Here's another poetic form I've never tried, but it sounds like a lot of fun! The clerihew is very simple. It is about a person. It is funny. It is four lines long, the first and second lines rhyme, and the third and fourth lines rhyme.
This form was invented by Edmund Clerihew Bentley, and is named after him. While he was a student, he began writing these humorous poems about the people he was studying. They were a great hit with his friends! The first Clerihew ever written was this:
Sir Humphry Davy
He lived in the odium
Of having discovered sodium.
Another one of Bentley's is this:
Lived a long time ago.
He had nothing to do, so
He wrote Robinson Crusoe.
Here's a final example I came across that I found particularly amusing:
Their music hurts my ears.
I much prefer Britney Spears.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Here's another poetic form I've never tried, but it sounds like a lot of fun! The clerihew is very simple. It is about a person. It is funny. It is four lines long, the first and second lines rhyme, and the third and fourth lines rhyme.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
They walked along the pavement with their banners bravely showing bold,
The women round and glowing leading children with their chins held high.
And before them proudly waving red and green and white and gold
Went a flag whose colors make no difference in the way it flies.
Up ahead, a vintage car held red-and-white-striped Uncle Sam.
And behind, the marching band was playing Stars and Stripes on beat,
But all eyes were focused on the All-Hispanic Church of God
As they joined our town's parade with tambourines and marching feet.
Did their symbol spurn their new land where they came to live and pray,
Where God looked down on all of us and gave us all the same good Word?
Or had we failed to welcome some, including those who marched this day--
The only group to pass us by while not a clapping hand was heard?
This poem (my effort at octameter!) was inspired by a real experience at the Fourth of July parade this morning. I think it needs an ending-- a final verse. But the conflict continues in this country, and for the life of me, I don't know what that last stanza will be.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
I love playing with meter. I think it is fascinating that different languages seem to lend themselves to certain meters. For example, in English, the most common meter used in poetry is iambic pentameter - each line containing five metrical feet.
The badger grunting on his woodland track
With shaggy hide and sharp nose scrowed with black
(John Clare, The Badger)
In other languages, meter can be quite different. The modern French language does not have a significant stress accent (like English) or long and short syllables (like Latin). This means that the French metric line is generally not determined by the number of beats, but by the number of syllables. In the Renaissance, there was a brief attempt to develop a French poetics based on long and short syllables. The most common metric lengths are the ten-syllable line ("décasyllabe"), the eight-syllable line ("octosyllabe") and the twelve-syllable line (the so-called "alexandrin").
Our weekly challenge is to write a staza of poetry in octameter--lines of eight metrical feet. Though this meter is more common in the French language, there have been a few superb examples of octameter in English:
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore-
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
(Edgar Allan Poe, "The Raven")
(Note especially the second line.) Doesn't that sound great? Let's try it!
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Cherry blossoms and haiku just seem to go together! The sakura are so evokative and so typically Japanese. Here are a few of my efforts--inspired by a post at Mind on Fire.
Dark trunks against pale blossoms
Life in an image.
My sakura soul
Blossoms full then falls.
A short, brilliant life.
In the blossoms a message
Taste life's beauty now.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Writing haiku is wonderfully relaxing. (I need to take it easy after all that hard work on the sestina.) I don't know what it is about the combination of 5, 7, and 5 phonetic units that is so serene and peaceful. But you'll notice that writing haiku is good for the soul.
I discovered that there is a difference between the original Japanese form of haiku poetry and the Western version. In Japanese, the haiku contains a special season word (kigo) representative of the season in which the poem is set, or a reference to the natural world. The three different phases are signaled by grammatical breaks, and the poem is written all in one line. In English, we generally separate the poem into three lines.
I'll get you started with two beautiful representative poems. The first is translated from an "old master" Japanese poet. The second is a more modern, urban haiku.
Temple bells die out.
The fragrant blossoms remain.
A perfect evening!
Blossoms in grafitti on
fog-wrapped June mornings
--Michael R. Collings
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
I finally succeeded at writing my first sestina. It really was a challenge to try to craft something meaningful and keep it flowing while maintaining such a stringent structure! I loved working on this and I will definitely use this form again. Let me know what you think.
