Hidden underneath the laughter
of two familiar strangers, are words
that listening cicadas would relay
to us in song. But we're the golden arrows
streaming through the leaves.
We're their shade of buttonwood, we
are water, wind and stone. Through us
we'd give the spark to speak that they
would hesitantly use, instead, to fire
sculptures of what could've been.
And I heard their words through the clay;
they belong to you and me. As if buried
in the ground, where roots and beetles seek
the dreams implied in bone,
I wish to watch the clouds again...
...Beneath the shade, we wipe our brows,
swat at flies and banter. Once we're still, I
hesitate,
nudge your leg with mine and
speak. The boughs above us, silent.
Sixth Draft: Longing
Hidden underneath the laughter
of two familiar strangers, are words
that listening cicadas would relay
to us in song. But we're not Muses.
We're their shade of buttonwood, we
are water, light and wind. Through us
we'd give the spark to speak that they
would hesitantly use, instead, to fire
sculptures of what could've been.
But just through their craft, I sense their words
belong to you and me. As if buried
in the ground, where roots and beetles seek
unmanifested dreams within our skulls,
I wish to watch the clouds again...
...Beneath the shade, we swat at flies and wipe
our brows while laughing. Once we're still, I
hesitate,
nudge your leg with mine and
speak. The boughs above us, silent.
Fifth Draft: Longing
Two familiar strangers would hide
their words beneath esprit that eavesdropping
cicadas would sing to us. But we're not Muses.
We're their shade of sycamore, we're water, light
and winds. Through us we'd give the spark
to speak that, instead, they'd hesitantly use to fire
sculptures of what could've been.
But just through their craft, I sense their words
belong to you and me. As if buried
in the ground, where roots and beetles
seek unspoken dreams within our skulls,
I wish to watch the clouds again...
...Beneath the shade, we swat at flies and wipe
our brows while laughing. Once we're still, I
hesitate,
nudge your leg with mine
and speak. The boughs above us, silent.
Fourth Draft: Longing
Familiar strangers hid, beneath esprit,
their words cicadas soothingly relayed
to us. But we're not Muses. Through our shade
of sycamore, our light and zephyrs, we
stoked speaking chances they, with artistry,
confused for sculpting sculptures that portrayed
what could've been. Yet, just from what they made
I sense their words belong to you and me.
O, how I wish to watch the clouds again
for answers I would wonder of until
they are what roots and beetles vainly seek
within our skulls. We swat at flies from skin
and joke under the shade. When we are still,
I nudge your leg with mine and then I speak.
Third Draft: Longing
Cicadas sung the honest words that two
familiar strangers smothered with esprit
and games, to us in soothing secrecy.
It wasn't through a golden shaft but through
our shade of sycamore and winds we blew,
the two mistook the speaking chances we
aroused, for clay; but through their artistry
I sense those words belong to me and you.
O, how I wish to watch the clouds again
for answers I would wonder of until
they are what roots and beetles vainly seek
within our skulls. We swat at flies from skin
and joke under the shade. When we are still,
I nudge your leg with mine and then I speak.
Second Draft: Longing
Cicadas sing the honest words that two
familiar strangers smother with esprit,
to both of us in soothing secrecy.
It isn't through a cithara but through
a sycamore, the dappled grass and dew,
the two misapprehend the chances we
provoke, for clay; but through their artistry
I sense those words belong to me and you.
O, how I wish to watch the clouds again
for answers I would contemplate until
they are what roots and beetles vainly seek
within our skulls. We swat at flies from skin
and joke under the shade. When we are still,
I nudge your leg with mine and then I speak.
First Draft: Longing
Cicadas sing the artless words that two
familiar strangers stifle with esprit,
to both of us in soothing secrecy.
