V. Time
and life perspective
This is another area that seems obvious yet it bears mention
here because it is usually missing from the poetry and song lyrics we would
typically be exposed to in the current period of our culture. The perspective
of time: that we are what we presently seem to be but far more of our lives may
be in the past or future. When one looks
at a woman do you see her as a sixty year old slightly bent and grey or d we
also see or wonder what she looked like at age sixteen or 25? Perhaps for many this thought does not occur.
Perhaps it occurs only in connection with close relatives- mother, sisters, and
grandmothers. Or maybe they noticed it
in a movie like “Titanic” when we meet the heroine as an older woman, then
relive a fabulous romance in the height of her youth and physical beauty.
Photo
My eyes paint a memory
of this woman
lovely face
long dark hair and bright smile
her sleek and angular body
athletic, slender.
She looks over her shoulder
life in wide dark eyes
slight almond color skin in golden embrace
and behind her, a canvas
sunlight upon sky blue ocean.
One day she will be old
and no longer in outer beauty,
sun and sea air will hurt her skin;
but she will look over her shoulder
into time
and remember
when my mouth was dry
and my eyes went soft
at the sight of her.
This poem “Photo” takes that perspective, it was actually
inspired by a photograph of a friend, Zayra Yves, a book cover photo—but it was really about time.
There are encounters between people that hold the
possibility of seduction, for me it occurs often in dance, the nature of the
meeting- the way each person might be on a search for far more than a dance.
Strangers dance
Pressed close until we swirl
float in body heat, a give and take
sweetness and warm close breath;
you- imprisoned there in your shell,
me in mine as well- we struggle
as all things must to truly touch.
All the while, I am here and there.
You are in my hands yet lost to thoughts
to moments without me.
We dance as strangers
bound by chords
connected by driving beats, yet this pause
in passage of night rings so true
give all to a moment, give life to a wish
lend spirit to be tied like a string
and broken by a rush of wind, when leaving
Poetry
by Carlos Drummond de Andrade
translated by Mariza G. Goès
I spent one hour thinking of a verse
my pen does not want to write.
Yet, it is here inside
restless, alive.
It is here inside
and does not wish to get out.
But the poetry of this very moment
overflows my whole life.
This is a marvelous translation of a very powerful poem by
Drummond, a capsule of a life in a sense.
Of time and timelessness, we can speak of the self this way. We can know
little and yet know what matters most is a moment of understanding. That we can have a desire, filled with what
we think is vital whether we can express it or not, we can know it.
Such amazing insights here from this brilliant man.
nearby stars
I missed the last flower
a bold pink blossom, bright
like a face in love with the Sun
beaming in the life-giving beams;
drinking today's warmth from an ancient star.
Missed the last...
was I busy, preoccupied
with thankless details of the day
Did I forget we owe day to precious night
and night to lessons of love
that have come to us from nearby stars-
in the deep gleam of her care,
the glow of his affection-
and the way they made us flower.
I missed the last blossom of this last season.
I will have to remember it now- forever
precious in the night...
This poem evokes the sense of someone missing from our lives
and the feeling that a hole has been left.
Love that can mean so much that we miss someone in a way that can be
felt. This could be romantic love or the kind of love we call friendship. When I wrote this my focus was on the idea
that there were many people who were missing and my thought was –had I missed
them? Had I been away, tied up with so
many things- which I could now not remember- and failed to pay attention to
people I cannot now forget.
VI. How
to be: Formed or Free
A Short Discussion of
Forms
There are forms of poetry recognized often from much earlier
times. Recognized by a loosely formed
group of people who study and make pronouncements, but more important by
writers who develop certain styles or methods. There may be in excess of fifty (50)
widely recognized forms_/ reference to online source and I will only touch on a
few here that have a special connection to love poetry and writing a love poem.
The forms we will discuss here are the Triolet, Sonnet, and
the Villanelle
The Triolet is a simple arrangement of eight lines in
rhyme. One line is repeated three times,
thus the name- TRIO-let. The First line
becomes important, because it is three of the eight lines. The repeated lines also called refrains, can
add to an effect like the chorus of a popular song, with each repetition, a new
meaning or idea. Also, with each repetition
there can be a seamless fit and flow of ideas. Each repeated verse not only
fitting in logic, but in a poetic sense smoothly blended into the arrangement
of words. This can be done with sounds, rhyme, and meter- the way the words are
read in a rhythm with preceding lines.
saudade e a lua
she stays-- listens to each and every word
floating upon velvet darkness alone
no wish forgotten no whisper unheard
she stays, listens to each and every word
confused tides of life, loves and passions blurred
An austere splendor, untouched on her throne
she stays, listens to each and every word
floating upon velvet darkness alone
come gleaming into her dark loving eyes
that reach deep in faith to hold her lover's face
the miraculous glows of ebony skies
come gleaming into her dark loving eyes
fragile feelings beneath a thin disguise
search clouds and comet-fall, for one embrace;
come gleaming into her dark loving eyes
that reach deep in faith to hold her lover's face.
Like the Moon that passes ever onward
there is no return to nights gone by
as time and love in an unkind accord
like the Moon that passes ever onward
not one lost drop of want may be restored
where faint mysteries and lost legends fly
like the Moon that passes ever onward
there is no return to nights gone by
by Howard D. Moore, originally published on
All Poetry under the pen name- Peteskid.
