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No Winter Maintenance

March 12th 2009 16:28
No Winter Maintenance


December boughs stretch out like claws
That scratch around for sustenance
Which won’t be found till Springtime thaws.

This road’s in need of maintenance,
But signs say snow forestalls the fix.
Till Spring there‘ll be no recompense


For anger spent on winter’s tricks
Which make our fragile minds irate,
Though selfsame storms our souls transfix:

Our hearts their crystal mirrors bait,
Reflecting light to blind our eyes
As mounds of mirrors gather weight

And trap us under pallid skies,
Surrounded by the level white
Of snow that brings our hope’s demise.

Their weary eyes dismayed with sight
Of hidden paths and hidden holes
And roadways clogged with diamonds bright,

The people quickly think their goals
Are overwhelming; then they scheme
To fight for what the storm controls,

To push against the ice and scream
Frustrations at the diamond-wall,
To melt the frost, their rage redeem

The time it took to shred the pall
And give them some small sustenance,
All peaceful thoughts beyond recall.

They never win the fight, nor get their recompense:
As I await in warm abode for Spring to make the call,
They know defeat and raise the sign “No winter maintenance.”

Living in the midst of the U.S. snowbelt region, I'm well-acquainted with the "no winter maintenance" sign, and people's frustration at the snow. This poem can be seen as humorous, but also harboring some deeper more serious thoughts and critiques on humanity and human nature. At least that's my opinion; but of course the final word isn't really up to me, since I'm biased.


This poem takes the form of a terza rima. A terza rima is, in my mind, a sort of combination of the Spenserian sonnet's interlocking rhyme and the villanelle's repetition. Instead of whole repeating lines like the villanelle, the tercets (3-line stanzas) of the terza rima are connected by their end-rhymes: aba bcb cdc ded, and so on. The terza rima is not a closed form: the poet can continue writing the tercets as long as he wants as long as the rhyme scheme remains intact. This poem form usually ends with either a single line that rhymes with one of the lines in the previous tercet, a rhyming couplet, or with a final tercet that fits the rest of the poem's rhyme.

I chose to write this poem in iambic tetrameter, but the final tercet has one line of hexameter and two lines of heptameter. When I say iambic pentameter, I'm not talking about the number of syllables: I'm talking about the number of poetic feet. If you just say "pentameter" that means there are five feet--hexameter= six feet, heptameter=seven feet, tetrameter= four feet, etc. A poetic foot is made up of two or more syllables; some feet have up to 5 or 6 syllables (though in that range it's mostly splitting hairs...a 5-6 syllable foot could easily be interpreted as 2 or more smaller feet).

But when I say "iambic" I'm referring to what kind of poetic foot is used in the line. An iamb is a foot of two syllables, an unstressed one followed by a stressed one. But there are 3-syllable and 4-syllable feet as well: a dactylic foot has a stressed syllable and 2 unstresseds ("Washington"), and its opposite is an anapestic foot, or anapest. A cretic foot--or amphimacer--has a stressed, unstressed, and another stressed syllable ("Crocodile"). An example of a four-syllable foot is a secundus paeon, which has one unstressed syllable then a stressed syllable, then 2 more unstressed syllables.

So when you see a term like "iambic pentameter" versus "dactylic trimeter," the 2nd one has only 1 less syllable than the first, because a dactyl is 3 syllables, and trimeter means there are 3 feet, so there are 3 dactyls= 9 syllables. Pentameter means 5 feet, and if its iambic, then there are 5 iambs= 10 syllables. So don't assume that just because something says "pentameter" or "tetrameter" that it will have 10 or 8 syllables, since the number of syllables depends on what kind of foot is used.

Anyway, back to my poem. The hardest part of terza rimas, for me, is the interlocking rhyme scheme. I have concrete, poetic ideas, but I have to mold them, manipulate them to fit the form. This is annoying but also rewarding, as it helps expand your vocabulary and mode of thinking. If it weren't for this restriction, I might not have come up with my metaphors of snow/ice being like mirrors and diamonds. I picked diamonds because I honestly don't think they're very attractive...it's just a cultural thing. They're just obnoxiously sparkly with no color at all. I find it shallow and unaesthetic that the only reason people value diamonds so much is because they're pricey; rare; valuable. I don't see much aesthetic/romatic value in them at all. Of course there are plenty of people who honestly think diamonds are beautiful, but a huge majority of people only value them because they are themselves very valuable monetarily.

I also made the poem circular in a way, reusing the words 'maintenance' and 'recompense' at the end, just as I did near the beginning. Also notice the shifting viewpoint/pronouns throughout the poem...see if you can decipher some meaning from the shift of pronoun usage. I'm trying more and more in my poetry to add subtle clues to make readers think without knocking them over the head with what I'm trying to do. Let me know if it works!

Tomorrow I'll start a new segment on epic poetry by beginning my discussion of John Milton's Paradise Lost. Starting with book 1, each Friday I'll discuss each subsequent book's themes and how it accomplishes its task poetically. I'll also try to mark the important differences between epic poetry and prose and other, shorter poetry. Until then, have a nice day!












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Humility--a sonnet

February 23rd 2009 01:08


When I went out to shed my dismal mood
Despite the driving snow that made my vision blurred,
I saw a smear of dark within the white, a bird
That picked among the mounds for bits of food.

Within this blinding storm it seemed absurd
That any creature sought its supper in the cold--
Indeed, that any could withstand the uncontrolled--
And so I sought to sate its search, deferred

By frost: with seed in hand, so kind and bold,
I slowly stretched my arm out far so it could feed.
But then it spread its shining golden wings--no need
For charity--and soared to heights untold.