It isn't through a cithara but through
a sycamore, the dappled grass and dew,
the two misapprehend the chances we
provoke, for clay; but through their artistry
I sense those artless words belong to you
and me. I wish to watch the clouds again
for answers we would contemplate until
we rot alone into ourselves. And then
we're in the shade and hear the flowing creek
and ravenous cicadas, on the hill.
I nudge your leg with mine and now I speak.
(07-08-2018, 12:51 PM)alexorande Wrote: My first attempt at a Petrarchan sonnet. Would like to know how it reads.
Longing
Cicadas sing the artless words that two
familiar strangers stifle with esprit,
to both of us in soothing secrecy.
It isn't through a cithara—but through
a sycamore, the dappled grass and dew—
the two misapprehend the chances we
provoke, for clay; but through their artistry
I sense those artless words belong to you
and me. I wish to watch the clouds again
for possibilities we'd ponder till
we sink alone into ourselves. And then
we're in the shade and hear the flowing creek
and ravenous cicadas, on the hill.
I nudge your leg with mine and now I speak.
Minor edit: changed "start to" to "now I".
This is quite fun, and contains some nice images. However, your question is how it reads. With that, there are a few problems.
There are unexpected words ("clay" for example) but what throws me is rhymes and phrasing. The A rhymes in the quatrains are uniformly strong, but the B rhymes are, to me, uniformly weak. Compare, for example,
familiar strangers stifle with esprit,
to both of us in soothing secrecy.
with (and forgive the rewrite, purely to give an example)
familiar strangers stifle with esprit,
to both of us in soothing jacquerie.
(The sense is compromised, but more than the final consonant is rhymed.)
That same line (L3) also exemplifies my problem with the phrasing. There's nothing wrong with continuing a sentence or idea over a line break, but the full stop at the end of L3 leaves me hanging: the A rhyme is still coming, but it's with a different idea.
And finally, and please don't take this too seriously on your first Petrarchan sonnet, when I read (or write) a Petrarchan I look for problem and solution: problem stated and restated in the quatrains, solution in the remainder. Spanning the gap after the quatrains seems to break this a bit, and I'm not sure what the problem solved by breaking the static with speech is. In this, the structure of the last six lines can be your friend: the turn (to solution) at their start, and the surprise of solution realized at the end can be facilitated by the reader forgetting what the last line has to rhyme with. Here, "speak" is a nice surprise rhyme with the apparently unrelated "creek" - well done. (I favor CDECDE for the last six lines because it gives the reader even more time to forget where the E rhyme has to end up.)
But that's just my reading; others may (and will) differ. Write more of these, some perhaps with a specific problem to solve (oops, you're married - what now?) and see about closer but unforced end-rhymes.
Thank you for your feedback. The problem and solution was supposed to be more of a shift in tone and perspective in the sonnet; I'm not sure if that usually suffices when writing one of these. The octave was supposed to have a more objective view of the two "strangers" but after realizing something, the N expresses desire in the sestet which enables them to live in that moment once again.
I agree with your comments on the rhymes and the way the piece flows. "Clay" does seem out of place; I'm looking for a word or phrase that expresses a material being given to create art. I think the word for that though is simply "inspiration". However, this poem is for a collection I'm working on, where the mention of clay is one of the leitmotifs. Out of context, I completely agree that this seems to hurt the sonnet. I don't know though, I'm pretty sure that, even in the context of my collection, it sticks out like a sore thumb. I'll more than likely work to change the phrasing.
07-16-2018, 12:02 AM (This post was last modified: 07-16-2018, 12:06 AM by RiverNotch.)
(07-08-2018, 12:51 PM)alexorande Wrote: Longing --- Here are some thoughts that haven't yet been spoken, I agree with much of what dukealien said regarding flow. As for this piece being part of a collection --- well, I can't say anything about that, but the thought will definitely hang over me.
