Oct 17, 2015 Ramblings and Musings, Writing 201

I guess I’m suffering from withdrawal pangs.

The past two weeks (ten days) were absolutely wonderful, intense poetry-imbued weeks, and I wrote my first limerick(s), ballad, odes, acrostic poems, found poems, elegy and sonnet.  I’ve read and written poetry for most of my life.  I even wrote rhymed poems, but this was my first attempt at these difficult, and occasionally unyielding, forms.  How wonderful it is to be pushed beyond one’s comfort level!  I’d like to stay in a state of discomfort for the rest of my life, because that my brain gets stupid if I’m not learning something new.  And I cannot allow stupidity to set in.

To learn something new and wonderful every day is the highest goal, and a most satisfying feeling.

I’m a little unmoored, right now, but I’m going to attempt a sestina in the next few days, and then, gasp! a villanelle, after that.  What have I got to lose?!  These forms force me to write about things other than my own feelings and particular experiences — a welcome change!  (Oddly, when it came to writing songs, it was the opposite.  I refused to write personal love songs, because they were too easy, and could tempt one into triteness.  Instead, I wrote strange, surreal songs that were difficult to write, and for which the music I composed was even more difficult.  Then, when I actually wrote a love song or two, I welcomed them as something wonderful and novel (for me), and imbued them (I think) with that feeling of newness, of wonder.

I have to go now.  It’s almost 2:00 a.m.  I’ve gotten used to typing at this hour, but I keep promising my husband I’ll change my ways.

There.  I’ve said nothing, nothing at all.

Goodnight, all!

Tags: #Writing 201, Going from formlessness to form, Going from the complex to the simple, poetic forms I'll try next, poetry and wakefulness, rambling at 2:00 a.m., song-writing

Oct 16, 2015 Original Poetry, Writing 201

Immortality, OR:  Art Causes Pain and Pleasure

©October 16th, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

It’s You of whom (sometimes) I think when I

See people work at art or song or verse

While making beauty with their minds, traverse

The lands invisible that touch the sky.

Your shadows lurk so menacingly stark

For ’tis a place of light and shade, this land

Where dreamers, poets, artists, singers band;

In vain, we seek our songs in brooding dark

We seek You, Immortality, and roam,

Our paintbrush, flute, guitar or pen in hand

And (vagabonds so far away from home),

We spread across these vast, uncharted lands

And hacking ‘cross the tangled brush, we come*

To You, whom now, at last, we understand.

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*Okay, so I took some liberty with the rhyme there, don’t razz me!

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Our Day 10 (FINAL DAY!)’s prompt was: Write a Sonnet, about pleasure, using Apostrophe as your device.

Our esteemed host and Muse @benhuberman had this parting gem:

If you happen to be one of those who find sonnets easy, have no fear — you can still challenge yourself further. How about going for a crown of sonnets? Or branching out to the sestina, another structurally difficult form?

I’ll have my readers know that this sonnet (my first, my first!), which took me TWO FULL hours exactly, I used a Petrachan sonnet form, with a couple of exceptions.  So, instead of abba, abba, cd, cd, cd rhyme scheme, I used an abba, cddc, ed, ed, ed rhyme scheme.  I also tried, desperately, to use iambic pentameter, reading it aloud to myself as it went, tweaking a word here, or rearranging some words there.

Note:  There is another Petrarchan form is abba, abba, cde, cde, which I did not even want to attempt.

(Now, I shall go and lick my wounds, and sorrow over my terrible poem!)

Hats off to those who can do a “Crown” of Sonnets, and Sestinas, to boot!  (I’m thinking of you, Melinda Kucsera!)

Anyway, I’m done.

And no, I’m NOT going to attempt a Sestina today.  Too much else going on in my life, and writing a meaningful Sestina will take up more time, no doubt.

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Tags: #Immortality, #Pleasure, #sonnet, #Writing 201, Art, Artists, Final Day, Pain, Seekers, uncharted lands, vagabonds

Oct 14, 2015 Original Poetry, Writing 201

Elegy for a Dying Earth

(Day 8: Flavor, Elegy, Enumeratio)

©October 15th, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

I fear the earth has come to reap what we have sown

In haste, we sowed the breeze, and reaped this hateful wind

And through this storm, we’ll miss those things we loved so well

The rain, the snow, the flowers, this land– for we have sinned.

Not sins against a God, or gods, or goddesses

But sins against the likes of us, of you and me,

Against our children full of confusion and hurt

To whom we give our ravaged earth, and dying seas.

