I do not have…

…writer’s block, nor stage fright, for that matter.  I am not quite sure why that is, but still, sometimes it is difficult to bring myself to keep to my schedule.   Particularly now.  I know I could, for example use one of my developed techniques to write several sonnets in the next hour or two; but I can already tell, I am not going to.  I think tomorrow, I will do so.

Lately, I think I have have written a series of more serious and more heartfelt sonnets, and these do not necessarily need to be the norm.   When I started this project, I made a joke about not writing sonnets about trivial matters, still, there is something between writing about one’s sunburn during one’s vacation (in Majorca, I have always maintained) and writing a nice-sounding sonnet about a less trivial but still not a soul deafeningly deep matter.   I thought nothing of doing this at first, as I mentioned.  Still, I think I have been having what a dear friend of mine would call “a case of the blues.”  And I am disinclined to write about this case for the reason above.

Sometimes one gets to a point where one does not wish to delve.  I am after all, more–much more–a musician than a writer of any kind.  And even though music is more difficult than writing–as is practically every field of human endeavour–in the grand scheme of things, music comes rather more easy to me than writing.  So to compose a sonnet that sounds nice the subject of which is rather vague or even cryptic, is not a difficult thing to accomplish.  Still I do feel much better now that I “verbalise” this fact.

I can write, perhaps because of whatever musical, or one might say: “sound related senses,” I may posses, something rather quickly.  Some of these sonnets have ended up being quite nice to my ears; and, as often happens in such a case, capriciousness gives way to depth as one writes, arranges, and rearranges words in such an endeavour.  Sometimes of course the result may…  sound better than it means, or sound more clearly than its meaning is clear.  Still, more often than not, perhaps, these are nearly indistinguishable from those into which I invest quite a lot of thought and emotion and research of one kind or another.

Quite often, a very deeply held feeling can also roll off the pen, even when one is using a particularly difficult form.  Although my general “policy,” as it were, has always been to let the text dictate the best form to use.  I have very many to chose from, in sonnet writing.  When one realises there are:

  1. Shakespearean (abab,cdcd,efef,gg)
  2. Reverse Shakespearean (aa, bcbc, dede, fgfg)
  3. Interlocking Shakespearean (abab, cdcd, dede, fg — fg abab, cdcd, efef)
  4. Italian (1221, 1221, 6*{AB} | {ABC} (six final lines of two or three ephemerals which can vary in almost any combination))
  5. Reverse Italian: 1221, 2112, AA 4* {BA} | {BC} (two or three rhymes but beginning with a couplet.
  6. Spenserian (a1a1, 1212, 2323, bb)
  7. Reverse Spenserian (2121, 3232, 4343, [14][14])   one of my favourites.
  8. Emeronian (a1a2, b1b2, c1c2, [d1][d2])
  9. Reverse Emeronian (1a2a, 1b2b, 1c2c, [1d][2d])   another favourite.
  10. Sequential (1234, 1234, 1234, [12][34]) another invention
  11. unnamed (aa1a, bb1b, cc1c, [1d][1d])
  12. Canopian ([a-a]c[b-b]c, [d-d]f[e-e]f, [g-g]1[h-h]1, [j-j]1) extrapolation from “Roddenberry’s Couplet.”
  13. Unlucky ( ????????????? )

It is easy to conceive of the appropriate form to use given the idea one wishes to express.  So I must now pledge to continue in this way tomorrow wherein It may be easier to accomplish after some rest. : )

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3 responses to “I do not have…

  1. What an array of varieties and reasons for choosing one over the other. I’ve had the blues myself and find the constant snow to be tiresome at best. I did amuse myself by using the laser pointer to terrorize my cat. Now…how did that red dot get on the ceiling and how can I capture it? I make myself write something everyday, even if it is crap. Today the subject is “sleet” and the sound it makes as it pings on my car and how pissed off it makes my cat because he wants out but dares not go out from under the garage. We poets are odd creatures. Hope you get out of the blues and choose one of those forms to write something wonderful!

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