Blogetary (Weblog + Commentary = Blogetary)

In keeping with April as Poetry Month and in honor of Jo Walton’s International Pixel Stained Technopeasant Day, I am going to blog a little bit about Sonnets and then show you some sonnets I have written.  The sonnet is not nearly as appreciated as it used to be, though it has recently come back into favor.  They’re rather enjoyable to attempt and if you can do it, it’s as elegant a form of poetry, I believe, as either the Chinese or the Japanese form of poetry, in its own way.

In general, sonnets tend to have 14 lines, 10 syllables per line, typically iambic pentameter (daDUM) with specific rhyming schemes depending on the type of sonnet. Sonnets may be a little different in the 21st century, but in general there are three accepted forms. The Italian, the Spenserian, and the English, or Shakespearean Sonnet.

The Italian sonnet was an interesting form since it was sometimes a puzzle poser.  The first 8 lines of the sonnet may pose a question or problem for example, while the last 6 lines would present a possible solution or resolution. The rhyming scheme could be abab/abab/cde/cde or perhaps abba/abba/cdc/cdc or some variation on that theme.  Wikipedia uses a John Milton poem as an example, though Dorothy Sayers has her heroine Harriet Vane write an Italian Sonnet in concert with Lord Peter Whimsey in the book Gaudy Night.

The Spenserian Sonnet is named after Edmund Spenser, an English poet, who changed the form to suit himself.  Basically three quatrains, one cascading into the next, ending in a couplet.  The rhyming scheme might look like abab/bcbc/cdcd/ee.

English poets continued to rewrite the sonnet to suit themselves and came up with another form that Shakespeare was fond of using.  This type of sonnet also used three quatrains and a couplet (the English like their couplets), but instead of having a cascade, where one rhyme set reflected the one above, these would be three separate quatrains. So it looked like abab/cdcd/efef/gg.

If you follow the above links in the second paragraph you can see examples of what that poetry would look like when done well. Down below is what I have done in the past when attempting to write my own sonnets.  Some of them (most of them) use near rhyme rather than exact rhyme, and I think I fudge a little on the syllables and iambic pentameter.  It’s an effort, anyway.  If you have time and the desire, see what you can do on your own.  For now, here are my offerings:

Sonnets by Rachel V. Olivier

To Pan

A gossamer thread of a spider’s web
sparkling with dew in the early morning sun.
I feel tiny threads on my arms, face, legs,
clinging to me in wisps where ever I turn.
Enchanting, seducing, bewitching me,
I hear the siren call of your summons.
Web twinkling under forest canopy
you stand, hands out, and to my heart beckon.
Do I answer? Be in your web enmeshed?
Be entangled in your strands like the rest?
If I come to you I will be devoured -
on your web my corpse a permanent guest.
And if I persist in letting you in
who’s to say that it won’t someday happen?

Look Out Point

Some drops of rain on a painted canvas.
The smell of crushed pine needles under foot.
Rain from a mountain storm tears down a rut.
The breath of a butterfly in my pulse.
I hear the pine trees talk and fir trees sing
as the birds chirp and the squirrels scold at me.
I gaze from the mountain top to the sea
mindful of the buck near to me browsing.
The uptake of air as a bird takes flight
sends a thrill up my spine as I peer down
the cliff and see the fishing boats at bay.
My heart never wants to forget the sight
or feel of this moment.  I watch and yearn
to share this with somebody.  So I cry.

A Dream – Or Is It?

Velvet soft breezes caress my body,
and like a lover’s hands play gently with
my hair.  The incense from this place holy -
the perfumes of salt air and a dianthe.
Over the percussive beat of waves are
the melodies of gull and crow mixing
as they over the water dip and arc.
In a court not of man’s making, Changeling,
taking on the shape of bird mid-flight.
I hear the mermaids singing a chorus,
praising the Creatures of the Day and Night.
Haunting phrases that sing “come follow us.”
And if I am a King’s Daughter at Heart
Then follow I must or give up my Art.

In Captivity

Layer by layer by layer we start.
Our conversation punctuated by
Laughter, Ideals, Philosophy, and Art.
Images of sex flash behind my eyes
as we talk by candlelight, wine in hand.
We pause – uncomfortable as how to
go on.  You are more adept at it than
I.  This exposing of self to me new.
You clasp my hand, but I, I need my bounds.
Knowledge is power and you frighten me
with what you know already.  Giving ground
to you I am lost uncontrollably.
I am used to knowing without being known.
I suppose I will never write this poem.

2:18 AM

I stand at the screen door waiting for some
one (who will never show up.)  Outside I
hear the clamor and crash of the street bum
who visits our neighborhood on Wednesday nights.
He shops at our garbage cans looking for
Meaning, Life and bits of Treasure in the
scraps of refuse we leave outside our door.
I lean on the door jamb thinking on this.
Where do all the thoughts go?  Is meaning in
a new “Thing”?  Is my treasure to be found
at a shop?  A gilded style garbage bin?
“T’Hell with it!” lid crashes to the ground.
I echo his thoughts as my door slams shut,
for now, Thoughts and Treasures  replaced by Gut.

Beauty

She was holding the wall up-it would seem.
Long blonde hair, searching blue eyes, graceful form.
Her pink cheeks were pinker, she being weaned
on the bottled beer in hand.  She was torn.
She longed for someone to smile, stop, and talk.
She hoped nobody would see her- alone.
Spying the restroom she summoned her walk.
She took a deep breath as she reached the phone.
At last-a prop.  She leaned against the shelf,
pretended  to call a friend to meet her.
She should never have come she told herself.
A prisoner, Beauty was her jailer.
Alone-she would arrive and lonely-leave.
This is what Beauty charges as her fee.