I’ll miss the scent of rain on dusty earth, the scent

Of budding rose, and jasmine sweet, and marigold.

We’ll see the ponds go dry in summer months, and geese

That leave in droves, will seek new lands, and mourn the old.

Now, storms and hurricanes ravage our broken lands

And dolphins strand themselves, and turtles gasp, and more —

Asphyxiated fish that choke in netted seas

Lie dead and blind upon our broken, littered shores.

I mourn them all, the birds, and animals, and plants

I mourn us all, so smug, so proud, so full of greed

With eyes of death, he chokes our breath– that demon, Wealth;

And laughs at us, although we cry; for mercy, plead.

What hope have we, who heed his lusty, tempting call?

What chance this earth against that mighty money-song?

If we but stop and turn things round (turn off the lights!)

We might yet live, and save what’s right, avert what’s wrong.

So, close your eyes, and step outside, while life yet thrives

And taste the beauty of this fragile Earth, who gives,

Such wealth, her fruit and flowers, and these, our forests wild,

So fragrant, fresh and sweet, in places that still live.

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So, our assignment today was: Write an elegy, use flavor in your poem, and try the rhetorical device of Enumeratio

Alas, I attempted the Elegy form, but gave up almost instantly.  Still, just to challenge myself, I tried rhyming (It’s hard to resist a trite and easy rhyme scheme, but I really tried).  I’ll probably go back to tweak this poem!  This is only my second draft!

Also, I remembered almost too late that I needed to incorporate “flavor,” so I tried that, too.

My Enumeratio needs work, but I tried, I tried!

So, just as I did last week, when I attempted a classical Ode, and followed it with my next (non-Classical) Ode, I shall aim for another Elegy, but that will come later.  I have to run, now)

Thanks for reading, all!

(P.S.  So, I went back in just now – and tweaked three or four lines, just rearranged some words, cut out some, added an “and” or a “so,” and suchlike.  It’s at times like these that I remember my favorite Oscar Wilde, who once said words to the effect of, “I’m exhausted.  I spent all morning putting in a comma, and all afternoon taking it out.”)

Tags: #Elegy, #Life, #Love, #Writing 201, Beauty, Change our Ways, Climate Change, Commas, Dying Earth, Oscar Wilde reference, Save the seas, Savor the sweetness of this planet, Sow the wind and reap the whirlwind

Oct 13, 2015 Original Poetry, Writing 201

My Dog’s Neighborhood — And Wilderness is Paradise, Enow*

[Day 7 – Ballad (sort of), Assonance, Neighborhood]

©October 13th, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

This is a tale of her and me

The human and the canine soul,

My tail’s aloft, my nose so keen

And wilderness our goal.

My nose, so sensitive, so black

Tells me tales I can’t resist,*

Leads me on to unknown places

Hints of those I might have missed.

With such a nose, you really know

What loveliness resides

In every corner of this world

Where I, a dog, abide.

Behold!  My neighborhood so fine,

Full of racoon, rich with skunk,

Redolent with pine and flower

Makes me feel completely drunk.

Here comes my human, full of smiles,

Thinking I don’t get her talk.

She speaks to me as might a child,

And says the magic words, “A Walk?”

I bound right up, my ears aloft,

My nails go skitter-scritch

My tongue lolls out, my tail’s a-wag,

With wanderlust, I itch.

We walk on past the neighbor’s house,

Onto the next, we go,

I hear the buzzing of his bees

Like traffic streams, they flow.

Then, past those sullen houses grim,

Where no one that I see

Comes running out to say hello,

Or smile, or wave at me.

And then, that house right down the street

With great, big, droopy dog.

He yells insulting epithets

Like “Daughter of a Frog!”

Forget that dog — just look at us —

A human and a canine soul,

My tail’s aloft, my nose so keen

And wilderness our goal.

My human walks across the bridge

With monsters right below

I yearn to make a bolt for it,

But walk along, head low.

Then, joy, into the woods we run!

Past leafy underbrush,**

Past muddy pond where once last year

Some geese thrived in the rush!***

I paid no heed to them, because

They tend to hiss and run

And hissing creatures put me off

They really are no fun.

And, now, unleashed, I walk along

My human by my side.

Then, bolt in front, and rush behind

And check the woodland wide.

We walk past rocks, and leaves and bogs

We race on up the hill,

Until she stops, and pants, and rests

Upon a rocky sill.

