19 mar. 2004

I just had to write my own 15 minutes sonnet:

The New Formalism

(for Kasey Silem Mohammed and Mike Snider)

The amateurs have clambered o'er the wall
They THINK the TIME has COME for THEM at LAST.
The courtyard on the other side is small...
No matter! 'Tis th'enclosure of the past,
The sonnet's realm, where Shakespeare's verse held sway,
Where Wordworth wrote of narrow convents cells,
And Frost became "Acquainted with the Day"
(The night I mean), where Poe heard tinny "Bells."
...that's not a sonnet? Well, the rhyme was there,
Ripe for the picking, like Augustine's plum.
But somehow none of this seems really fair:
Verse so arthritic makes us seem so dumb.
Tough luck! This wretched sonnet has to end,
There's much here to decry, naught to defend.

There are no obvious metrical hiccups here, if you accent the u in Augustine, like some people do. Not very good? Admittedly it's not, yet I don't think it's inferior to the sample poems over at the Formalist, metrically speaking. I'm not tripping over my toes. The archaism is deliberate; I'm playing with the meter, even when I let it push me around.

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