All work ©Ashley! MINE! CAN'T STEAL!
Through a presentation in poetry class, I discovered the villanelle. It was described as being a very difficult form of poetry to write, but having learned the form, I decided I might as well give it a shot. Here's what came out. (On the villanelle—you might want to read this to actually appreciate the poems. More explanation below.)
Two forms of a villanelle. I I breathe the stifled, scholarly air. Beneath the green fluorescent light I sit there, rooted in my chair. Outside this room, the day is fair And fading down to speckled night. I breathe the stifled, scholarly air. My veins pound hot with crippled care, My heart and mind begin to fight— I sit there, rooted in my chair. I long to leave, but do I dare? While sunset fades in my longing sight, I breathe the stifled, scholarly air. Summer calls to bid me share Its gloried joy and dancing night!— …I sit there, rooted in my chair. My heart is skinned, my soul is bare, My stomach jumps, my throat is tight. I breathe the stifled scholarly air And sit there, rooted in my chair."Clytie" by Frederic, Lord Leighton II I breathe the stale and scholarly air While each leaf outside the crystal panes is edged in amber light. I sit there, rooted to my chair While winds toss the grasses, they dance (dazzled in dew), Oh!, most fair! Soon the twilight will drape herself seductively over the fields of speckled night. I breathe the stale, scholarly air And my veins pour with tides of frenzied blood as through the classroom window I stare. My hopeful heart and militant mind, so frenzied, fight. I sit there, rooted to my chair. // Many things in daydreams I have done, but now my courage fails; I do not dare To burst from this cell of rotted facts into the sunset fields that blind my sight: I breathe the stale, scholarly air. // Summer shouts forth her clarion call—I could the petrichor, the dew-fresh ether share. Here is a gloried joy that I would join, dancing as the grasses do, with all my might!— …I sit there, rooted to my chair. My heart is skinned, my soul is bare, My stomach jumps, my throat is tight. I breathe the stifled scholarly air And sit there, rooted in my chair.
Since a villanelle requires no particular meter, I did the poem metered first. Then I thought, since this poem is about being restricted, why don't I write the repeated line (one of the restrictions of the poetic form) as a restricted, metered line, and the rest as unmetered lines, finishing up with a metered quatrain when the speaker has finally given in to restriction? Thus the second form. Note: I don't have a mistaken double slash at the beginning and end of the fourth triplet. I wanted a pause before and after this triplet, because it sort of contains the node of the poem. So I originally put a period before and after the triplet to cause it to stand out, but decided to change it to a double slash, as in the "railroad tracks" mark used in music to denote a full stop.
A more complicated form of the villanelle is the terzanelle. Unfortunately, this one is restricted enough in its use of repeating lines that I can't always get out exactly what I want to say. But I'm gonna keep trying! (Also on the terzanelle.)
A terzanelle If ever fall were lovely so, If ever leaves fell lightly, Then fall is lovely now. The autumn stars shine brightly— Orion hunts me faithfully, If ever leaves fell lightly. I watch the heavens hopefully, To see his arrows falling— Orion hunts me faithfully. All the woodland’s calling— I follow to the edges To see his arrows falling. Sir Autumn’s in the hedges, Beckoning me onward. I follow to the edges. Beauty the crook of the shepherd— If ever fall were lovely so, Beckoning me onward, Then fall is lovely now."Golden Light" by John Atkinson Grimshaw Terzanelle II When armies, fighting in the dark, Loose arrows, swift and black, They cannot hit their mark. They cannot gather them back Once they’ve left the bow: Loose arrows: swift, and sharp. We cannot aim them so: And cannot take them back Once they’ve left the bow. Wait for dawn to launch attack, Aim your arrows in the light, For you cannot take them back. Falsehood: blind—a starless night: Demons: blind and without ruth. Aim your arrows in the light To win with goodness led by truth! When armies fight us in the dark— Demons, blind and without ruth— They cannot hit their mark!
The second line in the last triplet didn't originally work, so I had to think of a way to fix it. I couldn't fix that line because it was repeated as the third line of the quatrain, and I really needed it there. But then I realized that I could fix the line above it (the first line of the last triplet) to fix my meaning, and voile! There we go. I'm pretty proud of this last terzanelle. I think I conveyed all my symbolism... Tell me what you think?
"Pythagoreans' Hymn to the Rising Sun" by Fedor Andreevitch Bronnikov Ecclesiastes 3:11b God has set eternity in the hearts of men, Yet we cannot contemplate what he has done From beginning to end. God explained through scriptures and through his Son. The words are there in black and red, Yet we cannot contemplate what he has done. The Lord will raise the sorrowing dead, Time will stop and earth will cease— The words are there in black and red— Chaos ends in order and in peace, Outside time we'll live in glory. Time will stop and earth will cease. This is the unbelievable story: We're made to live in our unseen home, Outside time. We'll live in glory When the day we hope for will joyfully come. God has set eternity in the hearts of men: We're made to live in our unseen home From beginning to end.
10/24/04 Taken from an article I read in Time Magazine, a bit of internalized info from a passage of Mere Christianity by CS Lewis where he discusses how we're meant to live outside time and in a home we've never seen, plus a discussion of Chapter six of The Purpose-Driven Life by Rick Warren. In Sunday school, we were supposed to write a response to the chapter, and I ended up writing another terzanelle. Oops. :) Sonnets are a pain in the butt, but villanelles seem to write themselves. I think it's the meter. Whoever said that English speech falls easily into iambic pentameter needed to have his head checked. Tetrameter, maybe; pentameter, No.
