:thumbs_up Congratulations autolycus. Thanks for your work and the pointers barbara. :) It was fun.
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:thumbs_up Congratulations autolycus. Thanks for your work and the pointers barbara. :) It was fun.
Congratulations, Autolycus. Great poem! Very well done.
Congrads, Auto! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1.../MightWork.gif
Barbie, you still have to get a barb in about my sonnets, do you not? I used to enjoy writing them, y'know? Perhaps people have noted that I haven't been writing birthday sonnets for sometime now. The joy of the form is gone for me. Since I have been on the forum, I have written more sonnets than anyone else, for birthdays, the obit page, sonnets from The Dasterdley Ghost, etc. Carefree, Pendragian sonnets.
there is no joy in mudville...http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...ies/GiveUp.gif
Don't let it sink your boat, Auto. You deserved your win, and you make certain the contests continue! You're a darn fine poet, and by golly, make them work for the next prize! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...Four/DaMan.gif
Argh! *grin* I'm pleased and amazed and distraught because I never thought I'd win and I have a PhD deadline to make and... oh enough of the excuses. Thank you all for being great company. I am truly honoured and I will try my best.
Oh wait hey here's an idea already...
The next form is called a haikonnet. A haikonnet is a sonnet of sorts.
1. It is divided into 17 lines, in three sections.
1.1 The first section has 5 lines. It sets the stage.
1.2 The second section has 7 lines. It develops a theme.
1.3 The third section has 5 lines. It concludes, either by showing something about the first 12 lines which was not obvious before, or by posing a question.
2. All of the lines must have at least 8 syllables (but may have any number up to 12). There is no real metre, iambic, dactylic or whatever else.
3. Every line must rhyme with at least one other line.
4. I will assess poems on form, symmetry, complexity and content.
4.1 Form refers to meeting all the requirements in 1-3 above.
4.2 Symmetry refers to a deliberate attempt to make the poem symmetrical in some way (metre is probably the simplest).
4.3 Complexity refers to the degree of difficulty (like gymnastics or diving hahaha!) used in rhymes, metre etc.
4.4 Content refers to the 'plot' that emerges in the form provided.
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Yes, it's a challenge. I'm not sure I could meet it myself!
*howls madly and runs off chasing the invisible moon*
Thank you for your views.
Yes Its and not it's, oops. Also ripened.
Not sure aside from grammar where I missed on the form?
Rhymn and meter is there.
Though I couldn't put the dash above the 2nd E in Eden to make it sound Edan...
Very interesting Auto. I tried looking this up and could not find it anywhere. I assume you made it up and that there are no examples. I will give it a shot.Quote:
Originally Posted by autolycus
No, I don't. There was no irony whatsoever in the post.Quote:
Originally Posted by Pendragon
To explain the term Pendragonian sonnet:
As far as I know the first writer of sonnets was Petrarch. That is why the first Italian sonnets are named after him, Petrarchan sonnets. As the sonnet spread over Europe, poets changed the form (rhyme, meter and division into stanzas, but not number of lines) according to their language, their needs and their taste. In England there were Milton, Shakespeare and others, all adapting the Italian sonnet to their own requirements, in Germany there were baroque poets who created another form of sonnet, which was different from both the Italian and the English form. In later centuries the sonnet was out of fashion, but still a few poets used it, adapted to their own taste and needs. You, Pen, have changed the form according to your own taste and needs. That is why I called it the Pendragonian sonnet - because you originally introduced it here to Litnet.
I named the form in your honour.
Not to mock, tease or vex you.
I write both form poems and free verse. I am not obsessed with form. And I say it again: Auto did not win because of form, but because his poem was serious, witty and funny at the same time. That is why it appealed to me the most.
Well, I never complained about loosing to Auto, now did I? His poem was great and he took my advice and challenged us with this time!
Well, never say die, I always say. Here you go Auto. Something like this, maybe?
What If
If foolish pride sets aside the string,
Allows the injured ego time to heal—
Perhaps the rhyme again may ring,
The fingers find the guitar strings—
Words flow and show you how I feel.
Darkness cannot grasp a poet’s soul forever…
The song that keeps that heart alive must be heard.
To silence voices demons hope—but never—
Can their trickery divide the soul and the word…
For centuries the battle has been raging,
Books have been burned, destroyed, flaming—
But today you still hear poetic voice proclaiming—
What will be our legacy we leave behind,
For the coming generations to discover?
Will they think that we allowed ourselves to become blind.
Left our harps upon the willows far , far behind—
Or devour each volume cover to cover?
