view. The intonation, however, dif-
fers significantly from the ordinary colloquial intonation
heard in X.Y.'s speech, who by stressing the word oly (so),
lends the sentence an explicative, rationalizing tone of voice.
The melody heard in the poetic interpretation does not be-
long to the sentence intrinsically, but contrariwise: it differs
from the melody one would expect (based on the text ) signifi-
cantly. Conversely, one could also say t h a t the melody heard
carries, usually, a different kind of text. The greater the dif-
ference between the text and the melody, the more obvious

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dB
Fig. 19
the borrowing becomes, the fact t h a t the melody has been

carried over into an area of textual incongruity. The contrast
is classically sharp in the last part of the sentence. The into-
nation of the words Valamely edes bus nevetestol (from some
sweet-sad laughter) expresses sadness, complaint, and acquies-
cence. The tested audience remarked: "He's practically
weeping here"; "what now, laughter?"; "come on" - and
so on. The word nevet6st6l (from/because of laughter) is
particularly expressive here because beyond the fact t h a t
it carries its ordinary syntactic duty of indicating the end
of the sentence, it simultaneously enriches communication
by a message not marked in the sentence itself: it is a sad
wave of the hand expressed in sound, a discreetly indicated
act of weeping which changes the overall valence of the
sentence. I t somehow becomes ironic because of this word.
Melody forms t h a t do not fit the context in which the
text was spoken are related to metaphors and figures of
speech. Both with the trope and with the metaphor we
employ a linguistic sign with a meaning different from its
original meaning. An intonation-metaphor (see Fonagy 1970)
just like a lexical or a grammatical one becomes expressive

Authenticated
112 IVAN FÓNAGY
and the tool of communication-condensation precisely by

virtue of the fact that despite its collision with the t e x t it
maintains its original meaning as well. The interference of
melody and text creates a meaning increment; it suggests
commentaries not expressed by the words. The word nevetes
(laughter) is, thus, provoked to be reinterpreted ironically.
The expression csodalatos fillem (my wonderful ears) recalls
the attitude of a child running to his mother with his com-
plaint. This dissonant, mildly grating mixture of attitudes
reminds one of Ionesco's Le roi se meurt, in which the pro-
tagonist refuses t h e thought of death with less dignity t h a n
Fust's old man and runs to his wife, just like a child to his
mother. In Les chaises Ionesco's old man sits in his wife's
lap who nurses him just like a two or three-year-old child.
The momentary regression is more veiled in Fust's "Old Age"
where it is alluded to only by the never unequivocal melody.
We encounter melody metaphors even in ordinary col-
loquial speech, just as lexical and grammatical metaphors
are also not the strict property of poetic language alone.
But we can pursue the parallelism even further. The melody-
metaphors of spoken colloquial language are just as tradi-
tional and conventional as the metaphors or similes of popu-
lar usage. We see such colloquial melody transfers in Hungar-
i a n when instead of the interrogative intonation in a rheto-
ical question the declarative intonation is used, as in tudna
kerem tuzet adni? (could you light me a match?). We also
find in Hungarian cases when the interrogative intonation
is used instead of the imperative, implying mildness or a
certain degree of politeness, as in add csak ide azt a konyvet
(literally, 'give me only here t h a t book!' equivalent of
'would you mind handing me t h a t book', a pseudo-question
in English as well).9
9
English examples are m a n y and not too difficult to think of. The
most commonly known case is the obligatory use of the declarative
(falling) intonation with wh- questions, as in where is my coat? What
do you say to that ? Who is that ? which are all genuine questions having

Authenticated
In an artistic interpretation the melody-metaphor is a

once-and-for-all, unique occurrence, just as lexical meta-
phors featuring in a poem are also cases of hapax legomenon.
The special privilege of artistic diction and melody-meta-
phors is that more than one, mostly two 'inadequate' melo-
dies may simultaneously occupy the place of the expected
intonation. The quoted sentence - s oly hegyes lett mint a
szamare (and became as pointed as that of a donkey) in
Fust's first interpretation, for instance, realizes at once the
melodic schemata for complaint, pleading, and quarrel-
someness. Such an integration and simultaneous realization
of two lexical metaphors, i.e. the amalgamation of two
words, is not possible. 10
REPRESENTATIONAL MELODIES
It is by now an accustomed oddity that we sense the increase

of the frequency of the 'grond note' as a rise, its de-
crease as a fall; i.e. the periodical vibration of the vocal folds
to be pronounced with a declarative intonation. Speech-act metaphors

in English amount to a more complicated situation since the syntax
participates in the pia fraus of understatement and politeness also.
Hence in English one finds an entire class of sememicj idioms (see
Makkai 1972) built on the principle that one had better not make direct
requests if one wishes to be 'polite'; pseudo-questions are employed
instead. May I ask who's calling? May I have half a pound, of sliced
ham? Would you mind closing that door? etc. are only questions on the
surface; they are, in fact, disguised imperatives. With these pseudo-
questions in English the interrogative intonation is used in contrast
to the declarative intonation of the genuine wh- questions. [A.M.]
10 Fonagy speaks here of what is found in general. There is a brand of
poetry in North American English, especially the type invented by
e. e. cummings, whose clear intention is sometimes to create new
words suggestive of more than one meaning by blending them into
a strikingly fitting neologism. It is perhaps true that such blends are
more easily accomplished when the words so blended are not meta-
phors but straight primary lexemes themselves, is in sexessful from
sex and successful (coined by Walter Winchell describing a bad but
attractive actress), but it remains at least conceivable that even meta-
phors could be blended lexically. [A.M.]
8

Authenticated
114 IVAN FÓSTAGY
creates a sensation of relative heights in the listener's con-

sciousness; variety in vocal tenseness is seen as motion in
space. The concepts of intonation and cadence (Hungarian
hanglejtes: literally 'voice-dancing') are associated with danc-
ing or jumping sounds. Intonation becomes suitable for the
modelling of dynamic processes precisely because of its affin-
ity with dancing. The three melodies we have analyzed
above are also viewable as harboring a tendency to depict
motion; they, in fact, crowd three emotional attitudes. The
speeding up of the rhythm, the regularly recurrent loud
stresses, and the lack of pauses may b e t h o u g h t of as mirror-
ing hopeless, frantic search, anticipating on the musical
level the next 'movement'.
The entire next stanza conjures up such an atmosphere.
In his first reading, all the way from the words 8 hoi a kin
(and where is the pain. . .) to kezemben (in my hand), Fust
does not hold a single pause in a stanza t h a t consists of 33
words. But neither can the voice take a break when the con-
sciousness is running along 'demented paths' chasing lost
times. This is how the interpretation shifts the long, unend-
ing lines of the poem from the visual channel to the auditive
channel. Here again it is worthwhile to compare the artistic
interpretation with the more 'neutral' reading. In the latter
there are pauses; the sentence-part S hoi a kin (and where
is the pain) is followed by a 40 csec. pause, and the word
utaimon (on my paths) is separated from the gorbe bottal a
kezemben (with a crooked stick in my hand) construction by
a 44 csec. pause.
Representing via melody is not one of the common functions
of intonation in ordinary spoken language. No matter how
great the role of intonation in every day speech, it merely
expresses attitudes and sentiments, but it does not model
reality. The vocal mapping of movements or other visual
patterns belongs strictly to artistic performances. In both of
Fust's readings the tone jumps up and then falls down in the
construction loholni bolondul (to run madly), in contrast with