When first we met I danced on spikes of silver,
I tossed about my locks of chestnut hair,
And with one finger lightly stirred my drink.
When first we met I treasured sun-swept days,
Was always ready with a sultry smile,
And loved to touch, perpend, converse, and think.
Do not suppose at all I could not think!
I sermonized with ease, my tongue was silver.
I softened eruditeness with a smile,
And twirled around my fingers wayward hair.
I read a thousand authors in those days,
With gusto all their words my mind did drink.
When first we met you licked my lips to drink
Their steamy sweetness. Now I think
I never had such wanton wondrous days.
Everywhere you touched me sparkled silver
Your fingers tangled softly in my hair
I bared my neck and glowed a secret smile
The years went by. I met them with a smile
While passing little hands their orange drinks
And finger-combing snarls from tangled hair.
We went whole months and didn't even think
Or read, or talk. But earning stocks and silver
Occupied your afternoons and days.
Now it has been more than a million days
Since first we met. And now my faltering smile
contains fine lines of sadness. See these silver
tears which trickle down my cheeks whene'er I think
of cancer and concoctions you must drink
And how you cling to life by just a hair.
My mirror shows crow's feet and thinning hair;
I now decline to celebrate birthdays.
But I can be content because you think
that I am still a beauty. Make me smile
and we'll hold hands across a frosty drink
While high above the waning moon turns silver.
Though I lament my hair is gone to silver
And there are dark days when I cannot think,
Yet toast I seasoned smiles into my drink.
Monday, June 11, 2007
I think one of the reasons I'm having trouble writing my sestina is that the first sestina I ever read was a rhyming one. Sestinas need not have a meter or rhyme, but some poets have written them using iambic pentameter and/or rhyme. The most important recognized sestina variant is the rhymed sestina, which was devised by Swinburne. Here keywords 1, 3 and 5 rhyme with each other, as do keywords 2, 4 and 6. The permutations are revised so that every stanza has the same rhyming scheme ababab. In terms of the keywords, the revised structure is:
stanza 1: 123456
stanza 2: 614325
stanza 3: 561432
stanza 4: 256143
stanza 5: 321654
stanza 6: 432561
The sestina I'm working on right now will be in iambic pentameter (mostly) but I think the rhyming is out. I'm trying to finish it up so I can post it this week.
Friday, June 8, 2007
There are several interesting variations authors have made on the Sestina. Here's a "shrinking" sestina--you'll love it!
The Shrinking Lonesome Sestina
by Miller Williams
Somewhere in everyone's head something points toward home,
a dashboard's floating compass, turning all the time
to keep from turning. It doesn't matter how we come
to be wherever we are, someplace where nothing goes
the way it went once, where nothing holds fast
to where it belongs, or what you've risen or fallen to.
What the bubble always points to,
whether we notice it or not, is home.
It may be true that if you move fast
everything fades away, that given time
and noise enough, every memory goes
into the blackness, and if new ones come-
small, mole-like memories that come
to live in the furry dark-they, too,
curl up and die. But Carol goes
to high school now. John works at home
what days he can to spend some time
with Sue and the kids. He drives too fast.
Ellen won't eat her breakfast.
Your sister was going to come
but didn't have the time.
Some mornings at one or two
or three I want you home
a lot, but then it goes.
It all goes.
Hold on fast
to thoughts of home
when they come.
They're going to
less with time.
Forgive me that. One time it wasn't fast.
A myth goes that when the years come
then you will, too. Me, I'll still be home.
And here's a link to an expanded Sestina called "Our Seasons." Each stanza of the Sestina has a theme such as "Grief," or "Passion." Then the author has written an 8-line poem for each line of the Sestina, resulting in 36 additional poems!
Thursday, June 7, 2007
The sestina is a poetic form that is believed to have been invented before 1200 in Provence by a poet named Arnaut Daniel. Daniel was a member of the court of Richard the Lionhearted and was respected as one of the best troubadours of the time. Daniel's poem, Lo Ferm Voler,(follow the link for the poem in Provencal and an English translation) is the first known sestina. Following Daniel's use of the sestina, both Dante (1265 – 1321), author of The Divine Comedy, and Francesco Petrarch (1304 – 1374), poet and founder of humanism, adapted the form as well.