Pendragon
© 11/8/07
Egads! What a form. How does Pen get these things done so quickly?! I'll see if I can get all that straight but it's only a couple weeks until my doctoral exams so my attempt this round may require some compassion. :nod: Apparently, however, you're a fellow PhD student, which I hadn't realized, so perhaps you can empathize with the mind numbing pressure that precedes walking into an exam you've spent a year of your life intensely prepping for.:bawling: :D What stage are you at and what's your field of study? Perhaps Classics, going by the user name?Quote:
Originally Posted by autolycus
Pen--I love this one. That last stanza really has something, especially those final lines:
Quote:
What will be our legacy we leave behind,
For the coming generations to discover?
Will they think that we allowed ourselves to become blind.
Left our harps upon the willows far , far behind—
Or devour each volume cover to cover?
You are going to laugh (I hope) but while writing it I could not get the tune of The Mexican Hat Dance out of my mind. :DQuote:
Originally Posted by barbara0207
Wow, I'm even more impressed by Pen than I normally am... *grin*
Yes, Virgil, the form is my own invention as far as I know.
Petrarch's Love: I'm an organometallic chemist doing a dissertation on high school education practices somewhere in Asia. Heh. Silly me.
Barb: Yeah... The reason I wrote in in the original form was that I had already sort of planned it out that way! But I'm glad the poem itself turned out as well as it did.
Oh, Auto and Petra! :blush: :blush: :blush: I'm just a simple poet with far too much time on his hands. You guys are the wonders, able to write while dealing with doctorate dissertations and constant study! Egads! I wonder how you manage! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...Four/Float.gif
Wow, I can honestly say that's the last thing I would have guessed, but very cool to find out we have a forum member with such a fascinating array of interests. Do organometallic chemistry and Asian High School practices relate in some way (perhaps you're really a mad scientist using this education research as a cover for your nefarious experiments?) or did you just wake up one day in your run of the mill life as an organometallic chemist and think "and now for something completely different?" Seriously though, sounds interesting and good luck with plugging away at that dissertation. :nod:Quote:
Originally Posted by Autolycus
Heh, more gradual. Chemist to chemistry teacher to education researcher. Thank you! *grin* *takes a bow*
Ah, so there is a smooth and logical connection between these pursuits. Well, enough chit chat, I've got to go figure out how a haikonnet works. :idea:
My next chapter deadline is 30 Nov. My next Poetry contest deadline is therefore also 30 Nov. *grin* After that, I shall be free to look at all your masterpieces, and as usual, give insightful and entertaining commentary (ha ha, I hope!) for everyone. Thank you!
Fun form auto!
Dead Shoes
Something has been chewing at my shoe.
A hole has been ripped right through the toe,
and the heel has been pulled half-off.
Its partner is missing entirely;
a puzzled space where it used to be.
Oh, they were my most favourite pair
like old friends who shared my adventures;
they were worn, battered, the seams were split
and now that’s only the half of it!
I thought that we were the perfect fit,
that our love was the kind that endures
but now you’ve vanished into thin air!
But what is that growling close to me,
that touch of hot breath upon my knee,
and teeth my Mum would be proud of?
Oh shoes, is this the end of the show?
Looks like I soon will be joining you…
I have inadvertently unleashed a beast. So far, two very unlike and very strong entries...
Nice, Fifth. Took me a minute to figure out your rhyme scheme for that one pair of lines. Very ingenious!
Pen
http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...milies/Yes.gif
Thanks Pen :) I had my eye on that word 'symmetry'!
Still only two poems? My goodness, you cannot feast on oysters if you are fearful of wetting your feet, mes amis!
Sorry, I've been way tied up with work and home things. Perhaps i can make the deadline. Perhaps not.
I'm sorry. Add another week. Make it errm... Sunday 9 Dec 07. Sigh. If I can't make my own deadlines, it would be unfair to ask others to meet them. *grin*
Errm, what? Only two??
Well, since I'm stuck here writing testimonials for a graduating class of students, you can have another week. But seriously, folks, it isn't that hard! Is it?
No, it shouldn't be that hard, Auto. I think it's a busy time of year for everyone. Here's another entry for you at least:
In the white silence lie five black lines
Patterning the frozen void into shapes.
A color photograph would work like black and white
For capturing the long shadows of 4 p.m.
As their darkness clings to the softly rounded snow.
Against a softly rounded cheek five fingers press;
Five warm black lines on pale Irish skin caress.
Her cold lips drawn to his warmth; their breath made the same.
Her hair falls around them in a long veil of flame.
