Have you ever read a poem that just sings? That feeling, that undeniable flow and musicality, often comes from a clever use of structure. One of the most powerful tools poets wield to achieve this is called parallel structure, or parallelism.
At its heart, parallelism is about repetition, but not just any repetition. It's about repeating grammatical structures across lines, phrases, or even sentences. Think of it like a recurring musical motif; it creates a sense of order, rhythm, and emphasis. It’s a way to make certain ideas stand out, to build momentum, or to draw a clear comparison (or contrast).
It sounds a bit technical, doesn't it? But honestly, we use it all the time in everyday conversation without even realizing it. "I came, I saw, I conquered" – that's parallelism in action. Or when you say, "She's smart, she's funny, and she's kind." The repetition of "she's" followed by an adjective creates a pleasing rhythm and emphasizes her qualities.
In poetry, this device becomes even more potent. It can weave a tapestry of sound and meaning, making the words resonate long after you've read them. Take, for instance, the iconic opening of Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities. While it's prose, the principle is the same: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness..." See how the "It was the..." structure repeats? And how it juxtaposes opposing ideas? That's parallelism, specifically a form called antithesis, used to highlight the profound contradictions of the era.
Poets, too, harness this power. E.E. Cummings, a master of playful language, uses it beautifully in "love is more thicker than forget." He writes:
love is more thicker than forget more thinner than recall more seldom than a wave is wet more frequent than to fail
Here, the repeated "more [adjective] than [noun]" structure creates a unique rhythm, and each line builds on the previous one, offering a different facet of love's complex nature. Cummings also uses repetition of "love is" and the word "less" to create his signature lyrical effect.
Parallelism isn't always about contrast, though. Sometimes, it's about building a unified vision. Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech is a prime example. The repeated phrase "I have a dream that one day..." acts as an anchor, each iteration of the dream adding another layer to his powerful vision for equality. The structure reinforces the message, making it unforgettable.
Even in more contemporary works, you can find its influence. Tim O'Brien, in The Things They Carried, uses it to capture the bewildering nature of war: "To generalize about war is like generalizing about peace. Almost everything is true. Almost nothing is true." The stark, parallel statements "Almost everything is true" and "Almost nothing is true" perfectly encapsulate the paradox and absurdity he's trying to convey.
So, the next time you encounter a poem that feels particularly musical, that has a certain memorable cadence, take a moment to look for the parallel structures. You might just find the rhythmic heartbeat that makes the words come alive, transforming simple language into something truly resonant and profound.
