Yesterday’s sonnet…

…is a reverse of the form I invented not long ago.  Rather than ABAC form with the final couplet a compressed version of the above, with the A rhymes being unique to each quatrain and hiding in each line of the final couplet, the reverse is done. For both the following examples, the unique rhymes are done in a shade of blue, and the rhymes that carry through the entire piece are in red and green.   Here is the original form:

By any song, in night, that dost thou sing,
If with thy lips shalt sing, my dearest one;
Or make to sing my soul, thy touch doth bring;
Or strong thine arms surroundeth, sing my heart.

And when thy smile doth sing, to heal, to rest;
And sing to fret the tyme away, undone
By song; yet still the finer am I blest
By music, by thy words, and by thine art.

But only thus, thy song shouldst bid me sleep
Thy song, my shelter, sweep away the sun,
I beg the promise of thy song, and weep
That shouldst thou hold mee fast, and ne’r us part

Until thy quiet fight–when hast thou won
Requite the day, that thou expressed: Depart!

So the new form has quatrains of BACA form.   This creates strong rhymes on the strong lines (lines 2 and 4 of each quatrain–or group of four lines)  And also gives the compressed couplet a strong set of rhymes in the form EE, and where in B and C are internal to each of the two final line–or the couplet, as it is called, giving it the form (B) E (C) E.

Is it starlight–doth shimmer down from sky,
Bereft of cloud, that doth pretend such grace?
And is it moonlight, floating down, as show,
She doth, configuration’s subtle face

As though, to cover all, she doth thereby
Intrude, and douse these tiny candles–cool;
As her reflection, ripples undergo,
With counter-sparkle in a quiet pool?

Is it lamplight–that she doth overfly
From out a window, for its calm, perform?
Or is it firelight, setting us aglow,
For which she doth abound, surrounding warm?

Romantic, doth she try her hand, her charm
Protecting us, as though from storm, and harm.

Beloved Objects:

I wrote the following. I think it’s long enough to copy here. I also encourage anyone reading this to follow the link to Bjorn’s blog to read the original piece that inspired the following:

I am very sentimental about such things. I have aways wondered why I should be so reluctant to part with a favored old item. It was so from when I was very young. I have learned to overcome it, however, I remember well the old feeling, not so covered up by age and experience. Of sadness, betrayal, loss, loneliness. It was as though the objects themselves had souls, I thought much later on in adulthood.

Now, even much, much later, I have come to think that, closer to the truth is this: That in these objects we invest part of our own soul, and feel the loss as the object is ripped from it–away from us, that part of our soul remaining, yet feeling the effect of the beloved object torn from us–ripped away. So we feel the loss as though the object were an old friend.

I was not sure what to think about this piece at first, because it changes mood swiftly, and more than once–sometimes seeming deadly serious, and sometimes whimsical. I think I wanted–because of these feelings of loss that are natural to me–It to be serious, or whimsical in its entirety. However… one doesn’t always get what one wants, and this, too, is a lesson which should be refreshed from time to time.

I believe I am starting to recognize your unique voice as it resonates within your poetry, such that I might recognize a poem to be yours, or at least reminiscent of one of yours, when encountering it randomly.

And Bjorn Answers:

David, first of all thank you for reading through my entries. I love your feedback.

On the difficulties in parting with an object I think you are 100 percent correct. If it has seen daily use it become a part of you, and it doesn’t matter if it’s a tractor or a teapot.

On the poem I think you are right. I changed my own mood while writing it, at first I almost wanted to do something “comical”, but the sadness of the old machine grew on me just like it would have done if I had grown up with “him”.

Silent sound

This is a most beautiful piece. You do such free verse very nicely. Inspiring to me. I love the spare feel. Particularly because when one is outside–among nature, as it were, one feels so small–so vulnerable.  Yet, on the one hand, so much beauty surrounds us; on the other hand, it can harm, or even kill us. Part of nature’s charm is in its danger, and it is, I believe a good part of why we feel so satisfied when we tame a small portion of it.

Björn Rudberg (brudberg)'s avatarBjörn Rudbergs writings

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Today
Into the fog
The many shades of grey
As nature lost the colors normally
It has
The goal
We know so well looks different
The sounds so silently
We talk not loud
Today
—-
August 28, 2012

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Of course, inventing a new form of Sonnet…

…is very like inventing a new form of buggy whip.  I have two–among many more such–friends who think it’s wonderful that I write sonnets, but who are unable to apprehend them.  Public education has–and in my very humble opinion, quite very deliberately–failed these dear souls; something for which I would like to see the guilty pay the appropriate price.  What would be the price paid for destroying a mind?  Lobotomy, I think, if the universe were fair–which of course it is not.

When I click “like”…

…on one of my posts, it is not only because I like it very much, but also, because I have decided I am finished, absolutely and positively, with any and all lucasing. (still, there may be prequels though)

Even givinn this, I still feel a bit funny or guilty clicking on my own work. But so far I haven’t gone blind. And anyway, I have found that if one wants ones own blogs to appear in ones “reader,” then one must “follow” one’s own blog as well. I have done so, and haven’t gone blind from that either.

Now, here’s where, if I were already blind, I would admit it. But upfront, I’ll let everyone know that that is not the case; I am not blind.