Cicadas sing the artless words that two
familiar strangers stifle with esprit, With "esprit de corps", I always think of esprit as something inclusive, which stifling words is not. "familiar strangers" is a nice wording, but it sets a sort of subject confusion, as it might lead to the reader thinking those strangers were familiar to the cicadas. Now, that might be what you're going for in the first place, but the wording is only nice if the "both of us" were those "familiar strangers".
to both of us in soothing secrecy. I do find "soothing secrecy" an especially luscious wording.
It isn't through a cithara—but through The em-dashes are completely unnecessary: the first mark should be gone, the last replaced with a comma.
a sycamore, the dappled grass and dew—The comparison between the musical instrument and the nature is a little disjoint, as it detaches the music of the cicadas from the cicadas themselves. I think, even with how magical their music is, it's obvious that a cicada's song comes not from the plantlife all around, or perhaps if a comparison is to be made it's the plantlife as some other acoustic device, like say an echo chamber.
the two misapprehend the chances we The problem of who the subject referred to by "the two" seeps into this sentence, but a closer reading clarifies things. Still, I bet an easier reading exists.
provoke, for clay; but through their artistry "artistry" does feel a little lazy, the focus is more on the response of the listeners or the thoughts and equipment of the players rather than the players' music itself.
I sense those artless words belong to you
and me. I wish to watch the clouds again On the flow, I agreed. On how the sonnet is structured --- quatrain quatrain tercet tercet, not quite, but eight and six I somehow felt.
for possibilities we'd ponder till
we rot alone into ourselves. And then "alone" intrudes. Remove it, then complete the thought some other way.
we're in the shade and hear the flowing creek There's also the division between the two tercets, which as far as I know isn't as necessary, but now I've noticed that the octave does not rely on imagery as much as the sestet, the crux of that portion is personification with a bit of 'philosophy'. That might not be what you want.
and ravenous cicadas, on the hill. The blatant mention of the cicadas here feels too much like it blurs the already subtle distinction between octave and sestet.
I nudge your leg with mine and now I speak. It's crickets that sing with their legs. Sly point aside, with this act "Longing" might not be an entirely appropriate title. The act itself, however, is quite lovely.
Made another edit. There was a forum switch to mild/moderate critique so feel free to offer feedback on any flaws. There was a drastic change to the sonnet's verb tenses so I'd like to see how that worked for it.
Cicadas sung the honest words that two -- I really like the sussurations in these opening lines. Very quiet and relaxing.
familiar strangers smothered with esprit -- smothered may not be the best word choice here. Despite the alliteration, it actually seems quite harsh, probably the -ed sound.
and games, to us in soothing secrecy.
It wasn't through a golden shaft but through
our shade of sycamore and winds we blew, -- if I were you I'd re-examine the punctuation here, because it gets a bit tricky to follow. This comma seems like it should be a semi-colon, for example, but then you've got the semi-colon later and it's all messed up.
the two mistook the speaking chances we
aroused, for clay; but through their artistry
I sense those words belong to me and you.
O, how I wish to watch the clouds again -- "O, how I wish" -- such filler, such cliche. You only have a few lines to work with, so wasting them like this is dreadful.
for answers I would wonder of until -- this line, too, seems wasteful and redundant.
they are what roots and beetles vainly seek
within our skulls. We swat at flies from skin -- nice imagery, really good for the volta. In fact, I wish these lines were your openers for the sextet, slightly reworked, to give the right amount of contrast.
and joke under the shade. When we are still, -- "joke under" throws me out of the piece, with its harsh tones. Perhaps "laugh beneath"?
I nudge your leg with mine and then I speak. -- I am not getting a strong close from this line. I think the idea is right but the execution needs work. "and then" is again quite a filler.
Second Draft: Longing
Cicadas sing the honest words that two
familiar strangers smother with esprit,
to both of us in soothing secrecy.
It isn't through a cithara but through
a sycamore, the dappled grass and dew,
the two misapprehend the chances we
provoke, for clay; but through their artistry
I sense those words belong to me and you.
