#30 Favourite poem forms
Dec. 31st, 2014 04:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaberettProbably no surprises here: I like forms that encourage being Clever, particularly with punctuation, hence my fondness for the poem in one of the collections of my childhood on the importance of punctuation that featured the lines:
Hence: my fondness for sonnets, and for villanelles, and for whatever that form is that's palindromic, I'll quote you one.
Sonnet-wise, I wish to tell you an anecdote about my GCSE English Literature examination. In much the same way that I am a small autistic adult with an enthusiasm for poetry, I was a small autistic child with an enthusiasm for poetry. One of the examination papers was on poetry misc, partly set texts and partly responses to unseen poetry. The unseen poem was about being in prison, and it was a sonnet.
Reader, I squeaked. I squeaked and flapped. I tried my hardest not to, but once I had counted syllables and lines twice I did, and then I wrote an essay about the restrictions of the form as metaphor for the restrictions of imprisonment, with rather less political insight on the topic of the prison-industrial complex than I have these days. I got an A*.
So! Form. Using form to reflect and amplify content.
Villanelles I adore because of the tension and the rhythm and the drive towards conclusion. I have a preference for strict villanelles - wherein the entire first and third lines are repeated, rather than using variations - and within that I have a preference for villanelles where the meanings of those lines are altered by dint of playing tricks with, yes, punctuation. I adore that the tension can be positive or negative, despairing or hopeful. My intent with getting myself to write villanelles in 2015 is in the general direction of managing some of both, and working out how many other flavours I can find.
Finally, the palindromic nonsense! Also known as mirror-poems, or specular poems. I've barely seen any of these, which is unsurprising because they are Difficult (and I happily solicit recommendations for more!). I suspect it is obvious why I like it, but if you would like me to talk about how my chosen example reflects perspective as it reflects the poem round the pivotal point of the window, I am very happy so do to:
-- and finally, as for favourite non-English poets, I am afraid I am not terribly widely read! However, I am very fond of Meg Bateman, who writes in Gaelic and does her own translations into English (especially Lightness/[NAME], which is how I first came across her, and is referenced in several of my own poems more or less explicitly); Rilke, in German; Neruda; Anna Akhmatova.
PRIVATE?
NO. SWIMMING
ALLOWED.
Hence: my fondness for sonnets, and for villanelles, and for whatever that form is that's palindromic, I'll quote you one.
Sonnet-wise, I wish to tell you an anecdote about my GCSE English Literature examination. In much the same way that I am a small autistic adult with an enthusiasm for poetry, I was a small autistic child with an enthusiasm for poetry. One of the examination papers was on poetry misc, partly set texts and partly responses to unseen poetry. The unseen poem was about being in prison, and it was a sonnet.
Reader, I squeaked. I squeaked and flapped. I tried my hardest not to, but once I had counted syllables and lines twice I did, and then I wrote an essay about the restrictions of the form as metaphor for the restrictions of imprisonment, with rather less political insight on the topic of the prison-industrial complex than I have these days. I got an A*.
So! Form. Using form to reflect and amplify content.
Villanelles I adore because of the tension and the rhythm and the drive towards conclusion. I have a preference for strict villanelles - wherein the entire first and third lines are repeated, rather than using variations - and within that I have a preference for villanelles where the meanings of those lines are altered by dint of playing tricks with, yes, punctuation. I adore that the tension can be positive or negative, despairing or hopeful. My intent with getting myself to write villanelles in 2015 is in the general direction of managing some of both, and working out how many other flavours I can find.
Finally, the palindromic nonsense! Also known as mirror-poems, or specular poems. I've barely seen any of these, which is unsurprising because they are Difficult (and I happily solicit recommendations for more!). I suspect it is obvious why I like it, but if you would like me to talk about how my chosen example reflects perspective as it reflects the poem round the pivotal point of the window, I am very happy so do to:
The Back Seat of My Mother's Car
We left before I had time
to comfort you, to tell you that we nearly touched
hands in that vacuous half-dark. I wanted
to stem the burning waters running over me like tiny
rivers down my face and legs, but at the same time I was reaching out
for the slit in the window where the sky streamed in,
cold as ether, and I could see your fat mole-fingers grasping
the dusty August air. I pressed my face to the glass;
I was calling to you--Daddy!--as we screeched away into
the distance, my own hand tingling like an amputation.
You were mouthing something I still remember, the noiseless words
piercing me like that catgut shriek that flew up, furious as a sunset
pouring itself out against the sky. The ensuing silence
was the one clear thing I could decipher--
the roar of the engine drowning your voice,
with the cool slick glass between us.
With the cool slick glass between us,
the roar of the engine drowning, your voice
was the one clear thing I could decipher--
pouring itself out against the sky, the ensuing silence
piercing me like that catgut shriek that flew up, furious as a sunset.
You were mouthing something: I still remember the noiseless words,
the distance, my own hand tingling like an amputation.
I was calling to you, Daddy, as we screeched away into
the dusty August air. I pressed my face to the glass,
cold as ether, and I could see your fat mole-fingers grasping
for the slit in the window where the sky streamed in
rivers down my face and legs, but at the same time I was reaching out
to stem the burning waters running over me like tiny
hands in that vacuous half-dark. I wanted
to comfort you, to tell you that we nearly touched.
We left before I had time.
Julia Copus
-- and finally, as for favourite non-English poets, I am afraid I am not terribly widely read! However, I am very fond of Meg Bateman, who writes in Gaelic and does her own translations into English (especially Lightness/[NAME], which is how I first came across her, and is referenced in several of my own poems more or less explicitly); Rilke, in German; Neruda; Anna Akhmatova.