Authenticated
the spoken colloquial habit; in spoken versions loholni (to

run) has a natural, falling tendency.
Io h otni b o Ion d ul ?
Fig. 20
The tendency to represent is obviously present here. In

other instances the question of interpretation is debatable.
The words kergetni az ozet (to hase the deer/doe) (stanza 2,
line 2), differing from the habit of common speech, start with
a long anacrusis; the first four syllables are pronounced
rapidly and without any stress-peaks; the pitch level is even
and picks up a bit only in the first syllable of the word ozet
(the deer [acc]). So far the facts. Actually, however, there is
meaning-supplement discernible in the metaphor of the
expression picks up, as used above. For me, in the given con-
text, this rhythmical structure conjures up the picture of a
merry chase. The anacrusis, the levelness of the tone, the
repression of stress, and the relatively fast rhythm symbolize
the first phase of the chase when the young man tries to
catch the girl with great vigor; later, in the lengthy o sound
of the word ozet the voice's gliding upward and downward
symbolizes a stretched-out arm reaching out for the girl.
8*

Authenticated
116 IVAN FONAGY
Listening to the sadness and the fatigue of the voice, however,

we see the old man who is barely able to do justice to the
chase even with his voice, who gets exhausted even by chasing
the images of his memories. Questions such as these are hard
to settle with the data and methods at our disposal. One
interpretation does not necessarily exclude the other, and
the integration of the two images may lend dramatic depth
and a new dimension to the scene - unless, of course, it merely
brings out emphatically the connections given in the poem
ab ovo.
The gradual narrowing of the vocal range during the course
of the sentence may be interpreted as play with the two time
dimensions. At the beginning of the sentence in the words
loholni bolondul (to run madly) the voice even covers a sixth,
but later it tires, narrows to a third, levels off, and at the
end hovers around the same height, as if the gradual narrow-
ing of the melody-frame were not only the sign of fatigue,
but would also decrease the apparent size of the objects
contained in this frame, and thereby their gradual disap-
pearance in the distance would be underscored by changes
in vocal intensity as well.
Turning back to the more easily controlled acoustic facts,
we find upon comparing the poet's voice with the reading of
Prof. X.Y. how frequently and systematically the poet uses
the anacrusis technique, as in the phrases amely oly hegyes
lett (which became as pointed as) (I. 2); nemcsak a szamoca
(not only the strawberry) (I, 3); s utdna ledolni (and after-
wards to recline) (II, 2); Hoi vagytok ti mozgalmak (where
are you, commotions) (II, 4), es fekete atkok (and black curses)
(II, 4), orok sietes (eternal hurrying) (II, 4); Hoi a moho szdj
{where is the eager mouth) (II, 4) s hoi a nevetesem (and where
is my laughter) (II, 4). In the less emotive, more intellectually
measured reading of Prof. X.Y. there is never a main stress
on a last syllable, as he would say: nemcsak a szamoca (not
only the strawberry) (I, 3); Hoi vagytok ti mozgalmak (II, 4);
orok sietes, (eternal hurrying), etc. I t is also striking how the

Authenticated
anacrusis gets more and more widely spread in the first

stanza and how toward the end of the second it becomes a
steady formula. I t becomes frequent when the desire motif,
t h a t is the motif of hopeless desire, takes prominence in the
poem.
The upbeat is an organic part of the melody-formula of
desire not only in languages t h a t have final stress (such as
French), but also languages t h a t have stress on the root (as
common in Germanic languages), and even Hungarian.
According to the testimony of music this tendency is not the
individual characteristic of certain languages, but rather the
natural expression form of desire in general. The slowing
down of the tempo, the stifled intensity, the slow, gradual
raising of the squeezed down voice is quite characteristic of
the musical manifestations of desire also. Toward the end
of the motif the intensity decreases to a minimum, but fre-
quently the vocal level rises meekly and not very forcefully.
This is how desire is expressed in the prelude of Wagner's
Tristan und Isolde; in the second movement of Beethoven's
sonata Les adieux; in the Brahms song 0 wilsst ich doch den
Weg zurilck; at the beginning of Debussy's The afternoon of
a Faun; in the first scene of Act I I of PelUas et Melisande
('elle est si loin'). In Fust's very markedly musical interpre-
tation the tone rises similarly, in a broad arc, but with many
slowing down, breaking effects in the words hoi a moho szaj
(where is the eager mouth?), but it finally fades away feebly
in the drawn-out vowel of szaj (mouth).

Authenticated
118 IVAN FÓNAGY
db
1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85csec
Ho I a m o h o sz a j ?
Fig. 22
Such a prosody, this musical formula is the interpretation

of the attitude of desire, its summation and acting out. The
desire is directed toward a removed object. I t is obvious to
the intellect t h a t the moment of action has not arrived, t h a t
it is necessary to wait, quieting down the desire. This inner
control of self-denial creates an increasing tension - since
unattainability does not decrease but paradoxically increases
the wish - wherepon the desire unfolds itself and removes all
obstacles from its way, even if slowly and carrying its self-
imposed shackles. The hopeless action is left unfinished.
According to the testimony of the tone rising again at the
end despite the decrease of intensity in volume, the person
full of desire turns once again toward the object of his desire
as if he had reached the unattainable. The pantomime is
closed with a hopeful gesture - fulfillment within unful-
fillment - leaving it paradoxically open. In Fust's inter-
pretation the scene of desire closes with resignation, and the
voice drops off, crestfallen. There is an apparent contradiction,
a paradox here, when we use the word pantomime. We
are talking about a vocal pantomime; the carrying of the