Another Place
When moon made flame upon water
a slow flowing river in the night
my eyes found glows of
worthiest stars.
When moon made flame upon water,
came a wistful dance of shimmered light
as if on wings in an ark of flight.
When moon made flame
upon water,
a slow flowing river in the night.
In words and
rhythms, hearts race like drums;
at petal’s edge, a night flower of heat
the sounds of night make background hum
in words and rhythms, hearts race like drums
when tomorrow takes a second seat
to songs of passions,
to an inner beat
in words and rhythms, hearts race like drums
at petal’s edge, a night flower of heat.
A watch upon the
present space, merges
an inner wish to be another place
wants and touches in alternate surges
a watch upon the present space, merges
as present joy and
expectation diverges
a Moon rise recalls another distant face
a watch upon the present space, merges
an inner wish to be another place
Sonnets
Sonnets are an old
form of songs. Verses arranged in a set pattern
with a set number of beats per line which come from the
syllables and emphasis on them as read or spoken aloud. There are many types of
sonnets defined by rhyming patterns and syllable counts, and arrangement of
verses. The two major types might be the Shakespearean sonnet and the Italian
sonnet. Both have fourteen 14 lines but the patterns differ. The Shakespearean
sonnet has usually alternating rhymes, written as ‘a-b-a-b’ where lines “a”
rhymes with a, and lines “b” with b. The
end is a pair of rhyming lines called a couplet. The idea is to write in four line stanzas, to introduce an idea,
explain it, then make a change and in the end – a summation. The Italian sonnet has six lines in a group
followed by eight in a group. The basic
idea is to show something in lines 1-6, then make a change and show something
else in lines 7-14. The change is called a volta-
Italian for ‘change’. Both types are to be written in Iambic meter. This is
basically like sounding like a metronome:
the WALL of TIME is
LONG and COST-ly MADE.
This is iambic pentameter, there was a time when some people
in England
thought this was the way to write all poetry.
The idea spread over time like a viral media on Youtube today! People,
and this is usually a scholar who wishes to be popular among those he thinks of
as superior- added iambic pentameter to nearly every kind of poetry.
My experience in American English is that no one speaks this
way unless they are reading old English style poetry. I think the scholarly
basis for adding this to anything other than the few classic forms that
contained it, is extremely weak and
presumptuous, in essence a case of snobbery.
It adds little in beauty or flow, it adds needless difficulty to writing
poetry and helps explain why poetry is less popular today than other media that
frankly- and personally- speaking are
simply poorer versions of poetry- like rock music and Rap. This sonnet, “Sonnet
Style” is basically done in Iambic Pentameter, it resembles old English in word
choices and rhythm, a classic style.
Sonnet Style
In pallid poetry of evening tides
when even seas begin to pause and slow
upon the rolling touch and giving glides
like loving hand, in passion's ardent glow;
in silver splendor of lowering night
finds reflected glory shimmered fair
and moon becomes a bright bold lights
'neath every whirl and swirl of softer air,
and there I find stars like a woman's eyes
full of mystery and concealed invitation
and dreams becomes the purpose of the skies
mood magic, captive of yet lovelier creation.
Time defies rise of day, and night lingers so
moon might finish its dance, love and shadow.
The idea of the English or Shakespearean Sonnet is to build
to the end, the couplet that gathers knowledge into a summation. Shakespeare
often put a bold flavor on the first line too, many of his sonnets are
remembered by the first line. This
sonnet, Sonnet number 39 deliberately leaves a vacuum in the beginning, it is
an apology but it was meant to set a mood.
It speaks to the audience and identifies that we are writing here to an
idea of an ageless consciousness, mankind’s eternal aspect, the idea of the
eternity conceptualized in the Gods we have made. We give animus to things- the moon, the dawn,
mountains, and deserts, oceans…so many things and here, it is the eternal
night, enlisted in a mission of romance.
Sonnet Number 39
And pray be patient kindly lords of night
forgive
the hold we have on setting day
so great
the joy in fading rays of light
when
blue and darker skies embrace the bay.
As
setting sun invades the ebbing tide
a glow
descends of changing care and finds
no
dreams forgot no loving wish denied
as
shining water teases playful minds;
A pale
and winsome moon has grown so full
and
softly loves her dark and longing eyes
while
kissing sands and tides beneath the pull
so
softly murmur love to balmy skies.
Oh moon
afar come touch her in the night
with whispered
wishes and my loving light
The Villanelle
This was written to honor a young writer that I knew, who
died of perhaps the stress of life and talent as much as anything else.
Last call…
And now, I think he might whisper,
the hard edges rounded away,
so that every one would hear
in growled stances, his truths laid bare
without pretense or grand display.
And now, I think he might whisper
like summer storms that fill the air,
in a deep and insistent way,
so that every one would hear.
No passing burden, this ideal of care
at times grown sunny, or dark and gray;
and now, I think he might whisper...
Molding his love open without fear,
to hold so boldly, dared to say-
so that every one would hear-
life's not walled, some simply appear
as night to blind us, cloud the day.
And now... I think he might whisper,
so that every one would hear