I see a squirrel, want to run,

But hold myself in check

Let me be honest, ’tis my boss —

Her hand upon my neck.

Behold, these woods, so rich, so green

So full of scents divine,

So fresh and full of beastly smells,

But not a beast I find

There is no need to long for them,

When so much wealth is near,

For I’m a dog, and life is good,

(Oh, look, there goes a deer!)

This is a tale of her and me

My human and my canine soul

My nose finds tales, my tail’s aloft

And wilderness our goal.

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In the heading: *With apologies to Omar Khayyam, for stealing his phrase “And Wilderness is Paradise enow!”

*My family thought the earlier line, “Tells me tales of that and this” didn’t work well with “missed,” so I changed it to “tells me tales I can’t resist.”  Now, it works!

**I have to credit my husband for finding a flaw in this stanza where I’d written “leafy undergrowth” and I’d rhymed it with “some geese plighted their troth” in my earlier version.  He said it didn’t work.  I flailed around, and then … my daughter came to my rescue (see below).
***And I have to thank my daughter for suggesting that I change it from “leafy undergrowth” to “leafy underbrush,” and also for suggesting that I change that last line from “some geese plighted their troth” to “some geese thrived in the rush.”

Thanks, loves!

Tags: #Writing 201, ballad, Canine tales, Dog-story, Neighborhood, Wilderness

Oct 12, 2015 Original Poetry, Writing 201

Wide Awake, Dream in Lilac Time

©October 12th, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

Wide Awake*,

I shut my eyes

in order to see.*

Visions of

Outsider Artists

hang like menaces.

What lies

Within us, and

Within us,

What lies!

Between the lashes

Of your eyes,

Dream in Lilac Time:*

Illusions of perspective

Unmatched in translucence.

Casual waves from the

Pattern of punches.

Selfies might be another matter.

Here, then are faces!*

The face as of a dream, the face of an immobile
rock.*

How quiet the truth and falsehood

Of different selves!

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Note:  ALL THESE LINES are from the following:

A sticker for the Wide Awake Bakery (owned and operated by my brother in law) (on our refrigerator)

I shut my eyes in order to see is from Paul Gauguin– refrigerator magnet

What lies within us is from Emerson — refrigerator magnet

All the rest are from a magazine I used, opening randomly to lines and phrases in different pages — Artscope  Sept. Oct. 2015 (dubs itself “New England’s Premier Culture Magazine”).

“Dream in Lilac Time” is the title of Gail Skuder’s foot-wide scroll-artwork, described as a “physical manifestation of lyric and melody.” (from the same magazine, Artscope)

*Here then are faces and The face as of a dream, the face of an immobile
rock are lines from Leaves of Grass:: Poem of Faces by Walt Whitman

Tags: #Writing 201, chiasmus, faces, Found Poetry, Hallucinations, Visions, Walt Whitman

Oct 12, 2015 Original Poetry, Writing 201

I have NEVER done “Found Poetry,” nor have I ever attempted chiasmus as a device, although I knew of it, and had encountered it.  It seems that these days I’m doing things that  I’ve never attempted.  In any case, today’s (Day 6) assignment, in brief, was:

Create a “found poem”

Make it about “faces”

Use “chiasmus.”

I’ve typed up the text of my found poem, which I assembled from tea-bag covers, junk mail, an art catalogue, and a plastic bread-bag.  Not having a working camera currently, I took an awkward picture with my MacBook Pro’s PhotoBooth.  So, the picture below looks, let’s face it, bad and blurry.  However, I shall remedy that when I can get a clearer image with a working camera.  In any case, here’s the image, and then, my typed-up text below it, for those who cannot discern the words.

(Oh, and I was thrilled to FIND my chiasmus in the process of looking for words!  The first line occurs on line 10 (after the heading, which is “Not When Pigs Fly”):  The Power of each woman’s face.  The second part of the chiasmus occurs as the punchline, the end:  “Face each woman’s POWER.”)

Here’s the poem, in its entirety:

Not When Pigs Fly

©October 12th, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

We are women —

Friends of the earth,

Hope,

The People,

wise,

The Majority.

We shall converge on LITTLE DREAMS,

GIVE Clarity.

No Blisters.

Guaranteed.

VISIONS OF THE UNCANNY —

THE POWER OF each woman’s face

EXHIBITS passion,

SUPPORTS MEMORY.

SURVIVING THE ELEMENTS,

ULTRA CONCENTRATED,

OUR MUSIC ROLLS ON.

WE ARE PEACE.