Authenticated
intonation of the interpreter, like a dance, does amount to

a vocal realization of a voiceless motion, a mime.
DECORATION AND CONTENT
Vocal mime of the above type is separated from decorative

musical motion by only one step. The reinterpretation, the
variation, and repetition of motifs so frequently used by
Fust amount to the latter, especially in the garland-like
progression of the melody in stanzas 2 and 4.
y^nnnr
Fig. 23
I endeavored to correlate this particular metaphor with

certain syntactic characteristics of the text. I t becomes quite
understandable in some instances how such a viva voce
interpretation can create a sensation of linearity in the listen-
er. From among the fifteen listeners of the reading during
our tests, first three, later four mentioned garland-like struc-
tures, pointed arches, twining plants and lianes. (The original
of the drawing above was prepared by one of our listeners.)
I t was lines 4 and 5 of stanza 2, in particular, t h a t seemed
to create such a graphic sensation; more closely the fact
t h a t the two lines, by partial repetition, seem to bend into
one another:
.. .s hoi a nevetesem ? (and where's my laughter?
iJristen, hoi a nevetesem... Oh Lord, where's my laughter...)
Fig. 24
Let us look at the musical transcription of these lines as

the poet spoke them. We notice, first of all, t h a t the two
sentences are not separated by a pause. More precisely, a
clearly audible, loud breath follows immediately the first
question, and right away we hear the second sentence. I t is as
if the second sentence literally grew out of the first. But the

Authenticated
120 IVAN FÓNAGY
absnece of the pause in itself would not yet justify this

sensation, for one might also say t h a t 'I felt t h a t the senten-
ces are run together'. But the two sentences are not merely
tied together by the absence of the pause but also by virtue
of the motif-repetition, both in the text and in the melody-
line. As far as the text is concerned, we encounter what classi-
Hol a mo-hó szaj shola nc-ve-té - sera? Or - is-ten, hoi a ne -ve - té-sem
* i W « t . t t „
Fig. 25
cal rhetoric used to call a correction. This type of thought

formation is particularly suitable for the creating of the sen-
sation of twining plants, since we are stepping back in time,
as it were; we are returning to a statement t h a t was made
earlier, and with some change and modification, we repeat it.
But with this correction we have also brought it u p to a
higher level. Our tested subject, to be sure, drew a garland
in upward motion, tracing precisely, by the way, also the
melody-line of Fust's reading. The beginning of line 5 repeats
the part heard toward the end of line 4 transposed upward
by a third. The graphic figure represents, therefore, as pro-
jected onto a plane, the dynamic essence of linear linguistic
communication (Saussure [1915] 1968:103). But we could also
say t h a t language - both spoken and written - reduces with its
particular method a graphic design from two dimensions to one.
Line 3 of stanza 4 is particularly noteworthy from the
point of view of the technique of recoding:

Authenticated
S erre felelne a hegyomlas s e hegyomlasnak felelne a tenger...

(And a collapse of mountains were to be answering this and the
sea were to be answering the collapse of mountains...)
The repetition in the sentence, once again, is brought out
by going back to one of the components of the antecedent
clause. The word felelne (would answer, would be answering)
is repeated unchanged, the word tengernek, however, has two
ancestors in the antecedent clause. More obviously it is
tenger (sea) itself; more hidden is the allusion to erre (to
this, unto this) which refers to dobszdra, dobszonak (sound of
drum beat). The various sounds of nature 'answer each other
here'; erre in the sentence refers back to the previous sen-
tence, t h a t is to the drum beat, and s e hegyomlasnak (to
this collapse of mountains) supposes the word hegyomlas
(a collapse of mountains) of the previous sentence. The words
thus repeated change syntactic functions from clause to
clause, hence the change of order:
A B C C' B' A'

Fig. 26
This abcc'b'a' gradation, again, is the kind of figure which

may be regarded as a garland. This formula is also reminis-
cent of Classical Greek epanodos becoming thereby even more
suitable for — literally — a chain of thought: I t is as if the
sentence were tied in a knot, and, turned inside out, repeated
itself (cf. Figure 23).
A small, seemingly insignificant detail gives an insight into
the technique of the vocal transcoding of garlands. In the
above quoted line (containing a correction) hegyomlas (collapse
of mountains) is the last word of the first sentence; it is fol-
lowed by a second sentence introduced by the conjunction s
(and), beginning with the word hegyomlasnak. Consequently
we have at the borderline of the two sentences the sequence:
. . . s # s . . . The pause preceded and followed by the voice-
less alveo-palatal fritative creates a gap in the funda-
mental frequency curve. In the second reading of the poet —

Authenticated
122 IVAN FÓNAGY
a reading less decorated with garlands — there is a long gap

of 83 csec. (figure 25). In the first reading, however, the inter-
ruption is much shorter, 12 csec. (figure 26), and this small
de
+10-
o
-10
-20
-30
Hz
ZO to 60 SO 100 120 m 160 180 200 ' 220 csec
i<00
300-,
200-
100.
SOi
—1—I—1 —i— I
20 to 60 BO 100 120 no 160 180 200 ' 220 csec
nem e I e I t a h k o r az re g nek
Fig. 27
gap is completely filled in with fricative noise. We know

moreover that 12 csec correspond to the average duration
of ont /§/ sound. That means that one and the same segment
is occupied by two phonemes, the final /§/ of hegyomlâs and
the /§/ of the conjunction, introducing the echo-word, re-
peated on a higher level:
Is a hegyomlâsnak...
. . . a hegyomlâjs
Thus, the poetic recital reproduces the loop of the garland
as exactly as possible within the speech chain (or even more
exactly than possible). The melodic line could be rightly com-
pared in such cases to linear ornaments on a Grecian urn, and
vocal art to decorative art.
George Lukacs considers ornaments — geometrical confi-
gurations in painting, plastic art or music — as 'worthless'
(outlandish), having no ties with any concrete object (1969,
I. 303). He suggests at the same time that there must be some

Authenticated
T H E VOICE OF T H E P O E T 123
kind of indirect a n d highly intricate relation between deco-

rative configurations a n d t h e social base (I. 320).
The presence of non-linguistic, non-communicative, purely
decorative ('worthless') elements in artistic vocal perfor-
mances could hardly be questioned. On t h e other hand, it
seems t h a t speech melody, withdrawing f r o m verbal commu-
nication and moving towards music, becomes nevertheless
more expressive, conveying a 'musical' message, in this case a
garland-motive. This musical message can receive in a given
verbal a n d social context a definite meaning, even if this
meaning is hard to define.
W h a t may t h e concrete message be underneath the gar-
lands of Milán F ü s t ' s poem? I t might be restlessness, t h e
endless play of waves, t h e way memory images grow out of
one another. If we start by looking at t h e poem as a whole,
a n d if we consider t h e high frequency of u p w a r d moving,
towering musical structures, we could be t e m p t e d to postulate
a P r o m e t h e a n message: t h e eternal search for something
beyond our reach, an u p w a r d struggle, uncompromising
a n d endless, t h e search for great coherences, t h e t r u s t in the
power of all-embracing, inextricably interwoven ideas.
Two Interpretations
This is of course only one of t h e possible interpretations. Let

us remember t h a t t h e poet himself seems to suggest two basi-
cally different lyrical solutions in giving two different vocal
interpretations of stanzas four and five.
The last sentence of the third stanza rests floating, the
verse is a run-on line:
But the Deity . ..
The first line of t h e fourth stanza contains the predicate

a n d brings t h e answer: "did not look at him". The seemingly
univocal t e x t of stanzas four and five did not prevent the
poet from suggesting two different kinds of divine interven-

