Not a problem. I’m happy to discuss
The question of quantitative verse is indeed puzzling. I’ve been studying it for some time. Initially I was of the opinion that quantitative distinctions were phonemic in Ancient Greek, but now I’m not so sure. If we assume that quantitative poetry was based on features present in actual speech (i.e. vowel length) we come up against some bizarre phenomena.
For example, take syllables long by position between adjoining words. Compare the following:
ὃς ἤθελεν
ὃς θέλει
In the first instance, ὃς is short, in the second it’s long, even though in both cases there’s the same word boundary. Are we really to believe that when an Ancient Greek said ὃς θέλει, he lengthened the ο in ὃς in anticipation of the θ in θέλει, but when he said ὃς ἤθελεν he left the ο short?
The same can be said about correption:
θέλω εἰπεῖν
θέλω λέγειν
When conversing, did the Greeks really shorten the ω in anticipation of the ε in εἰπεῖν in the first case, but leave it long in anticipation of the λ in λέγειν, even though the word and word boundary is identical?
Or what about the so-called δίχρονα? According to the rules, the ο in ὄψις can be either long or short because it’s followed by the compound sound ψ. Well, which one was it? Did the Ancient Greeks sometimes say ὄψις with a long ο and other times with a short ο? By what mechanism does ψ condition this?
The same applies to the letters I, Y, and A: sometimes length is predictable, sometimes in varies. For example, the A in 'Aπόλλων can be either long or short. The α’s in ἀθάνατος can be whatever the poet chooses. Ιn the Iliad 1.583 Homer uses the word ἴλαος, with a long ι and α, but in Iliad 9.639 with a long ι and a short α. If this is simply poetic licence, why doesn’t it happen also with η or ω? I’ve never heard of any language where variable vowel-length is associated to specific vowel sounds.
Another problem is typological. Languages which have phonemic vowel length tend either to have a very weak accent (like Sanskrit or Japanese), or a fixed accent (like Hungarian and Finnish, where it’s on the first syllable, or Farsi, where it’s generally on the last). As far as we can tell, though, accent was a central and very prominent element in the phonology of Ancient Greek. What’s more, it’s placement is unpredictable based on the underlying vowel-length. A word like λεπτός has a long penultimate and a short ultimate, but it’s stressed on the ultimate, while a word like κέρδος, with the exact same length structure, is stressed on the penultimate.
Then there’s the whole question of the tri-syllabic rule: the accent cannot fall further back than the antepenultimate syllable. For example, one says ὄνομα but ὀνόματα. This rule applies regardless of the length of the word so that a monstrosity like ἐννεακαιεικοσικαιεπτακοσιοπλασιάκις (Plato Republic 9, 587E) has only one accent. This would suggest a syllable-timed language.
Of course, there is then the issue of the long ultima which affects the accent placement. One says ὀνόματα but ὀνομάτων. The way this is usually explained is through morae: a long vowel counts for two morae, a short vowel for one. The accent is supposed to fall on the third-to-last mora.
But this scheme also raises problems. Why then is ἄνθρωπος stressed on the fourth-to-last mora? Or words like ἔχουσιν, πραότητι, κάθημαι, δέσποινα, etc? Why not ἐχοῦσιν, πραοτῆτι, καθῆμαι, and δεσποῖνα?
If vowel length was such an important element to Greek phonology, how did it come to disappear at the height of Classical culture?
Finally, there’s the fact that the ancients did not conceive of their poetry in terms of simple alternations between long and short vowels, but as a rhythmical pattern. And this rhythm was understood as akin to accent.
Aristotle , Rhetoric:
It is natural for us to imitate both harmonies and rhythms – for it is clear that the meters are a part of rhythm. (1448b)
Now all things are limited by number, and the number belonging to the form of diction is rhythm, of which the metres are divisions. Wherefore prose must be rhythmical, but not metrical, otherwise it will be a poem. (1408b)
Longinus, “Prolegomena” to Hephaestion’s Treatise on Metrics:
For the father of meter is rhythm and god: meter derived its beginnings from rhythm, while god articulated it into being.
Aristoxenus, On Harmony:
Starting from these definitions and classifications we must seek to indicate in outline the nature of melody. We have already observed that here the motion of the voice must be by intervals; herein, then, lies the distinction between the melody of music and of speech — for there is also a kind of melody in speech (λογῶδες τι μέλος) which depends upon the accents of words, as the voice in speaking rises and sinks by a natural law. (1.18)
Quintilianus Aritides, De Musica:
…τὸν μὲν ῥυθμὸν ἐν ἄρσει καὶ θέσει τὴν οὐσίαν ἔχειν, τὸ δὲ μέτρον ἐν συλλαβαῖς καὶ τῇ τούτων ἀνομοιότητι. (1.23)
Tαύτης [τῆς μουσικῆς] δὲ μίμημα λέξις…αὕτη δὲ ὀξύτητάς τε καὶ βαρύτητας προσλαβοῦσα μετὰ διαστημάτων συγκεχυμένη μὲν ἐγέννησεν ἁρμονίαν, λόγοις δὲ τοῖς συμφώνοις τεταγμένη ῥυθμόν. (2.7)
Plato, Laws
The order of motion is called “rhythm,” while the order of voice in which acute and grave are blended together is termed “harmony,” and to the combination of these two the name “choristry” is given. (665A)
Interestingly, in Hungarian and Finnish which possess phonemic vowel length, the oldest folk songs and poems are accentual, not quantitative-based.
All this to say that I have no idea what is going on and that Ancient Greek meter is a profound mystery ![]()