The form was revived in the 16th century by a group of French poets known as La Pléiade, and in particular by one of their members, Pontus de Tyard (1522-1605). After 16th-century poet Sir Philip Sidney’s double sestina, “You Gote-heard Gods,” there was a 300-year gap in English-language sestinas. Then, in the 19th century Ferdinand, Count de Gramont, wrote a large number of sestinas, and Algernon Charles Swinburne composed a remarkable rhymed double sestina "The Complaint of Lisa," with twelve stanzas of twelve lines each.
In the 20th century, Ezra Pound, W.H. Auden, T.S. Eliot, James Merrill, and others wrote them. Kenneth Koch and John Ashbery wrote great sestinas for the mimeographed magazines of the 1960s.
The writing of sestina poetry is popular today. McSweeney's, a literary magazine, recently began publishing poems for the very first time. The form of poetry published was limited to sestinas.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
The Sestina is one of the more challenging forms of poetry. I've been trying to write one for quite a while now, with little success. But I hope this public forum will inspire me to really work on it this week!
This poem is made up of seven stanzas, the first six of which have six lines, the seventh having only three. There is a very exact pattern to the sestina's stanzas.
The first stanza is the defining stanza, and the six words that are used to end each line are the defining words, as they will be repeated throughout the rest of the poem.
In this template, each letter represents the ending word of a line:
a b c d e f (first stanza)
f a e b d c (second stanza)
c f d a b e (third stanza)
e c b f a d (fourth stanza)
d e a c f b (fifth stanza)
b d f e c a (sixth stanza)
a d (1st line of the 7th stanza, "a" must be in the line, but the line must end with "d")
b e (2nd line of the 7th stanza, "b" must be in the line, but the line must end with "e")
c f (3rd line of the 7th stanza, "c" must be in the line, but the line must end with "f")
Let me illustrate with a sample. The following is "Sestina of the Tramp" by Rudyard Kipling:
Speakin' in general, I'ave tried 'em all
The 'appy roads that take you o'er the world.
Speakin' in general, I'ave found them good
For such as cannot use one bed too long,
But must get 'ence, the same as I'ave done,
An' go observin' matters till they die.
What do it matter where or 'ow we die,
So long as we've our 'ealth to watch it all
The different ways that different things are done,
An' men an' women lovin' in this world;
Takin' our chances as they come along,
An' when they ain't, pretendin' they are good?
In cash or credit no, it aren't no good;
You've to 'ave the 'abit or you'd die,
Unless you lived your life but one day long,
Nor didn't prophesy nor fret at all,
But drew your tucker some'ow from the world,
An' never bothered what you might ha' done.
But, Gawd, what things are they I'aven't done?
I've turned my 'and to most, an' turned it good,
In various situations round the world
For 'im that doth not work must surely die;
But that's no reason man should labour all
'Is life on one same shift life's none so long.
Therefore, from job to job I've moved along.
Pay couldn't 'old me when my time was done,
For something in my 'ead upset it all,
Till I'ad dropped whatever 'twas for good,
An', out at sea, be'eld the dock-lights die,
An' met my mate the wind that tramps the world!
It's like a book, I think, this bloomin, world,
Which you can read and care for just so long,
But presently you feel that you will die
Unless you get the page you're readi'n' done,
An' turn another likely not so good;
But what you're after is to turn'em all.
Gawd bless this world! Whatever she'oth done
Excep' When awful long I've found it good.
So write, before I die, "'E liked it all!"
You can find some great tips on writing the Sestina at eHow.
Good Luck! If you succeed in writing a Sestina, please share it with us in the comments!
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
No one really knows how Limericks got their name. One legend says that they originated from a song brought back from France by the Irish Brigade returning to their native Limerick after fighting in Europe in the 18th century. It was often sung as a game in the pub after everyone had a drink or two. As the song went around, each person had to make up a verse about the adventures of persons from various Irish cities, rhyming the verse with the name of the town. If they failed to meet their associates' expectations, they had to take another drink. The chorus of this song was "Will you come up to Limerick?"
Thus the Limerick gained its reputation as an obscene barroom ditty.