Authenticated
124 IVAN FÓNAGY
tion. The descending melody curve of nern nezett rd (did not

look at him) evokes a resigned gesture: 'of course it did not';
and recalls at the same time words of comfort: 'It does not
matter', 'Don't worry'. These banal phrases move us far
away from Olympus towards the human sphere. With the
plain melody of the next sentence, Nern felelt akkor az dreg-
nek (It did not then answer the old man), borrowed from
such commonplaces as 'You can't help it', 'Such is life', we
definitely land on E a r t h (figure 27).
dB
ne m nez e tt ri ne m fe lelt akkor n o re g nek

Fig. 28
In the first reading (figure 28), however, the tone is ele-

vated, the melody line stiff, there is no pause between the
two sentences (they contrast even in this respect with every-
day speech).
If the second version is more the complaint of a human
being, in the first version the voice rises over the individual
tragedy lifting it onto a higher sphere. In the second version
it is the Deity t h a t descends to man, identifies with him,
relives man's tragedy together with him.
The distance between the two interpretations grows with
every phrase. The solemnity of the first version obliterates
the t e x t : "For the Deity wept." These divine tears reflect
strong emphasis; intellectual emotion rather than commiser-
ation. The first reading contrasts with the more sentimental

Authenticated
dB
+ 10-
— 10 -
— 20
— 30 H
1 1 1 1 1 1 1
Hz
I I I I I I I i • i • i •
20 40 60 80 100 120 140 160 180 200csec
400
300
2001
100-:
50- 1 1 1 1
I I I I I—1 I 1
I—1— r- l— 1 —I—i
20 40 60 80 100 120 140 160 180 200csec
si r t az j s^ t e n s é g
Fig. 29
second version, characterized by a mid level, gentle fall and

a stylization of crying in the protracted /i/ sound (cf. figures
29 and 30).
dB
-10.
- 2 0 -
-30 -
20 ' UO 60 SO ' 100 120 ' lio ' 160 ' 180 ' csec
Hz
k00
300-
200-
100-
50- -1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 ' 1 1 1 1 1 r 1 1
20 40 60 80 100 120 M 160 180 esse
s i r t a z i s t e n s è g
Fig. 30

Authenticated
126 IVÂN FÔNAGY
Fig. 31
THE TECHNIQUE
AND CONTENT OF THE VIVA VOCE STYLE
Vocal style is a kind of message. One cannot say t h e same

thing in two different ways without altering t h e message t o
some degree. One cannot convert t e x t into viva voce speech
without giving it new meaning as well. W h a t we call manner
of articulation or vocal style is, in fact, archaic communica-
tion built into linguistic communication. The arche-language
one tries to explore by means of comparative reconstruction
and paleoanthropological methods is always present in every-
day speech ; it is inherent in viva voce.
T h e code of t h e arche-language still alive in style is f u n d a -
mentally different f r o m normal linguistic codes (see Fonagy
1971). The signs of t h e linguistic code — morphemes, lexem-
es, etc. — are mostly arbitrary. There is no n a t u r a l cor-
respondence between t h e signified and its expression, only
a traditional link (Saussure [1915] 1968: 100). B u t t h e code
which is t h e base of vocal communication knows no arbitrary
conventions. The expression here is either a symptom of t h e
expressed content, as for instance in t h e case of a plaintive
vocal glide, or its symbol, such as our melody-line suggesting

Authenticated
T H E VOICE O F T H E P O E T 127
restless search or mad running. In both cases the expression

interprets itself: the content is materialized, physically pres-
ent in the expression.
I t is important to notice t h a t this is in itself not just a priv-
ilege of artistic interpretation but it is characteristic of
speech in general. The specificity of artistic voice is the asso-
ciation of individual melody-metaphors with texts with
which they are not usually associated or even which they may
contradict. The privilege of artistic voice is, above all, the
integration of plain, conventional intonation patterns into
specific complex forms of melody. By saying this we do not
mean to exhaust artistic vocal performance. We have not,
for instance, covered evocation, which is related to allusion,
used by Fust several times. Borrowing from the melody
depository of the story teller and the priest or minister, he
can evoke a story teller or a minister easily. The melody of
the words volt egy dreg gorbg egykor (there was once an old
Greek) is a paraphrase of the melody t h a t usually introduces
a story (Fust evokes here the storyteller) but the melody of
ifjusagdt visszakovetelven (demanding his youth back) is
spoken in an elevated tone of voice, and reminds the listener
of a sermon from the pulpit (evocation of a minister).
We have to admit, of course, t h a t pre-verbal codes are poor
and ambiguous. They become complex and differentiated
only if they are realized simultaneously with the Lexico-
grammatical, conceptual code.
VOICE AND MUSICALITY
Neither have we discussed yet another method favored by

Flist, namely the playing up of the musical qualities in one's
voice. Musicality is one of the dimensions of voice percep-
tion.
The motion of the tone receives depth if the parameters of
time and height are augmented by a third parameter. The

Authenticated
128 IVAN FONAGY
a t e n g e r
Fig. 32
musicality of voice depends on the regularity of the frequency

of the 'ground note' within a given syllable. 11
Usually we take two poles: speech and singing. The human
voice is regarded as singing if it reaches and/or surpasses a
certain degree of musicality, otherwise we call it speech.
But such a bipolar categorization is not of universal validity.
11
There are various ways to measure the regularity of the frequency
line. The roughest approximation is the following: one determines the
interval of the differences, i.e. t h e amplitude of the deviations f r o m
the median line. A finer approach is the measuring of the total varia-
tions of the curve in disjunct intervals. The most satisfactory measure
is perhaps redundancy. If we regard t h e frequency of the subsequent
tremors as a Markov chain, one can determine the message value,
t h a t is, the redundancy of the distribution of frequencies. Musicality
is directly proportionate with redundancy and inversely proportionate
with information.