WE ARE the Earth.

face each woman’s POWER!

Tags: #Face, #Hope, #Peace, #Writing 201, chiasmus, Dreamer of Dreams, Found Poetry, poetry challenge!, The Earth, The power of women

Oct 9, 2015 Ramblings and Musings

I have loved many, many poets and poems since I was a young girl of eight or ten.  From Donne to Blake, from Shakespeare to Milton, from Wordsworth to Tennyson, from Eliot to D.H. Lawrence, from Wilde to Yeats, from Emily Dickinson to Robert Frost, from Gwendolyn Brooks, May Sarton, Nikki Giovanni, Maya Angelou, Sonia Sanchez to Naomi Shihab Nye, from Sarojini Naidu to Rabindranath Tagore …
Here’s a poem by my favorite William Blake (of “Tyger, Tyger burning bright” fame) that just sprang to memory:

The Sick Rose
By William Blake

O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

I found myself chilled to the bone when I heard a recording of this poem set to music composed by Benjamin Britten, and sung by his lover, the impeccable tenor Peter Pears:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Z8W177eCIY

Tags: #Writing 201, Poets I've loved, The Sick Rose, William Blake

Oct 9, 2015 Original Poetry, Writing 201

Ode to My Beloved

(A non-Horatian Ode)

©October 9th, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

You are the route I would like to traverse,

My beloved, companion of my days and life.

Your beautiful smile the lamplight

And your veins tracing your blood

To your heart, the mysterious tracks

To you.

A road so beautiful, your skin, and

Your body, that maps

All that life threw at you

And folds it into a new wrinkle!

Your voice is the breeze that wafts

Songs my way, as I set my face

You-wards.

And your love, the North Star

Guiding me home

To you.

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Tags: #Writing 201, A Non-Horatian Ode, Love poem

Oct 8, 2015 Original Poetry, Writing 201

An Ode To My Fate (Map of Fate)

(My attempt at a Horatian Ode)

©October 8th, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

*Could I hold you aloft in the twilight of love

And trace out your routes with attention, to look

For where softly would land all my dreams, like the dove

From the Ark that found trees like it did in the Book,

I would do so, my Fate, my brooding playmate.

I would look for the paths that you’d lay out for me.

I would take a new route, one that does not exist.

I would fight your pale smile, all your lures, and your bait.

I would build my own boat and I’d put out to sea,

And when I arrive, it’s by you I’ll be kissed.

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This was the assignment (which I’ve condensed into the following three sentences):

Write an Ode.

Use metaphors.

Make it about a map of some sort.

Again, this is the FIRST time I’ve written an Ode, and not just that, but a Horatian Ode (about which I’d known nothing, really).  I looked it up, and found that the rhyme scheme went thus: ab, ab, cde, cde.  I know nothing of the syllable count of Horatian Odes.  I chose my own weird 11-12 syllable count, taking care to make sure the meter sort of stayed the same.

Note:  In the first stanza, I’m using “could” as in, “If I could do …. then I would.”  (I’m using the subjunctive mood.)

I hope you enjoyed this attempt.

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Tags: #Fate, #Irony, #Writing 201, Horatian Ode Rhyme Scheme, Map of Fate, Ode

Oct 8, 2015 Writing 201

The Cantabrigian

©October 8th, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

There once was an old man from Cambridge

Who played fast and loose with his language

He messed up his words

Made them oh, so absurd

A knuckle* he got as a sangwich.

*(I learned about the deliciously painful and evil “knuckle-sandwich” when I came to these fair United States of America — I’d never heard of them before — what a charming term for a punch in the mouth!)

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The Non-Whiner From China

©October 8th, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

There was a young lady from China

Who made herself laugh like a hyena

When questioned, she cried

That her parrot had died

And she hated to be a big whiner.

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The Politician

©October 8th, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

There once was a speaker who rose up

To speak at a rally with nose up

He gave them a sneer and

They booed him to tears, now

He lies in his bed with his toes up.

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The Atheist and the Preacher (A Two-Parter!)

©October 8th, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

If you think you’re so great, said a man

To the preacher unveiling his plan to

Convert the whole world

Every boy, every girl,

Then, what is the faith you began?

My faith is the faith of the true, he said

I’ll thank you for making me rue, with dread,

The day I met you was a

Day I was blue

Now may the good Lord smite you dead, he said.

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Tags: #Limericks, #Writing 201, knuckle sandwiches, the atheist and the preacher, The Cantabrigian, the non-whiner from China, the politician