O, how I wish to watch the clouds again
for answers I would contemplate until
they are what roots and beetles vainly seek
within our skulls. We swat at flies from skin
and joke under the shade. When we are still,
I nudge your leg with mine and then I speak.
First Draft: Longing
Cicadas sing the artless words that two
familiar strangers stifle with esprit,
to both of us in soothing secrecy.
It isn't through a cithara but through
a sycamore, the dappled grass and dew,
the two misapprehend the chances we
provoke, for clay; but through their artistry
I sense those artless words belong to you
and me. I wish to watch the clouds again
for answers we would contemplate until
we rot alone into ourselves. And then
we're in the shade and hear the flowing creek
and ravenous cicadas, on the hill.
I nudge your leg with mine and now I speak.
-- if I were you I'd re-examine the punctuation here, because it gets a bit tricky to follow. This comma seems like it should be a semi-colon, for example, but then you've got the semi-colon later and it's all messed up. I agree. So much so, that I'm actually thinking about reworking this whole octave, because this sentence here is mainly where the octave gets its structure from. I've already started it and so far, I think I'm liking it more. I'm just having trouble with the final three lines...
"O, how I wish" -- such filler, such cliche. You only have a few lines to work with, so wasting them like this is dreadful. It is pretty cliche. Will do some rewording.
nice imagery, really good for the volta. In fact, I wish these lines were your openers for the sextet, slightly reworked, to give the right amount of contrast. Agree, but as boring as it sounds, the volta was supposed to be a departure from the objective narration of the octave to something more genuine and subjective. The imagery provided here is what concludes the poem and what almost instantaneously solves the narrator's desire.
"joke under" throws me out of the piece, with its harsh tones. Perhaps "laugh beneath"? Good suggestion, don't know why I haven't thought of it.
I am not getting a strong close from this line. I think the idea is right but the execution needs work. "and then" is again quite a filler. It is the right idea. Hopefully when I get to restructuring the sestet I can come up with something else.
I tried. I really did. The sonnet's form was not working with the idea. It was great practice though, and I've learned a lot about form. I've decided to just write this poem in free-verse. As always, would like to know your thoughts.
have followed this poem for a bit now, but was woefully unqualified to comment on the merits of sonnet or not. now that it is free verse i think i should poke my head out and say hi.
(07-08-2018, 12:51 PM)alexorande Wrote: Longing
Hidden underneath the laughter
of two familiar strangers, are words
that listening cicadas would relay
to us in song. But we're not Muses. -small, but I prefer 'we are not Muses'.
We're their shade of buttonwood, we
are water, light and wind. Through us
we'd give the spark to speak that they -inversion worked in the first stanza, but here it just throws me off.
would hesitantly use, instead, to fire
sculptures of what could've been.
But just through their craft, I sense their words
belong to you and me. As if buried
in the ground, where roots and beetles seek -'seek out', perhaps?
unmanifested dreams within our skulls, -'within our skulls' seems a bit redundant, as does 'unmanifested'. Yet the line is incomplete without modifiers, so maybe- 'dreams, colorless within our bones/skulls'?
I wish to watch the clouds again... -I would insert some movement here, as 'I wish to watch the clouds move again'.
...Beneath the shade, we swat at flies and wipe -beautiful.
our brows while laughing. Once we're still, I
hesitate,
nudge your leg with mine and
speak. The boughs above us, silent. -I would reorder it as 'speak. Silent, the boughs above us.' But lovely final line, either way.
...Beneath the shade, we swat at flies and wipe our brows while laughing. Once still, I hesitate, nudge your leg with mine and speak. The boughs above us, silent. -just a formatting idea.
Fifth Draft: Longing
Two familiar strangers would hide
their words beneath esprit that eavesdropping
cicadas would sing to us. But we're not Muses.
We're their shade of sycamore, we're water, light
and winds. Through us we'd give the spark
to speak that, instead, they'd hesitantly use to fire
sculptures of what could've been.