Authenticated
The Maoris of New Zealand developed four categories, using

four terms: Koorero corresponds to speech; haka is a stylis-
tically colored, melodious manner of speaking; karakia is
the name of voice during a ritual chant; and waiata is sing-
ing. Despite the bipolar European categorization there
surely are intermediate categories in the West as well. Klara
Magdics differentiates between nine degrees (1963) of musi-
cality in voice from the point of view of the musical organi-
zation of a work. Thus solemnity, or tender emotions, move
speech toward the positive end of the scale, toward a maxi-
mum of musicality.
Thus, decreasing the musicality of the voice may be an
instrument of expression. The spoken language uses it rather
rarely. One West Australian language, Nyangumata (see
List 1963: 2), indicates increase of semantic intensity, a sort
of 'superlative affix', with the increase of musicality. But
musicality certainly plays a greater role in the artistic inter-
pretation of texts.
One of the sources of the musicality in "Old Age" is
the regularity of the frequency-progressions of the "ground
note". I t is this near-musicalness which separates the
poem from the banality of an ordinary letter being read out
loud. When I asked him about the attendant circumstances
of the poem's birth, Fust told me t h a t a correspondent from
America asked him how he felt and what he was doing, to
which he answered, " Ah! hoi van mar az en szemem! Az en.
fillem!" (O, where is my hearing and my eye-sight, lit.
where are my ears and my eyes). I t was while he wrote the
letter t h a t he realized: "But this is a poem!" First he fin-
ished writing the letter and then he wrote the poem.
The poet quotes the genesis of the poem, in fact recapitu-
lates the metamorphosis of a trivial prose letter, when his own
reading voice of the poem approaches singing line by line,
stanza by stanza. Line 3, stanza 1 comes closest to musicality
in the words felserkent nemcsak a szamoca, de anndl az duzzad-
tabb es pirosabb ajak is (not just the strawberry, but the
9

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130 IVAN FÓNAGY
richer a n d redder lips, too, burst open. . .). Thus we can see
t h a t music gains prominence as t h e memories of his y o u t h
gain prominence. The legends of his y o u t h appear as t h e
psychological sponsors of t h e musicality in t h e old man's
voice. When t h e poet returns into t h e present a n d t h e dis-
tance separating t h e past f r o m t h e present seems even great-
er t h a n it did during t h e first phase of t h e t h o u g h t ' s un-
foldment, t h e voice drops down f r o m t h e high musical pitch,
t h e intensity decreases gradually, t h e melodiousness (the
voice) fades into whisper, t h e 'voice' goes mute.
Hz
S 10 15 20 25 30 35 10 4 5 50 55 60 65 70 75 60 <5 90 95 100 105 1*3 115 120 125 130 135 HO » 5 150 e s s e
0 ly n a ggy à n o tt it e g e I ô tt e
Fig. 33
The inherent contradiction of memory gains expression

in t h e contrapuntal play of t h e t e x t and t h e reader's voice.
This inherent contradiction, of course, stems f r o m t h e fact
t h a t a memory-image is apiece of fiction which is psycholog-
ically real, bringing t o life a reality which has become un-
real. I n his first reading, paradoxically, t h e poet deprives
t h e words irtôzatos dalolâs (dreadful singing) of their volume
a n d energy. The boundless energy of y o u t h dissolves in
thin air right while we are listening to t h e words, telescoping
t h e tragedy of passing away into a 5-second voice-drama.
I n stanza 3 there are two sentences, studded with meter
by t h e way, whose frequency-progression is more regular
t h a n t h a t of t h e rest : ôsz hajât verte a szél is (even his grey
hair was beaten by t h e wind) a n d megrendûltek a dombok
('the hills shook'). The musical coloring underscores t h e pa-

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thos of the gesture. I t is as if the hills themselves were mak-

ing music, reminding one of the legendary morning music
of the pyramids and the Sphinx. One can hear the roaring of
the sea from the line: a hegyomlasnak felelne a tenger (the
Fig. 34
The uneven frequency progression of the line igy meg kell

az embernek dregedni (man must thus grow old) gives a clear
contrast both audibly and visually. The voice blending into
singing severs the sentence from the present in stanza 1, and
from reality in stanza 4. The figure of the old man assumes
legendary proportions: oly naggyd nott meg elotte (grew so
huge in front of it [the Deity]).
Then suddenly we return to everyday reality. The music
ceases, and the voice slips back into prose: S aztdn hat el-
ment persze (and then, of course, he left).
I n stanza 5 once more, for the last time, the voice becomes
musical after the fulfillment of the old man's f a t e : meg na-
gyobb figyelem s a feje koriil tompa derenges (an even greater
attention and a dull glimmer around his head).
Everyday speech is lifted into musicality. This transforma-
9*

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132 IVAN FÓNAGY
dB
20 40 60 80 100 120 140 160 180csec

t o m p a d_e r e n g e s
Fig. 35
tion of prose into music — considered by romantic philos-

ophers and poets (Rousseau, Herder, Novalis, Tieck, Bern-
hardi) and some linguists (e. g. Jespersen) as an ancestral
language, the forgotten common language of Nature — is
the factual expression of an ideological content, hardly ver-
balized in the poem: it prefigures human elevation toward
the higher, spiritual spheres.
Paradoxically the voice becomes more musical and at the
same time it fades away into whispering. (In physiological
terms, the vocal folds are held together, but the arytenoids
are kept apart from the start, finally even the vocal folds
are drifted slightly apart. As a result, the sentence is voiced
and whispered at the same time, but the voice is progressiv-
ely fading.) How to translate into words t h e glottal mim-
icry? The protagonist rebelling against old age falls silent; he
becomes a breath of air, a pure spirit, and the contours of a

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higher, more harmonic existence take shape from this breath

of air. The body can transform itself into spirit, it may reach
the higher mansions of art and poetry.
I t is perhaps at this juncture t h a t it becomes particularly
apparent how arbitrary an act it is to spell out the content
of the music of language despite relatively precise instru-
mental measurements now available. Even translation is
largely an arbitrary act. The original flaw in every trans-
lation is t h a t the French, Hungarian, English, Maori, etc.
notions, which form the bases of the words these languages
have, do not correspond to each other precisely. 12
Now there is another kind of translation, namely the kind
when we translate from voice into language. When engaged
in the latter we start with a 'code' — if one can call it t h a t —
which has no words and knows no 'concepts'. I t is during
the process of 'translation' t h a t we t r y to bring to the verbal
level the pre-linguistic content. This act, unfortunately,
resembles almost completely one of the more celebrated ex-
ploits of the legendary Baron Munchausen who rescued him-
self from sinking in a swamp by lifting himself out by his
own hair.
What seems to be certain and safe to say is t h a t the musi-
cality of the voice lends a new dimension to the interpreta-
tion, and t h a t in this dimension, the poem read out loud,
moving between the negative and the positive poles, en-
riches the message of the poem with a definite increment in
actual content. I t is further clear t h a t the voice is not merely
musical because it brings the speech closer to human sing-
ing. The last line of "Old Age" is musical precisely because
12
The reader is invited to compare this statement to that expressed
in the translator's "The Transformation of a Turkish Pasha into a Big
Fat Dummy", in Makkai and Lockwood (1973) ; also to the postscript
of Anthologie de la Poésie Hongroise edited by Ladislas Gara (1962)
and the essay on translation by T. A. Kabdebo in The Poetry of Hun-
gary: An Anthology in English Translation from the 11th Century to
the Present, T. Kabdebo, A. Makkai, and P. Tabori (eds.) The Hague,
Mouton, in press). [A.M.]