The only sound the soft entanglement of names
Two names, now and then fervently murmured between
Two lovers softly entangled in a winter scene.
And, having seen this meeting in the shadowed snow
Below the window by my piano at 4 p.m.
While playing winter sounds on keys of black and white,
How to compose these seen shades into music's shapes?
In the white silence lie five black lines.
------------
N.B. Since the last line may be somewhat obscure for those who don't know about music, I thought I should mention that a composer writes the notes for music on a staff of five lines. The staff for a composer would be the equivalent of a blank page for a poet.
See, that's beautiful too! *grin*
How about just letting us know who won?
A simple foolery.
The judging is difficult.
The pain is intense.
The tense is in pain.
The ditching is judicious.
Ah, fearful symmetry.
=====
I shall quote myself. Sometimes, it helps.
"I will assess poems on form, symmetry, complexity and content."
Did I say that? I must have been mad. I am hardly qualified. But I have to do it. Sigh.
=====
All entries have met the form requirements, more or less (well, strictly speaking all have breached it very slightly). The Fifth Element has captured the quintessence of the form without any easily discernible deviation, though.
And the same goes for symmetry; Fifth's symmetry is pleasing and virtually complete, as far as metre goes. Petrarch's Love has created a symmetry as pleasing in a slightly different way, both in theme and shape.
Love's complexity of rhyme, cadence and tone also comes together in a very pleasing sensuality, made more so by its understated nature.
The theme attempted in Pendragon's poem is the largest though; its canvas is poetry itself, word both heard and written. In a sense there is more content here, although the poets of the physical and metaphysical realms would disagree in a thousand ways.
=====
I am going to chicken out here. To me, Pen's is most grandiloquent (and both grand and eloquent), Fifth's is funniest and most entertaining (with a frisson of sneakiness – or is that sneakerness?), and Petrarch's Love the most aesthetically pleasing.
(Un)fortunately (depending on who you are), my criteria are aimed in that kind of direction; the poem PL has written is indeed very much both haiku and sonnet, embracing the oldest themes with minimalist strokes (argh, terrible mixed metaphor), and must deserve the win. Congratulations!
And now to take a loooooooong break. *clunk*
Thanks autolycus, and congratulations Petrarch! Look forward to the next form :)
I must agree with you Auto, you chickened out. Thanks for the comments. You wouldn't have had a single poem, except that I broke the code of what you wanted. You admit to my poem being the most grandiose. Now I was the first to reply. Petra, who I like very much, slipped in after the deadline. Nobody plays by the rules anymore though. So congratulations, Petra. You are a sweet poet and I bow to You.
I also quit any of the poetry contests from now on.
Pendragon
O.K., first, thank you Auto for choosing my poem from the trio. The entries were few this contest, but of top quality.
I wanted to quickly address this confusion about deadlines. I want to be clear that I would not have entered if I thought that the deadline was passed. I saw a post in which Auto said the 9th should be the deadline and then a post asking for more entries. Under the assumption that meant the end of the day on the 9th, I entered my poem on that date, and I guess both Auto and I thought that meant it was in under deadline. I think we were all busy in our real lives and maybe just got confused, and certainly hope that this mix up doesn't create any permanent ill will among any members. This should really just be a fun thread where we get to share our poetry with each other.
Since there has been a mix up, since there were so few entries in the last round, and since Christmas is only a few days away and I think everyone (myself most definitely included) is really distracted and busy, I'm going to hold off on choosing a new form for this contest until the new year. Fresh year; fresh start. So, happy holidays to everyone, and we'll have a new round in January.
This was posted on the 9th. I think that settles the question whether your poem was posted too late, Petra. Almost everyone (here and on the picture poem contest thread) extended their deadlines if they felt there weren't enough entries. If people think extending deadlines is unfair, then the rules must be changed. Personally, I found nothing wrong with extensions. And it doesn't say anything about them in the OP.Quote:
Originally Posted by autolycus
What do you say? Should we stick to a deadline once given? Or should we allow extensions?
Personally, I was inclined to proceed only with at least three entries. Fewer, and I'd scrap the round. But that would mean two people who had put in effort and not got anything from it. As barbara0207 says, there is precedent for extensions at the prerogative of the person presiding over the round.
On the other hand, I'm sorry Pen is p***ed off. Not my intention. I certainly didn't engineer it for PL, that formidable competitor who needs no such favours. I know we should all be careful especially in online dealings, and next time I'll try for a deadline which doesn't change.