So flap your wings, you pretty bird, and fly away
To lands of ample seed; I, without your wings, will stay.

I wrote this sonnet based on an experience I had during winter break around Christmas-time. Like my writing professors keep saying, "write what you know." And I try to do that as often as possible.

I just made up this sonnet form, sort of combining the interlocking rhyme scheme of the Spenserian (ababbcbccdcdee) with the closed structure of the Petrarchan (abbaabbacdccdc). I'm sure other poets have written this style before, but if they have, I haven't read them--or at least I don't remember them. I really like both the Spenserian and the Petrarchan's structures, so I figured why not combine the best of both worlds?

Although I deviated from the standard, I still made sure it was tightly structured. Each quatrain started with one line of iambic pentameter, then 2 lines of iambic hexameter, then another line of pentameter. I.E. 1 10-syllable line, 2 12-syllable lines, then a 10-syllable line again. Short,long,long,short,short,l ong,long,short, etc. The ending couplet's first line is hexameter, the last is 13 syllables. I did it on purpose, since I wanted the last line to be sort of ponderous with the semicolon and the commas.

Speaking of commas, the syntax of the poem is never grammatically incorrect. I try, in all my poetry, to retain syntax and coherence, rather than sacrificing those things just for the sake of rhyme. Sometime soon I will start discussing grammar in poetry. What place does grammar have in poetry? Does poetry have to conform to grammatical rules? Even if someone says "no," there are so many "rules" of grammar that lend the language to extreme flexiblity that even if you think a poem is "grammatically incorrect" it probably is "correct."

Part of the challenge of writing poetry--at least coherent, knowable poetry--is how to utilize the language and its rules--especially punctuation--to bring meaning and robust life to your poetry. I'll talk at more length about punctuation in poetry and the controversies surrounding the subject at a later time.

I hope you all enjoyed the poem, and if anyone has any comments about it or anything else I said, feel free to chime in. I love a good dialogue! Have a good night everyone!
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Entropy

February 3rd 2009 04:11


The summer leaves gasp in the heat,
Giving their breath to drowning limbs
That offer them drinks in return;
A symbiotic love affair--
Sighing leaves caressing breathless boughs.

Solstitial wells begin to dry;
Breaths are fewer, drink is scarcer.
Clutching limbs begin to wither--
They cannot spare a drop for leaves
That blush with slowing, weary breaths
And quiver in the cooling breeze.

Flushed with dimming evening colors,
The leaves soon cease their troubled breaths.
Branches clasp the withered corpses;
Soon grown cold, the hand of winter
Tears them apart, leaving the limbs
Alone and cold, swaying in the wind.

I'm not going to pick this poem apart. I want you readers to see if you can figure out what the poem means. The whole thing is a metaphor; that's the only hint I'll give.

I will probably re-work this poem in the future: I shared it with one of my favorite writing professors, and he said it has potential, but he feels that the rhythm is somewhat lacking and could be improved. What do you think? I tend to agree with him; at this point I'm not sure how to rework the rhythm without redoing the poem, but I'll figure it out eventually.

With this poem a poetic tradition of mine has been firmly cemented: there are infinite parallels and metaphors in nature that relate to everyday life. The vast majority of my poetry has been--on the surface--about nature, but I use natural processes, seasons, images, concepts etc. to critique something about life or put into poetic words my philosophy on life and my worldview.

There's so much poetry in the world. I believe a good poet is a good observer of things as well. I don't believe--aside from cheesy love poetry--that really good poetry can just come from the poet's mind alone. He or she must experience or see something in the world that acts as a catalyst for the poet's muse.

Real phenomena in the world--whether tangible or intangible--are like the flour. eggs, etc. in a loaf of bread. The poet's imagination and capacity for poetic thought are the yeast that allows the dough to rise. And the poet's command of language and grasp of poetic form is like the fierce heat of the oven that gives the whole thing life.

Go out and make some bread.
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Poetic Evolution--Trapping the Stars

January 31st 2009 16:15


A while back I posted a poem called "Trapping the Stars." Here it is in that original incarnation


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Open the Door

January 26th 2009 20:09
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Metrical Musings

January 19th 2009 16:47
“Take (your) Heart”

If home is where our hearts reside


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Whose woods these are I think I know


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Messing with the Sonnet

January 16th 2009 22:36
"Grandpa"

He was the liveliest fossil on earth


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Darkness Deposed

January 15th 2009 18:31
That time of night when you might behold
a slit of light, gray and cold, slowly
opening the east, the dawn is told


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Denial

January 14th 2009 14:48
I'm not going to talk much today; I'm mostly going to let the poem do the talking. I will say that "Denial," my poem for today, is written as a sestina. For those who don't know, a sestina is a non-rhymed poem of six six-line stanzas, and a final three-line stanza, also known as a tornada or envoi. Sestinas are traditionally written in blank verse (unrhymed iambic pentameter), the form that Shakespeare made famous via his plays. The difficult and fun aspect of the sestina is that the end-words of the first stanza are recycled as the end-words for every other stanza, although in a different order. If the order of the end-words in stanza 1 is 123456, then the order of those end-words in the next stanza will be 615243, and then 364152, and so on. The tornada has 2 of these words in each line, one in the middle or beginning, and the other at the end (3/6, 4/1, 5/2 or really any order you want). So the sestina lends itself to a sort of obsessive narration and the tornada wraps everything up; if done well, a sestina can be very powerful and subtle. You can take "Denial" any way you like; I wrote it as sort of a puzzle that can have various valid conclusions. Look for the word repetition, and I would love to see what your interpretation is. Here's the poem, and have a great day!

Denial


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This gold is here to stay

January 12th 2009 15:24


"Nothing Gold Can Stay," by Robert Frost


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