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134 IVAN FÓNAGY
of t h e fact t h a t unmusicality of t h e closing line of t h e poem

is motivated, it is t h e expression of a preconscious thought.
Now this is precisely what music does: it expresses pre-
conceptual content. Thus F u s t ' s interpretation does not bring
t h e viva voce poem near to t h e superficialities of mu sic, b u t
instead it relates verbal creativity to t h e very essence of music.
THE POET AND THE VOCAL ARTIST
T h e actor a n d t h e poetry recital artist are interpreters. They

best fulfill their roles when we do not even notice their pres-
ence; when we get t h e impression t h a t we are facing t h e
naked work of art. The word interpretation is just as mislead-
ing as is t h e word translation. J u s t as translation is not
e x h a u s t e d by, a n d does not consist in, turning a given con-
t e n t f r o m one side to t h e other, neither does interpretation
mean t h a t we simply hand a product to t h e customer, like
a sales lady hands a book to t h e buyer in a shop. E v e n t h e
truest artistic interpretation changes t h e work of a r t dras-
tically. For one thing, it is transformed into an endlessly
variable sound-continuum f r o m a set of permutations a n d
variations on t h e 26 letters of t h e alphabet. The information
(in t h e technical sense) of a sound-string (expressible by t h e
f o r m u l a I = Id N bit) is incomparably greater t h a n t h e in-
f o r m a t i o n of t h e letter-string forming t h e word. B u t t h e
information of t h e spoken word is greater even in t h e every-
day sense of 'message value'. E v e r y single speech sound pre-
supposes a tremendous number of possible choices and every
single choice iti significant.
The problem of interpretation cannot be discussed really
meaningfully without relying on information theory. Nei-
t h e r can it be solved within its frames. If we t a k e t h e equation
for information by Shannon
n
H = X>,log22>,
1=1

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where H equals information (or entropy), n equals the num-

ber of the set of signs, p¡ indicates the probability of the occur-
rence of elements whose number is n, and t equals the time
of the process, it follows that the most improbable solution
has the greatest information value.
In the case of "Old Age's" viva voce realizations by the
poet we indeed found t h a t the accent-formulae we felt to be
particularly expressive did differ more or less from what we
expected, basing our expectations on ordinary spoken lan-
guage values. The more the poet's voice approaches the val-
ues natural in spoken prose, the less it adds to the interpre-
tation of the poem. I t is also apparent, however, t h a t the
aesthetic effect does not grow proportionately to any devia-
tions from the expected norm. If an actor, for instance, sud-
denly went berserk and were to change the main stresses
irregularly once on the first, then on the second, the third
and fourth syllables without any rhyme or reason, the mes-
sage value of the interpretation would increase sharply,
but not the value of the interpretation. I t would sound out-
landish and might even cause severe problems in understand-
ing the text. I t would be comfortable indeed to say t h a t the
message value of the most effective interpretation occupies
the place of the 'golden mean' — i. e. somewhere between the
maximum and the minimum. Even though it is t r u e that
the message value of ideal interpretations is located in the
rather wide berth between the maxima and the minima, it
does not yet follow t h a t every interpretation is expressive
if its message value reaches and does not surpass these me-
dium values. I t hardly needs proving t h a t the aesthetic
value of two interpretations with identical message value
may be vastly different. A given message-value level can be
reached by a thousand different means and may be — numer-
ically — identical with t h a t of the first reading of Füst,
even if the person reading it, say the line s hoi a kin és hoi az
áldás (and where is the pain and where is the blessing...)
reaches it by tricky changes in vowels while using a complete-

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136 IVAN FÓNAGY
]y everyday intonation curve, as if he said, prosaically,

*and where is the pine and where is the blissing. Unexpected-
ness could only be the measure of aesthetic effect, if the goal
of aesthetics were to shock by deviating from the customary
way of articulation. In reality, however, deviation from the
norm is not the goal but rather the consequence of secondary
coding, t h a t is, of communicating by voice. Only significant
(literally, sign-bearing) deviations are expressive. The first
and foremost condition, then, is t h a t the deviation should
serve the secondary coding and t h a t it should not transgress
the limits imposed by the rules and relationships of the lan-
guage. 13
This observation does not merely apply to poetic perform-
ance but to live speech in general. In the case of artistic
interpretation an effect of 'outlandishness' cannot only be
reached by violating the grammar and the pronunciation,
b u t also by violating the spirit of the message (e.g., comic
delivery of a funeral speech; the tragic delivery of a joke,
etc.). Thus in an interpretation the deviation from the norm
must involve only the surface in such a way t h a t it actually
does better justice to the inside, i.e. the real essence of the
poem or text. The dynamism of the interpretation is defined
by this apparent contradiction: deviating from the usual
reading of the text the interpretation comes closer to its
hidden content.
The question arises: To what extent and by what means
does the poetic text restrict the co-creation of the interpreter
with his voice? The interpreter's task is facilitated by the
hidden instructions in the text. We know t h a t the muteness
of a poetic text is merely an appearance. The structure of
the sentences greatly determines the melody-progression of
13
These linguistic limits according to the testimony of linguistic change
are not inflexible and do not seem to be determined by cast iron rules
for ever. Beguilingly expressive distortions are of course, successful
incursions into the 'forbidden', which in due course may become socie-
tally accepted and the norm for the new code.