Let us precede as if nothing had happened. I had my say, both here and to individuals.The Past is the past, we walk not there again. Now is the time for healing and going onward. Are we not poets? Then by gosh, let us prove that no moment of vexation cannot be turned into a ray of brilliant sunshine. Petra, give us a form, and let the quills of Avalon stir and quiver eagerly to produce a piece of poetry suitable for framing!:p ;)
That's the spirit, Pen! And I'm very glad you put your poem back in the picture poem contest. I loved it. :thumbs_up
I'm glad that everything seems to have been smoothed out. :) I'm still waiting until after Christmas to start up a new round with a new form. I figure everyone's attention including mine will be wrapped up in holiday stuff until then.
O.K., I've finally gotten around to cooking up a form for the next round of this contest (there was a death in my family on Christmas Day, so I've been more than a bit distracted up 'till now). I got a suggestion from Il Penseroso that we might try some sort of prose poetry form, which proved the inspiration for a form I'll call a Dramalet.
Inspired by the plays of Shakespeare, which alternate between various kinds of verse and poetic prose, the Dramalet is a three part structure which consists of 4-24 lines of either rhymed or blank verse followed by a segment of poetic prose (it is up to you to determine what you think fits in the category of poetic prose), and concludes with another 4-24 lines of rhymed or blank verse. I haven't placed a length limit on the middle prose section, but would like to discourage anything much longer than a reasonable sized paragraph, since your judge's attention may wander past that point unless the writer is Shakespeare himself.:p
The subject of the poem is entirely up to you. It might be fun to use this drama inspired form for a poetic monologue or dialogue, but anything else you think would be suitable to the form is fine by me. Below I have penned the first ever (as far as I know) Dramalet, which I have every reason to believe will soon be surpassed by the excellent poets of Lit. Net. Have fun all!
We came from the northern lands and the cold
We came across the sea to a strange, strange shore
We left behind the sounds and the sights and hearths
Of our fathers' and our mothers' land
Where lies the dust and the bones of those before
Whose once quick blood flowed into our live veins.
I came from across the street to the familiar aisles of the supermarket. The sound of sirens quickens the pulse as I set forth on the way to work and errands with a light but tedious burden of daily cares. A list of words, each one a food, curls into the depths of my coat pocket next to a gleaming gilt gum wrapper and a handful of dull pennies. The weather report predicts another sun filled day for the California southland area. The prices of homes are going down. I flip a switch..."and a man comes on the radio/ And he's telling me more and more/ About some useless information/ Supposed to fire my imagination"...as the checkout clerk scans the price of the bounty passing before him he says, in passing flirtation, something about California blondes. I say my blonde roots are from my Swedish roots. I carry my plastic sacks to the parking lot.
We carry our songs and our old stories:
The ones we tell as those before us told,
As those after us will tell those after them.
We sing about journey, about longing,
About homes left in search of new bounty
And homes found in search of old meaning.
We carry our belongings, though they are worn and few
We carry the blood of our veins to a world that is new.
Heck I don't know. Call me crazy. I like to think of it a "the triumph of hope over a long history of bad experiences. I go where I have gone before, to do yet another noble thing: I go first in a poetry contest!
A Warrior’s Tale
They came upon us much sooner than I had dreamed feasible,
Meaning that their Leader is one well trained in warcraft.
I had, in my pride, thought at least another day quite reasonable.
Well. No use in second-guessing, And no giving way to wrath.
I called my Captains to me in order to set the battle plans.
“We must not be driven from our water supply, double guards there.
“If they have so easily read our sign, we must use no signals easily read”.
One of my men gave signs. “Long shot, my friend. Beggar sign seems fair,”
I took the time while my men were positioning themselves, to climb to a high rock and observe the other Commander. He was a fine strong man, whom I judged to be at least a head taller than myself, and I am no small man, standing over four cubits. He had skin burned by the sun and a black mane of hair. He was well muscled and agile as a great ape, and bore a great battle-axe. The fire of the battle was already in his eyes, but his men were not as ready as he. Could I turn this to my advantage?
I heard a roar from the great warrior’s throat that shook the very trees.
I live for battle but those first moments are hard to work into any poem.
The men come crashing together with enough force to send them to their knees.
Then the blades flash for a moment and there are screams and blood begins to foam.
He and I fought our way though the blood and confusion to face to face.
And my great sword sparked beneath the fury of his battle-axe.
He drew first blood, across my chest; I escaped by the barest trace,
And shouting forth my loud defiance, I redoubled my fierce attack,
And how doth this story end? A drink, please. There is my notched and scared blade.
And were I to remove this shirt of mail, you could see the scar the barbarian made…
Pendragon
© 1/1/08