The limerick is furtive and mean;
You must keep her in close quarantine,
Or she sneaks to the slums
And promptly becomes
Disorderly, drunk, and obscene.
The lim'rick packs laughs anatomical
Into space that is quite economical,
But the good ones I’ve seen
So seldom are clean,
And the clean ones so seldom are comical.
Posted by Bored in Vernal at 2:46 PM
Monday, May 28, 2007
Join me for an easy and fun writing challenge this week--write a limerick! Yes, the limerick is a bona fide form of poetry. The limerick generally snubbed by poetry purists because of its often bawdy subjects, and its relatively late appearance on the scene. Other than through random occurences of its peculiar rhyme and metre, the limerick does not appear prior to the 1820s when nonsense rhymes that we would recognize today as limericks began appearing in children's books. But the limerick is great fun to write and to read. The rhyme scheme is usually "A-A-B-B-A". The first, second, and fifth lines are 9 syllables; the third and fourth are 5 or 6 syllables. The foot used is usually the amphibrach, a stressed syllable between two unstressed ones. Here are some examples I have enjoyed:
There once was a lady named Cager,
Who as the result of a wager,
Consented to fart
The entire oboe part
Of Mozart's quartet in F-major.
There was a young lady from Kent
Who said that she knew what it meant
When men asked her to dine,
Gave her cocktails and wine.
She knew what it meant but she went.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Constructing constellations dot by dot,
We never agonize o'er what is not.
Say a leg is missing, or an arm--
We draw it in the picture, what's the harm?
They sky is quite forgiving, won't you say?
The galaxies and planets far away;
They do not need attention, care, and love,
They watch us from a silent place above.
But here the little things upon us press,
We live our lives in pain, we oft transgress;
Important things are lost that we might need,
We miss them, though to heaven we may plead.
I do not know exactly what to say.
I think I've lost myself along the way.
When I look high, sometimes I just see bars,
And parts of me are strewn amidst the stars.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
The above is a fragment of a poem by the Greek poetess Sappho. (Click on it to see it better!) You'll love what happens when several poets try their hand at translating this lovely piece:
THE stars about the lovely moon
Fade back and vanish very soon,
When, round and full, her silver face
Swims into sight, and lights all space
The stars around the lovely moon
Their radiant visage hide as soon
As she, full-orbed, appears to sight,
Flooding the earth with her silvery light.
Planets, that around the beauteous moon
Attendant wait, cast into shade
Their ineffectual lustre, soon
As she, in full-orbed majesty arrayed,
Her silver radiance pours
Upon this world of ours.
John Hermann Merivale
The stars about the fair moon in their turn hide their bright face when she at about her full lights up all earth with silver.
Stars that shine around the refulgent full moon
Pale, and hide their glory of lesser lustre
When she pours her silvery plenilunar
Light on the orbed earth.
J. A. Symonds
Awed by her brightness
Stars near the beautiful moon
Cover their own shining faces
When she lights earth
With her silver brilliance
Of love ....
The moon rose full,
and as around an altar, stood the women.
Now rose the moon, full and argentine,
While round stood the maidens, as at a shrine.
Edward Marion Cox
Awed by her splendor
stars near the lovely
moon cover their own
is roundest and lights
earth with her silver
Sappho of Lesbos
Sappho, a poet of ancient Greece, is known through her work: ten books of verse published by the third and second centuries B.C.E. By the Middle Ages, all copies were lost. Today what we know of the poetry of Sappho is only through quotations in the writings of others. Only one poem from Sappho survives in complete form, and the longest fragment of Sappho poetry is only 16 lines long.
The poems of Sappho are more personal and emotional than political or civic or religious, especially compared to her contemporary, the poet Alcaeus.
Sappho lived in Mytilene on the island of Lesbos, where women often congregated and, among other social activities, shared poetry they'd written. Sappho's poems usually focus on the relationships among women.
Follow this link for some wonderful images from the Sappho Art Museum.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Choose Something Like a Star
by Robert Frost - 1947
O Star (the fairest one in sight),
We grant your loftiness the right
To some obscurity of cloud --
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud.
But to be wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.
Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says "I burn."
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.
It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell something in the end.
And steadfast as Keats' Eremite,
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.
This poem has been one of my favorites since the time a choral group I belonged to sang Frostiana.
