Sometimes I do wish sonnets Worked and were not such a risk. I've written some in the past few years and they have been great exercises - but they don't hold up so well. Today I will give you a glimpse of some Bad Blog Poetry.
So two or three years ago I wrote some fragments of a sonnet - the voice was of a wanderer who comes across some kind of singer and chills with him. Don't remember the way in which the singer uniquely is able to quell the wanderer's anxieties; that was probably going to be the meat of the poem, which I did not ever get to.
"Some time ago, I met a wandering man
(Moreso a nomad; “wandering” did not suit
A one so deep enamored of his plan
That never did he stray from this one route)."
Embarrassing. I have high standards for this kind of fantasy aesthetic, as it really is not my thing, so it was a real risk to write it. I do remember I was going to say "man" instead of "one" in line three, but it sounded disgusting because "man" rhymes with "plan".
Skipping four lines later -
"So fond was I of him, I let him stay
About my fire, and on his dented lip
Put song that charmed me till an hour to day;
His voice so raw and clear—I have no quip
To give that would quite serve the way his cheeks
Assembled round his smile, nor serve his brow,
Relaxed upon his skin (he was not meek,
Pretending not an absent effort). Now
I spoke to him with burden lessened still
Against my pressing urge withal to speak,
Which, were the silence soft, as was my will,
Before our quiet comfort would prove weak—"
Not sure what "on his dented lip / Put song" was intended to mean - probably goaded him into singing? Don't like the use of the word "quip". I do think the twistiness of the last four lines is engaging, but even I'm having trouble figuring it out. I guess I meant the wanderer is more comfortable speaking now, but if the silence were "soft" (the singer not singing?) they would still feel comfortable not speaking.
Lines that could perhaps be strong if tweaked. Hope the next line doesn't have the term "lack-a-day" in it!
"Yet—lack-a-day—his eyes averted so—"
Shit.
"Yet—lack-a-day—his eyes averted so
As to show them aflame with starshine bright
And so they took on tears; but now I know
The suff’ring there was played me by the light"
Here the first fragment ends. The syntax of the last line is kind of nonsensical, unless I meant "played" as in "shown" (???) - but even then I'm not sure the light is meant to be the subject.
I actually completed a sonnet on the myth of Hero and Leander the year before, and it's one I liked very, very much. I think it holds up better than this one. I've always loved mini tragic Greek and Roman love stories. In this one, Hero, a priestess of Aphrodite, lives on the opposite shore of the Hellespont from Leander, who swims across it every night to see her, guided by the flame of Hero's lighthouse. One night during a storm the light is blown out and Leander drowns. When Hero finds him washed up on the beach, she kills herself.
I had known the myth for a while, but by some chance I came to skim Christopher Marlowe's poem on the lovers and was fascinated. Many aspects of it are terribly rapey, and for no reason, too. Others are very sweet. I take it line by line. For example, this fragment, despite the situation involving loss of sexual agency, does have some charming imagery:
"His hands he cast upon her like a snare:
She, overcome with shame and sallow fear,
Like chaste Diana when Actæon spied her,
Being suddenly betray'd, div'd down to hide her;
And, as her silver body downward went,
With both her hands she made the bed a tent,
And in her own mind thought herself secure,
O'ercast with dim and darksome coverture."
In some of the weakest lines of my poem I chose to infuse some references to masturbation and to mind-reading OCD. I realize that sounds insane.
"Now Hero puts a finger to her lips;
Her sacred shift she drapes on, and begins:
'Since through the dewy night I lie awake
For gentler causes than my shame, and fear,
Beneath my quilt I will a tent-pole make
And test your name where ghosts can never hear.'"
I should probably edit that part.
My strongest lines also reference Marlowe, who ends his poem as such:
"Thus near the bed [Hero] blushing stood upright [...]
And right about the chamber [a] false morn
Brought forth the day before the day was born.
So Hero's ruddy cheek Hero betray'd,
And her all naked to his sight display'd [...]
By this, Apollo's golden harp began
To sound forth music to the ocean;
Which watchful Hesperus no sooner heard,
But he the bright Day-bearing car prepar'd,
And ran before as harbinger of light,
And with his flaring beams mock'd ugly Night,
Till she, o'ercome with anguish, shame, and rage,
Dang'd down to hell her loathsome carriage."
How strange it is to end a love poem this way! The sexuality is in keeping with the rest of the work, but to end the whole thing with a witchlike description of the night is an interesting choice.
Here's what I wrote:
"The lighthouse gleams, yet pale, in dawning heat;
The vapors of the sea rise dull and grim;
The ugly Sun puts darkness to retreat
And redly shifts the candle’s span to dim,
And whitely sets upon Leander’s hips
And dances on his tunic-hidden skin."
As ugly as Night in comparison to Marlowe, but I think it makes more sense to have the Day be despised, since that is when the lovers have to part.
Maybe I will edit the poem to my liking and post it one of these days. Thoughts?