Throwback Poem #2
This throwback poem has been sitting quietly on my desk, politely waiting for its moment. It also started out as a high school English assignment, and the challenge was to emulate a formal sonnet. That was not an easy thing to do, especially for someone who prefers free verse. But I kept this sonnet as a reminder that I can fit my thoughts into a strict form if I want to—the cadence, the rhyme schemes, all of it.
Elaborate Detail
The sweeping verses written by Shakespeare, Keats, Spenser, Byron, and Shelley remind me of ornate Gothic cathedrals. The detail is exquisite. Sonnets may have fallen out of favor in modern poetry, but their message is no less impressive and emotional.
Even though I don’t feel destined to craft any more sonnets, it was still interesting to try on this structure.
A Sonnet Frozen in Time
Before we take a look at that poem, travel back to the late 90’s with me. Picture a moody high school senior, blasting Les Mis (and singing along to my kid brother’s chagrin), mulling over John Keats' tragic life, and trying to force those feelings into 14-lines. This is what came out:
NATURE’S IMMORTALITY
In the gloom-filled depths of winter days,
When earth lies buried in a milky shroud,
I dream of golden summer’s thoughtful rays—
I long for flowers bursting through the ground.
The scenery reflects a brilliant light.
I feel a certain awe in this death-scape.
The world is covered in a veil of white;
It brings cheer not found in box and crepe.
At nature’s funeral there is no need to mourn.
We crawl inside with fire and with friends.
Immune to mortal cares and daily strife.
Why should we view the winter with such scorn?
It is the death that never spells “the end”—
For with the thaw emerges a new life.
Remembering Keats
At the time I wrote this poem, I felt particularly moved by John Keats’ poetry and his life story. You can see that I was exploring the idea of mortality, as I tried to comprehend the pain and uncertainty Keats faced as a very young man. My 17 year old mind ruminated over his words and his suffering. Even though he wrote formal sonnets, his emotions jumped off the page.
The Logbook Prompt:
⚓How do you feel about sonnets—Petrarchan and Shakespearean, quatrains and couplets, the whole elaborate show? Does the form add to the beauty of the message? Or do you prefer a different kind of poem?