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a given poem. The interpretation of "Old Age" would cer-

tainly sound strained and false if the reader were to use a
high vocal tonality and a widely arching melody in the last
stanza. He would make a mistake by ignoring the rhythmi-
cal markers in the text, by not paying attention to the
poet's hints at discrete scansions.
Emotions are expressed in everyday speech by means of
certain modifications of the usual articulation: by a more
raised and forward tongue position lending a brighter color
to the vowels or a more tense articulation of consonants.
In poetry the lighter vowel color is obtained by a correspond-
ing shift of the vowel frequency distribution of vowels
(more light vowels) and consonants (more tense consonants).
The messages stated in distributional terms can be always
retranslated into physiological terms.
In the last lines of several stanzas, particularly in the last
words of the poem, there is striking contrast between me-
lodic movement and change in vowel height. The melody
should be falling:
tom-
pa
de-
ren-
gés.
The vowels suggest however a gradual raise:
gés
de-ren-
pa
tom-
These opposite tendencies might reflect a meaningful con-

tradiction : the departure of the old man leaves the fundamen-
tal problem unresolved. In both readings, the contradiction
is stated in prosodie terms. In the first version the fading
voice, dying in a whisper, could be interpreted as a rise as

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138 IVAN FÓNAGY
well as a fall. In the second version the poet seems to follow

the indication contained in the vowel sequence: the voice
rises, floats, leaving the sentence open. 1 4
The numerous 'instructions' in the t e x t do not exclude
the possibility of errors — as was seen in many instances.
Fust was decidedly against having his poem read b y a pro-
fessional actor. He remarked: " H o w would that actor know
what is really in that poem!" Sometimes it can happen that
the poet, while listening to a professional actor's interpre-
tation of his poem exclaims: " I didn't even realize that my
lines carried that implication!" B u t despite the possibility
of errors (underrepresenting the poem) and bringing out
features not even known to the poet (overrepresentation),
some sort of cooperation between actor and author has prov-
ed possible from the ancient Greeks to the present day.
The poet, artist of words, and the actor, artist of motions and
sounds, are not tied to one another by some sort of co au-
thorship for the occasion, but by the deep and thoroughgoing
correspondence that exists between creating b y words and
creating by sounds.
The common goal is artistic sincerity, the complete and
exhaustive expression of a complex mental content. I t is in
order to serve artistic precision that the poet and the writer
reject the adjectives, similes,, adverbs, etc., which ring, ready
made, as if 'on tap', in every reader's mind. These are obvi-
ously ab ovo inadequate for the expression of individual ex-
perience. The author must find that sole adequate word or
construction which alone can express his experience. Magic
refuses to take place upon inexactly quoted charms coined
b y others. The interpreter is faced by a similarly complex
task of choice — almost sound by sound. He may refuse the
14 Fonagy here gives a couple of examples that relate so strictly to
Hungarian prosody and syntax only that they are pointless in English
translation. I have therefore decided to omit them here. The principle
is clear and can be followed (or substituted) from viva voce English
analytical experiments with English poets, actors, and 'civilians'.
[A.M.]

Authenticated
commonplace-type melody-schemes, the obvious, easy, and

pleasing solution, if those do not correspond to the content
to be expressed with the greatest precision.
The most striking characteristic of artistic communica-
tion is the specific gravity of the expression, its density, and
its economy. I t is no accident that the poet is called a 'con-
denser' in German, a Dichter. The poet completes the text
with vocal mime by liberating the energy of the sounds
constituting the individual words. That is to say, the poet
uses sound twice instead of only once, as does the prose
speaker. In poetry, too, sounds function as sign-elements,
since their combinations yield words and sentences, but si-
multaneously they are also independent signs: the expressors
of immediate contents of mood and emotion. The meaning of
sentences is multiplied and enhanced in poetry by the trope
creating a contrast between words and the physical reality
they depict, that is, by the juxtaposition of the original and
occasional meaning of a given word. Meaning may be enhan-
ced by every skillful violation of tense, grammatical case-
attraction, unusual word order, etc. (cf. the poetic style of
e.e. cummings in English).
As far as the interpreter is concerned, he accomplishes the
same by stressing words in unexpected places; by omitting
obvious pauses, and holding pauses where the prose speaker
would not have one. The effect is one that elevates the artis-
tic interpretation over the ordinary prose reading.
Artistic condensation creates an aesthetic experience in
the listener. This condensation - according to the measure
and mode of the condensing - creates either laughter, as in
the case of jokes (see Freud 1940), or a smile, or pleasure not
expressed in facial mimicry. Vocal economy, as far as its
effect is concerned, belongs in the latter category, though
the vocal play of many a comic actor contributes a major
amount to the resulting laughter from the audience. 1 "
1 5 In cases like this there is a close relationship between the 'vocal
drama' and the mechanism of the joke.

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140 IVAN FÓNAGY
Economy as such, however, is not the ultimate goal either

of poetry or of artistic interpretation. Both the poet and the
interpreter fall back on musical means and play with words
and sounds in order to express contents for whose expression
conceptuality-based ordinary language is not capable. Both
the actor and the poet use voice, gestures, and mimicry to
express and to be able to say things of which they themselves
are not conscious.
Language and consciousness form a close unity. The for-
mation of language presupposes a readiness to think in terms
of abstract concepts, but the experience deposited in con-
sciousness would not be able to precipitate into concepts
without the aid of language. We must repeat this obvious
truism in order to understand fully why the poet has to reach
deep down into prelinguistic layers; why, as it were, he has
to re-create the language, along with the actor. Only the
prelinguistic, archaic language is capable of expressing moods,
conjectures, feelings, and emotions t h a t have hardly emerged
from the unconscious, or t h a t have sunk back into it. This
is not done, to be sure, with the unequivocal clarity of logical
judgments built on clear-cut concepts, yet in a way t h a t is
quite clearly felt by sensitive audiences all over the world.
I t is equally valid of the actor what Béla Balàzs said of t h e
magic strength of metaphorical poetic expression (1909 : 539
and passim): "We shudder when we realize t h a t actually we
are all the First Man in this world. " Both the poet and the
reciting artist travel the distances of tens of thousands of
years of evolution when, in the fragments of seconds, they
augment the dictionary meanings of words with visual or
vocal mimicry.
Such returns to the arche-language, these inevitable re-
gressions to man's pristine state, are carried out within the
most highly developed and most sophisticated communica-
tion system ever devised: i.e. within the framework of human
language. These momentary regressions - 'adaptive regres-
sions' according to Leopold Bellak (1969) - fast trips into t h e

