Revisiting Mr. Lear

 

This blog began on a March evening in 2008 when it suddenly occurred to me that it would be fun to write some limericks. That same fateful night I ordered the famous collection of limericks that popularized the form, A Book of Nonsense by Edward Lear. 

First published in 1846, the book is in the public domain. The copy that I purchased was the absolute worst - a hack job wherein someone copy and pasted the poems (probably from Project Gutenburg) into a self-publishing template. I read it once and put it on the shelf. The first humble step in my exploration of poetry.

About a decade later, my wife Claire was at a thrift store and found the beautiful hardback edition of A Book of Nonsense by Edward Lear pictured here, which she kindly purchased for me. It actually collects all five of Mr. Lear's books of nonsense, and most shocking of all - they were all fully illustrated by the author!

This fact completely altered (elevated!) my appreciation of Lear's limericks, and rereading them was a transformative experience for me. So much of my exploration of poetry (and indeed the contents of this blog) has been trying to figure out what type of poetry I enjoy, and here, finally, was the answer: I enjoy poems that are illustrated!

Looking back through my poetry reviews, this rule never misses: Ogden Nash, W.S. Gilbert, Don Marquis, collections of Nonsense Verse, Children's Poetry. These are the poems I have enjoyed the most, and all are heavily illustrated. None of those poets take themselves too seriously, and know that a clever drawing can enhance the humor of a poem. Yet another combination of words and pictures that floats my boat. All the other poetry anthologies and collections I slogged through took themselves too seriously and failed to connect. Now I know what to look for in the poetry section of used book stores - pictures!

Anyway, Lear literally drew a small pen and ink illustration for every single one of his limericks. If, like I did, you have an unadorned copy, I beseech you to replace it with a proper illustrated copy. Reading all of this work again, and seeing all those ink drawings, I felt a strange kinship with Mr. Lear, spanning across 170+ years.

Then, last year, out of the blue, my mother sent me Mr. Lear: A Life of Art and Nonsense by Jenny Uglow, a meticulously researched biography of the man himself. I was shocked to learn that Lear's main profession was painting animals and landscapes. The humorous poems (and drawings!) that he is remembered for a century later were dashed off to amuse the children of his many friends. Literally just a bit of "nonsense" to help pass the time.

There were so many aspects of Lear's life, as a freelance artist and self-publisher, that I could relate to - running around town trying to get enough patrons to commission a book (Victorian Kickstarter!), or painting dozens of small watercolors to try and sell to make his rent. Like so many other authors throughout the history of publishing, he signed away all the rights to his poems for some quick money, and they have been in print ever since. The more things change, the more they stay the same, I guess.

Anyway, I have a much deeper appreciation for the man after all this reading and revisiting. I can't help but feel that if I could go back to his time, or he could come forward to mine, that we'd get along famously.

Baby Shower Poem

My wife Claire and I are expecting our first child in early 2016, so Claire's mom threw us a baby shower at the beginning of November.  As thank-you gifts, Claire's mom got everyone daffodil bulbs.  Claire made an illustration for little cards that were going to be attached to the bulbs (see below).

On the inside of the cards Claire had printed directions for how to plant the bulbs.  At the last minute, I asked if I could instead write a little poem to go inside.  I sat down for about fifteen minutes and came up with this:

Daffodils

Thank you for coming to our baby shower.
To show you our thanks, we got you this flower!
Right now it's in bulb form, still packed up inside,
Like the baby in Claire, who's going to hid
Until the new year, when her cries fill our room.
Follow these steps to have a quieter bloom!

Take the height of the bulb and times it by two,
or three, or four, or five; it's all up to you.
Bury it that far underneath fertile soil,
And if you would like a small tip for less toil,
Make sure the ground's freezing is one month away.
Be patient and wait, and on one special day
Your flower will arrive in its flower form,
Just like our daughter will be happily born!

My 2013-2014 Poetry Activity

It's been more than a year since I updated this blog, but believe it or not, I am still reading and thinking about poetry every day.  Here's what I have been reading in the last year or so:

It took me months and months, but I finally read every poem in the Faber Book of Children's Verse.  On the whole I would classify this anthology as "a stinker."  Any poems in here that I did enjoy (Lewis Carroll, etc.), I had already read in other collections.  The rest was hard to penetrate, either because it was referencing ancient British historical events which were very boring to this American reader, or because of the use of antiquated language (olde english? Gaelic?) that went over my head.

I'm not sure how an anthology with chapter headings such as "Kings, Queens and Heroes", "Magic", "Witches, Charms and Spells" and "Marvels and Riddles" could be so dull, but it was.  I feel sorry for any child who had this collection as their only introduction to poetry growing up.  Zzzzz.  I am not keeping this book!

