Thursday, May 26, 2005

I wouldn't recommend it

This offering is not a challenge and I do not recommend you try and write a 'sestina', but I started this a week ago, and now Winnie wants 'form',
so here it goes.

A Sestina is based on six words, each of which must be the final word
of a line in each of six stanzas of six lines each;--
but, the order of the use of these words
must vary from stanza to stanza such that any word
never holds the same position more than once (pant, pant)

Then -- a refrain is added as a single line including all six words.

Hopefully the whole thing makes some sense when you are done.
This was a popular contest of Troubadores in the 14th century,
which may explain why they all died off!

faucon
......................................

Poetic Tapestry
(sestina)

If one is to consider poetry an art form,
Beyond a mere contrivance of fancy words
Or an essay presented with lively passion;
Then meter should be subject to nature's rhythm,
And man's battle with himself the only theme,
With life's comedic flow the only irony.

If one would ascribe to poetry as passion --
A matching of one's inner pulse with rhythm
Acceptable to readers less capable with words,
Then the poet must accept another dull theme --
A responsibility to mask most irony
With subtle use of meter, rhyme and form.

One would say a poet but hears a rhythm,
Born of Earth and stars and lost love irony,
And allows this sense of awe to take on form,
That takes the reader on a path within words,
Which perhaps only give a hint of passion
As verse after verse weave a most valid theme

It is the reader who completes the irony,
By placing their own spin on any hidden theme --
Caught up perhaps by the 'oft subtle rhythm
But, ignoring same, wishing the piece to inform
Of solutions to life's riddles cast in words,
And attempt to ignore any intense passion.

Thus readers may get something from poetic theme
That the poet never intended in simple form
But is projected upon the poem in true irony,
And many times the poet is accused of passion
Far beyond communion of simple rhythm
And thoughts and dreams and profoundly soulful words.

So do not get caught up in choosing just words,
But allow yourself to be lost in passion,
And permit the reader to select the theme,
Which they will do without sense of irony,
Mistakenly thinking that your message is form
And the song they hear is their own secret rhythm.


Thus, passion can be the theme, and words engender form,
bound in an irony of rhythm beyond both reader and poet.

5 comments:

maya said...

faucon
Is "DANG!" an acceptable word for a poet to use? The challenge is too hard for this neophyte! I'll just admire your skills as I muddle along......

Unknown said...

So THAT was what happened to all the Troubadours! Truthfully, they could have all been exterminated by the sestina. I believe it. The last time I wrote a sestina, I did it sort of as an act of self destruction. Forget the razor blades, who needs them when one has the sestina? I think maybe I’ll have another go one of these days . . . or more specifically one of these nights . . . those white ones that are as long as Methuselah’s beard. It’s a difficult form for me because of having to hit a terminal word. That feels backwards to me brain.

Fran said...

I tried one once
I truly did
and all I can say is: that it was a good idea
to put a firm lid on my sestina

Unknown said...

I had a teacher who asked for "first drafts" as well . . . I often used to write them after I had finished the poem, working quite back-ass-wards.

My mentor made me learn form, even though I swore I would never use it. She is somewhere-else now, perhaps smiling at me counting words and rhyming everything in sight.

Vi Jones said...

I have never dared to venture into the realm of form. I admire those, like you, who do. I write that which comes from within and that is all. There is always meter though, and that is my playground. There are times when the end result is a fiasco and there are times when it is a pleasure.

The following is an observation from my favorite poet, Mary Oliver.
"Poetry is a river; many voices travel in it; poem after poem moves along in the exciting crests and falls of the river waves. None is timeless; each arrives in an historical context; almost everything, in the end, passes. But the desire to make a poem, and the world's willingness to receive it-indeed the world's need of it-these never pass.

Vi