But just through their craft, I sense their words
belong to you and me. As if buried
in the ground, where roots and beetles
seek unspoken dreams within our skulls,
I wish to watch the clouds again...
...Beneath the shade, we swat at flies and wipe
our brows while laughing. Once we're still, I
hesitate,
nudge your leg with mine
and speak. The boughs above us, silent.
Fourth Draft: Longing
Familiar strangers hid, beneath esprit,
their words cicadas soothingly relayed
to us. But we're not Muses. Through our shade
of sycamore, our light and zephyrs, we
stoked speaking chances they, with artistry,
confused for sculpting sculptures that portrayed
what could've been. Yet, just from what they made
I sense their words belong to you and me.
O, how I wish to watch the clouds again
for answers I would wonder of until
they are what roots and beetles vainly seek
within our skulls. We swat at flies from skin
and joke under the shade. When we are still,
I nudge your leg with mine and then I speak.
Third Draft: Longing
Cicadas sung the honest words that two
familiar strangers smothered with esprit
and games, to us in soothing secrecy.
It wasn't through a golden shaft but through
our shade of sycamore and winds we blew,
the two mistook the speaking chances we
aroused, for clay; but through their artistry
I sense those words belong to me and you.
O, how I wish to watch the clouds again
for answers I would wonder of until
they are what roots and beetles vainly seek
within our skulls. We swat at flies from skin
and joke under the shade. When we are still,
I nudge your leg with mine and then I speak.
Second Draft: Longing
Cicadas sing the honest words that two
familiar strangers smother with esprit,
to both of us in soothing secrecy.
It isn't through a cithara but through
a sycamore, the dappled grass and dew,
the two misapprehend the chances we
provoke, for clay; but through their artistry
I sense those words belong to me and you.
O, how I wish to watch the clouds again
for answers I would contemplate until
they are what roots and beetles vainly seek
within our skulls. We swat at flies from skin
and joke under the shade. When we are still,
I nudge your leg with mine and then I speak.
First Draft: Longing
Cicadas sing the artless words that two
familiar strangers stifle with esprit,
to both of us in soothing secrecy.
It isn't through a cithara but through
a sycamore, the dappled grass and dew,
the two misapprehend the chances we
provoke, for clay; but through their artistry
I sense those artless words belong to you
and me. I wish to watch the clouds again
for answers we would contemplate until
we rot alone into ourselves. And then
we're in the shade and hear the flowing creek
and ravenous cicadas, on the hill.
I nudge your leg with mine and now I speak.
Thanks for your critique. Responded to a couple of your comments below.
(09-01-2018, 11:26 AM)nozaki Wrote: have followed this poem for a bit now, but was woefully unqualified to comment on the merits of sonnet or not. now that it is free verse i think i should poke my head out and say hi.
(07-08-2018, 12:51 PM)alexorande Wrote: Longing
Hidden underneath the laughter
of two familiar strangers, are words
that listening cicadas would relay
to us in song. But we're not Muses. -small, but I prefer 'we are not Muses'. I feelthe "but" adds a sort of flow and provides a footing for the poem's transition into the second stanza to occur. Thank you for your preference.
We're their shade of buttonwood, we
are water, light and wind. Through us
we'd give the spark to speak that they -inversion worked in the first stanza, but here it just throws me off. I'm struggling to find out where exactly the sentence inverts. Could you maybe offer a suggestion in how you'd restructure?
would hesitantly use, instead, to fire
sculptures of what could've been.
But just through their craft, I sense their words
belong to you and me. As if buried
in the ground, where roots and beetles seek -'seek out', perhaps?
unmanifested dreams within our skulls, -'within our skulls' seems a bit redundant, as does 'unmanifested'. Yet the line is incomplete without modifiers, so maybe- 'dreams, colorless within our bones/skulls'? Thanks, made some changes to this line.