The following biographical information on Robert Frost was taken from poets.org. And check out the pic! He's actually a pretty good-looking guy!
Robert Frost was born in San Francisco in 1874. He moved to New England at the age of eleven and became interested in reading and writing poetry during his high school years in Lawrence, Massachusetts. He was enrolled at Dartmouth College in 1892, and later at Harvard, though he never earned a formal degree.
Frost drifted through a string of occupations after leaving school, working as a teacher, cobbler, and editor of the Lawrence Sentinel. His first professional poem, "My Butterfly," was published on November 8, 1894, in the New York newspaper The Independent.
In 1895, Frost married Elinor Miriam White, who became a major inspiration in his poetry until her death in 1938. The couple moved to England in 1912, after their New Hampshire farm failed, and it was abroad that Frost met and was influenced by such contemporary British poets as Edward Thomas, Rupert Brooke, and Robert Graves. While in England, Frost also established a friendship with the poet Ezra Pound, who helped to promote and publish his work.
By the time Frost returned to the United States in 1915, he had published two full-length collections, A Boy's Will and North of Boston, and his reputation was established. By the nineteen-twenties, he was the most celebrated poet in America, and with each new book—including New Hampshire (1923), A Further Range (1936), Steeple Bush (1947), and In the Clearing (1962)—his fame and honors (including four Pulitzer Prizes) increased.
Though his work is principally associated with the life and landscape of New England, and though he was a poet of traditional verse forms and metrics who remained steadfastly aloof from the poetic movements and fashions of his time, Frost is anything but a merely regional or minor poet. The author of searching and often dark meditations on universal themes, he is a quintessentially modern poet in his adherence to language as it is actually spoken, in the psychological complexity of his portraits, and in the degree to which his work is infused with layers of ambiguity and irony.
In a 1970 review of The Poetry of Robert Frost, the poet Daniel Hoffman describes Frost's early work as "the Puritan ethic turned astonishingly lyrical and enabled to say out loud the sources of its own delight in the world," and comments on Frost's career as The American Bard: "He became a national celebrity, our nearly official Poet Laureate, and a great performer in the tradition of that earlier master of the literary vernacular, Mark Twain."
About Frost, President John F. Kennedy said, "He has bequeathed his nation a body of imperishable verse from which Americans will forever gain joy and understanding."
Robert Frost lived and taught for many years in Massachusetts and Vermont, and died in Boston on January 29, 1963.
A great link to Frost's poems is found at Robert Frost: America's Poet. I recommend that you spend a few minutes browsing this site and reading some more of his poetry.
Monday, May 21, 2007
The heavenly orbs have been in my thoughts all week, as we've watched the convergence of the new moon and Venus. I'm working on a poem to express the wonder and majesty I've been observing.
This week's challenge: write a poem celebrating the sky. Planets, stars, asteroids, mythology, whatever strikes you as you gaze upward. Please share it with us in the comments!
Sunday, May 20, 2007
This is probably my favorite form of poetry. I've always used the Shakespearian rhyme pattern, but this one is my first using the Petrarchan pattern. And don't worry--I'm not expecting again! It's just my device to celebrate the fecundity of the earth and Deity.
My heavy shovel turns the dirt aside
The clods of grass are severed by the roots,
While scurry by some beetles, ants, and newts
And creatures that within the earth do hide.
As I survey this ground, my plot so wide
I see the furrows rise beneath my boots,
Bare buds secede to flowers, then to fruits--
My vision for this garden spot untried.
I place my hand where curves my middle part
And feel to hum a lullaby quite low.
I feel a movement deep below my heart
Such beauty strikes my soul, and I am shown
that One who in Creation has a part
The gracious Gardener makes good things to grow.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
The first and most common sonnet is the Petrarchan, or Italian. It is named after one of its greatest practitioners, the Italian poet Francesco Petrarch. The Petrarchan sonnet is divided into two stanzas. The first eight lines, the octave, have a rhyme scheme of abba, abba. The final six lines (sestet)usually rhyme with a cdecde or cdcdcd pattern. This type of sonnet is especially suited for the rhyme-rich Italian language. Often the octave presents an argument, observation, question, or some other answerable charge. A turn, or volta, occurs between the eighth and ninth lines which marks a shift in direction of the foregoing argument or narrative. The sestet gives the counterargument, clarification, or whatever answer the octave demands.
