This is the aforementioned…

…blank verse sonnet.  This comes from an old, vaguely triadic piece of freeverse I wrote some time last century.  (I want to point something out here:   It’s already 2012 and still no flying car.  What’s up with that?)

I don’t have all the steps preserved this time, but the original was 7 triadic verses of various line lengths–one might call it  William Carlos Williams style.   So with just the right rolling-pin, I expanded it to 14 lines of blank verse, preserving or adding content in order to keep the feet iambic.

Once that was done, I just altered things as I added the rhymes, and then just for the fun of it, added 7 more internal rhymes, which I think can sometimes add a pleasant cadence to the way it reads.  I should have saved the interim steps, but my mind had been wandering and so I didn’t save my drafts when I should have, thus more or less automatically saving the various steps.

This process didn’t really make the composition any faster, but it was more novel, and also somewhat less of a struggle, in some ways.  Easier, but not faster, I guess.  It worked well enough that I think I’ll try it again sometime soon.

Evidently I did save enough to give you an idea:

Here’s the Original:

Earthbound are my feet, although
they strive for starfields;
climb as they will a

staircase of air, the Earth
is all that they may
touch. But oh! how my

mind may soar! It takes
my feet where they may go
but not where it may fly.

An Island of dirt is all
they know. All they will
ever know. But

dirt may be kind and
beautiful, and may be built
upon and danced upon and

someday, may become a
a chariot, and take me to the

There, a much younger self had the hope that he might go forth someday.

Now here it is in blankverse:

To Earth are bound my feet although they strive
For starfields climbing as they will upon
A staircase wrought of air, but even so
The Earth is all the ether they may touch.

But let me tell a tale now of how
My mind may soar! It takes my feet where they
May go. But not where they may someday fly.
An Island small of dirt is all they know.

And all the ether they will Ever know.
But dirt may be as kind and beautiful
And may be built upon and danced upon
And rained upon and then someday it may
Become, aglow with flame, a chariot,
To take my children’s children to the stars.

Here, I relegate the stars alas to future generations.

And, of course the final version can be found here.

If I find a way to include the “final” version inline, I will do that in past and future posts of this type. I don’t like to cut and paste them in here because there’s always a bit of lucasing that will occur, and then the two “final” versions won’t match.

In any case, this should give anyone a pretty good idea. I think I’m going to try that same process with some brand new material and see how it goes.

Insults Make Me Happy:

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