I wish to watch the clouds again... -I would insert some movement here, as 'I wish to watch the clouds move again'. The subject of the N's desires isn't solely to watch the clouds move again, as your reworking would suggest (as it would also suggest that the clouds were once still, which they naturally aren't), but to simply watch the clouds. And, although this poem doesn't follow any sort of meter (anymore), the line would just seem to stumble off the tongue rather than roll. Again, thank you for your suggestion.
...Beneath the shade, we swat at flies and wipe -beautiful.
our brows while laughing. Once we're still, I
hesitate,
nudge your leg with mine and
speak. The boughs above us, silent. -I would reorder it as 'speak. Silent, the boughs above us.' But lovely final line, either way. Meh, the final word being "silent" I feel evokes more than just "us" and the original phrasing makes more syntactic sense.
...Beneath the shade, we swat at flies and wipe our brows while laughing. Once still, I hesitate, nudge your leg with mine and speak. The boughs above us, silent. -just a formatting idea. Thanks, I made some changes to this stanza but did not do much with the stanza's form. Would still like to hear your thoughts
Fifth Draft: Longing
Two familiar strangers would hide
their words beneath esprit that eavesdropping
cicadas would sing to us. But we're not Muses.
We're their shade of sycamore, we're water, light
and winds. Through us we'd give the spark
to speak that, instead, they'd hesitantly use to fire
sculptures of what could've been.
But just through their craft, I sense their words
belong to you and me. As if buried
in the ground, where roots and beetles
seek unspoken dreams within our skulls,
I wish to watch the clouds again...
...Beneath the shade, we swat at flies and wipe
our brows while laughing. Once we're still, I
hesitate,
nudge your leg with mine
and speak. The boughs above us, silent.
Fourth Draft: Longing
Familiar strangers hid, beneath esprit,
their words cicadas soothingly relayed
to us. But we're not Muses. Through our shade
of sycamore, our light and zephyrs, we
stoked speaking chances they, with artistry,
confused for sculpting sculptures that portrayed
what could've been. Yet, just from what they made
I sense their words belong to you and me.
O, how I wish to watch the clouds again
for answers I would wonder of until
they are what roots and beetles vainly seek
within our skulls. We swat at flies from skin
and joke under the shade. When we are still,
I nudge your leg with mine and then I speak.
Third Draft: Longing
Cicadas sung the honest words that two
familiar strangers smothered with esprit
and games, to us in soothing secrecy.
It wasn't through a golden shaft but through
our shade of sycamore and winds we blew,
the two mistook the speaking chances we
aroused, for clay; but through their artistry
I sense those words belong to me and you.
O, how I wish to watch the clouds again
for answers I would wonder of until
they are what roots and beetles vainly seek
within our skulls. We swat at flies from skin
and joke under the shade. When we are still,
I nudge your leg with mine and then I speak.
Second Draft: Longing
Cicadas sing the honest words that two
familiar strangers smother with esprit,
to both of us in soothing secrecy.
It isn't through a cithara but through
a sycamore, the dappled grass and dew,
the two misapprehend the chances we
provoke, for clay; but through their artistry
I sense those words belong to me and you.
O, how I wish to watch the clouds again
for answers I would contemplate until
they are what roots and beetles vainly seek
within our skulls. We swat at flies from skin
and joke under the shade. When we are still,
I nudge your leg with mine and then I speak.
First Draft: Longing
Cicadas sing the artless words that two
familiar strangers stifle with esprit,
to both of us in soothing secrecy.
It isn't through a cithara but through
a sycamore, the dappled grass and dew,
the two misapprehend the chances we
provoke, for clay; but through their artistry
I sense those artless words belong to you
and me. I wish to watch the clouds again
for answers we would contemplate until
we rot alone into ourselves. And then
we're in the shade and hear the flowing creek
and ravenous cicadas, on the hill.
I nudge your leg with mine and now I speak.