The Petrarchan sonnet was introduced to England in the early sixteenth century by Sir Thomas Wyatt. He translated many of Petrarch’s sonnets into the English language as well writing his own. Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, a contemporary of Wyatt’s, whose own translations of Petrarch are considered more faithful to the original though less fine to the ear, modified the Petrarchan, thus establishing the structure that became known as the Shakespearean sonnet. This structure has been noted to lend itself much better to the comparatively rhyme-poor English language. There are, however, many fine examples of the Petrarchan sonnet in English.
How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Posted by Bored in Vernal at 10:05 PM
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Henry Howard was born in 1517 in Hertfordshire, England. He was the oldest son of Thomas Howard, 3rd Duke of Norfolk, and Lady Elizabeth Stafford, and so was descended from kings on both sides of the family. He was educated at Windsor Castle, the British royal residence with Henry Fitzroy, King Henry VIII's illegitimate son, who later married his sister. Thus he was brought up in all the virtues and practices of chivalry, which find a large place in his poems. He continually bragged of his royal descent and thus was imprisoned on several occasions. Once he was charged with breaking windows in the city with a crossbow, to which he answered that he was “a figure of the Lord’s behest,” sent to warn the sinful city of her doom. Henry was eventually convicted of treason, and executed January 13, 1547.
Henry Howard introduced blank verse to English in translating two books of Virgil's Aeneid. Along with his friend Sir Thomas Wyatt, he adapted and popularized Petrarch's Italian sonnet form, bringing it over into English. Wyatt's and Surrey's poems were among the first lyrics from the courtiers' manuscript tradition to find their way into mass-production print in the form of the poetry collection traditionally called "Tottel's Miscellany" (1557).
Surrey was held in great literary esteem. The following is an example of a sonnet written by Surrey and published in the Miscellany.
Love that doth reign and live within my thought
And built his seat within my captive breast,
Clad in the arms wherein with me he fought,
Oft in my face he doth his banner rest.
But she that taught me love and suffer pain,
My doubtful hope and eke my hot desire
With shamefast look to shadow and refrain,
Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire.
And coward Love then to the heart apace
Taketh his flight, where he doth lurk and plain
His purpose lost, and dare not show his face.
For my lord's guilt thus faultless bide I pain;
Yet from my lord shall not my foot remove:
Sweet is the death that taketh end by love.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
The Spenserian sonnet, invented by sixteenth century English poet Edmund Spenser, cribs its structure from the Shakespearean--three quatrains and a couplet--but employs a series of "couplet links" between quatrains, as revealed in the rhyme scheme: abab, bcbc, cdcd, ee. The Spenserian sonnet, through the interweaving of the quatrains, implicitly reorganized the Shakespearean sonnet into couplets, reminiscent of the Petrarchan. One reason was to reduce the often excessive final couplet of the Shakespearean sonnet, putting less pressure on it to resolve the foregoing argument, observation, or question.
I joy to see how in your drawen work,
Yourself unto the bee ye do compare:
And me unto the Spider that doth lurk,
In close await to catch her unaware.
Right so youself were caught in cunning snare
Of a dear foe, and thralled to his love:
In whose straight bands ye now captived are
So firmly, that ye never may remove.
But as your work is woven all above,
With woodbine flowers and fragrant Eglantine;
So sweet your prison you in time shall prove,
With many dear delights bedecked fine.
And all thenceforth eternal peace shall see,
Between the spider and the gentle bee.
Monday, May 14, 2007
A sonnet is a fourteen-line poem in iambic pentameter with a carefully patterned rhyme scheme. The English or Shakespearean sonnet, developed first by Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey (1517-1547), consists of three quatrains and a couplet--that is, it rhymes abab cdcd efef gg. A very favorite and familiar sonnet is Shakespeare's "Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?" Observe the elements of this sonnet in the figure below: (click on the figure to see it more clearly)
Now try writing your own sonnet. Share your results with us in the comment section, or leave a link to your poetry blog. This week we'll be posting more information about the sonnet, and sharing some great examples of this form of poetry.