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past followed by a quick return into the present, presuppose

the integrity and stability of present day linguistic systems.
This arche-language - living a clandestine existence within
the frames of modern languages - cannot of course compete
in strength and precision with its conceptually evolved off-
spring. Except in one instance, here, the arche-language
wins, precisely because of its primitive underdeveloped na-
t u r e : poetry in order to become poesis, a doing, an action
must bring the arche-language back to life. Poetic language
and artistic performance are original as far as they go back
to the origins of verbal communication; they are using ar-
chaic signs which still contain the denoted events, which are
what they mean. Poetic expression is an experience. I n the
microcosm of the oral cavity the poet can create a hurricane
with fricatives; he can even substantiate a distance, a silence,
or an absence introducing agrammatical pauses; reorga-
nizing the sentence he can reproduce the order or disorder of
objects in the outside world.
The artist's vocal performance is still closer to action. The
tightening of laryngeal muscles, the spasmodic contraction
of the vocal folds, is a condensed mimetic reproduction of
struggle, an expression but also a part of anger. Increasing
vocal energy, a gradually raising melody curve may depict
swelling waves; the fading of the voice might represent decay
or death. The poet who withdraws in a "tower of words"
(Dylan Thomas) and the actor in his footsteps paradoxically
bring language closer to real acts, in conformity with Heine's
motto:
Rede Dolche, rede Schwerter!
(Talk daggers, talk swords!)
(Die Tendenz)
And finally, the interpretation of an artistic reading is just

as inexhaustible as the poem itself. When, hopefully in the
not-too-distant future, the science of melody-analysis will
develop, it is to be expected t h a t linguists and literary schol-

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142 IVAN FONAGY
ars will devote as much time and energy to the analysis of an

actual performance on stage as is now customary with regard
to printed texts.
It remains much harder to explain why some people do not
like recitations; why they prefer to read in silence; why they
shun recitals and the theater. I have heard the remark made
quite often, and have indeed experienced it myself, that some
pieces of poetry offer more when perused in silence. This
would seem to contradict our observations whereby the viva
voce performance enriches the poem's content. The actor —
reader brings to reality the latent possibilities present in the
poem. Or, to be exact: he brings to life one of its possibilities.
The two different interpretations by Fust himself can be re-
garded as two independent poetic co-productions which were
both latently present in the written poem. The actor brings
out vocally one of the possible poems within the poem. Since
every piece of literary art contains tacitly a tremendous num-
ber of possible versions, interpretations viva voce may be felt
to be a narrowing down to one. Compared to the totality of
all the possible realizations, even the most successful inter-
pretation is bound to be impoverished.

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REFERENCES CITED
in the paper and the remarks of the editor

Balàzs, B. "A versrôl" [Concerning poetry], Nyugal 1.
1909
Bellak, L. "Research on Ego Function Patterns", in L.
1969 Bellak, and L. Loeb, The Schizophrenic Syndro-
me (New York).
Biihler, K. Sprachtheorie (Jena).
1934
Fónagy, I. "Füst Milán 'Ôregség' [Milán Füst's'Old Age]'
1967 Magyar Nyelv&r 62.
"Métaphore d'intonation et changement d'into-
1969 nation", Bull. Soc. Lingu. Paris 64: 22-42.
Fónagy, I.
and Klàra Magdics "Emotional Patterns in Speech and Music",
1963 Z. Phonetik 16: 293-326.
1967 A beszéd dallama [The melody of speech]
(Budapest).
Freud, S. Der Witz und seine Beziehungen zum Unbewuss-
1940 ten Gesammelte Werke, VI (Wien).
Huttar, G. Some Relations Between Emotions and the Proso-
1967 die Parameters of Speech (Santa Barbara).
Lamb, S.M. Outline of Stratificational Grammar (Georgetown
1966 . University Press).
List, G. "The Boundaries of Speech and Song", Ethno-
1963 musicology 7: 1-16.
Lockwood, D.G. Introduction to Stratificational Linguistics (New
1972 York).
Magdics, K. "From the Melody of Speech to the Melody of
1963 Music", Studia Musicologica 4: 325-346.
Makkai, A. Idiom Structure in English (The Hague).
1972
Makkai, A.
and Lockwood, D.G. Readings in Stratificational Linguistics (The Uni-
1973 versity of Alabama Press).
Saussure, F., Cours de linguistique générale (Paris, new
1915 edition in 1968).
Sievers, E Rhythmish-melodishe Studien (Heidelberg).
1912

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Fonagy. The Voice of Poet

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THE VOICE OF THE POET

The following study by Fónagy, an experimental phonetician and

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where Fónagy is making a specific point, giving their raw literal

I. Where are you, oh my eyes, who did once deem a face so

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Concerning some mysteries which no one can fully under-

I I I . Listen to me, oh youth. Once upon a time there was an

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And as if a collapse of mountains were answering t h e hollow

V, And then, of course, he left a n d silence reigned once again

I. Hoi vagytok o szemeim, kik oly aldottnak veltetek egy

I I . S hoi a kin es hoi az aldas, amelyet most hiaba keresek

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Ho] a mohó szàj s hol a nevetésem?

III. Hallgass ràm, óh ifjusàg. Volt egy òreg gorog egvkor

IV. Nem nézett rà, nem felelt akkor az òregnek.

V. S aztàn hàt elment persze, - csend lett végiil is e vidéken.

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THE MELODY OF THE WRITTEN TEXT

This entire experiment was started by an intense personal

Hoi vagytok ó sze-me-im, kik olváldott-nak vél-tetek egv ar - cot...

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S ho! hegyes ,ptt

The first stanza forms a musical unit while yielding the

Shola*'« dl- me Jyet most '»-a-ba _

This transition seems well motivated both from a psycholog-

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theme. We have already accepted it in stanza 1 as p a r t of

Hallod-e -sziv, szivem: hallod e beszedet?

(The partial repetition, polyptoton, here is meant to imitate

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Hoi vagy-f-t. moz-oai_

The content of the sentence as it contrasts with its music

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and underscores the apparently endless line of reminiscences

S hoi a kin es hoi az aZdas, amelyet most /«aba ¿eresek eszelos

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down. The start of the sentence is still woven through with

THE TEXT AND THE CHOIR

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TABLE 1. T h e a v e r a g e d i s t a n c e f r o m t h e ' b a s e - t o n e ' (see t e x t ) in

Milán Fiist Milán F ü s t

I. stanza 11,5 14,0 8,3 6,4

In Fust's first reading the pitch-level of stanzas 2,3, and 4

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the actual text, which exists independently of all the possible

II 0,6 1,1 1,2 - 1,1 - — 4,0 2,9 0,6 — —

III - 1,3 0,7 - 0,7 0,7 1,3 0,7 — — - 0,7

We had to approach the inherent melody of the text by

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loud). Eduard Sievers, one of the pioneers of phonetics, and

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Sievers and Zsigmond Laszlo were unable to contrast the

Fiist A vs. B Fiist A vs. Fiist A vs. Fust B vs.

I. stanza 1,3 2,1 1,0 1,2

the inherent melody even more closely t h a n the poet himself

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Brought to you by | Cambridge University Library

S hoi a kin es ho! az dl - das, a-me-lyet most hi - a-ba kc-re-sek

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