The one exception was a great poem called "Etiquette" by Sir W.S. Gilbert (of Gilbert & Sullivan fame).  In the poem, two gentlemen are stranded on a desert island, but they have not been introduced, so they refuse to talk to each other.  A bit of digging revealed that Sir Gilbert has a book of verse called "The Bab Ballads" which sounds so up my alley that I just ordered a copy.  If the rest of that collection is as enjoyable as "Etiquette" than I believe my reading of The Faber Book of Children's Verse will not have been in vain.

Last May, Greg took Claire and I to the Goodwill "Bins" in Portland, OR.  Claire bought a stack of VHS tapes and I bought a few books, including The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson, which was going for $1.00 if I remember correctly.  

When Maurice Sendak died a few years ago, I remember reading a bunch of interviews with him, and in one he mentioned that he loved Emily Dickinson's work.  A few months ago I finally pulled this book out of my "READ ME" box and started reading a few of her poems each morning, before I write.

I would say about 1 in 50 really connects with me, and makes me actually feel something.  I suspect that ratio is more due to my own lack of sophistication and intelligence, rather than Ms. Dickinson's.  Anyway, I read her poetry on the toilet, so I'm pretty sure that's exactly how she wanted her work to be experienced.  :P

Three years after discovering his work, I still think that Ogden Nash is the greatest poet that ever lived.   I have dutifully been keeping an eye out for any of his collections at used book stores, flea markets, etc.  In the last year or so, I have come across three:

1) Bed Riddance: A Posy for the Indisposed with illustrations by Milton Glaser, published in 1969.  This is a collection of his poems all about health problems, going to the doctor, insomnia, etc. etc. etc.

AUGH, this book is so great it makes me want to tear my hair out!  Why doesn't stuff like this exist anymore???  You have a whole book of hilarious rhyming poetry, loaded with wit and wordplay.  Then you get Milton Glaser at the height of his Push-Pin fame to make wonderful, thoughtful illustrations which are interspersed every ten pages or so.  

And this wasn't some highfalutin, snobby poetry book.  It was meant for mass consumption.  You'd buy this book for your friend who was recuperating from surgery.  Something to lighten his mood.

It's so frustrating to me that poetry took the same path of "fine art" in the 1950s and became more abstract and inaccessible.  If you try to talk about poetry with most people now, in 2014, they're like "Poetry? Ugh!" because their only frame of reference is non-ryhming, formless dribble that is only decipherable by the poet who wrote it.  I read a Best American Poetry collection from within the last ten years, and if that's literally the best poetry has to offer these days, then I may just never read another poem written after 1971, the year Ogden Nash died.

2) Every One But Thee And Me with illustrations by John Alcorn, published in 1962.  These little books, with their charming illustrations awaken something deep inside me.  It's a feeling that says "This is exactly the kind of work I want to produce."  If I wasn't already 1400 pages down my cartooning path, I might seriously consider spending all of my creative time trying to master this art form.  I'm still working at it in my spare time (very... slowly...) but I am spending a lot of time these days thinking about ways to incorporate my love of (THIS) poetry into my comics work.  I need to believe that poetry could be made relevant and accessible to the general public again.  

Anyway, I'll get off my soap box, but Alcorn's illustrations are extremely charming and the poems couldn't be better.  My head spins when I start imagining a volume like this produced today.  There are so many great illustrators I would love to see approach work like this.  If only there were more top-notch poets!

3) Ogden Nash's Zoo with illustrations by Etienne Delessert, published in 1986.  This one is inferior, mostly because of Delessert's illustrations which feel much too stiff and serious for such light whimsical verse.  I still bought it just so I could have all of Nash's animal poems under one spine, but it's almost painful to read with these illustrations.

The shark poem on the right reads:

How many Scientists have written
The shark is gentle as a kitten?
Yet this I know about the shark:
His bite is worser than his bark.

Really???  That's the illustration you'd draw for that poem???  Or the illustrator you'd hire???  Ugh.

Anyway, as I have pointed out on this blog, I knew absolutely nothing whatsoever about poetry when I started reading and writing it in 2008.  (Which is another thing: why don't schools teach poetry any more???)  I am having a lot of fun exploring this uncharted creative territory and each time I find a new poet whose work I admire, it feels like discovering buried treasure.  Onwards!

Downstairs

Here's a limerick I wrote in May 2012.  I don't believe I've posted it yet....

To get downstairs I must pick

The ladder or stairs, one's more quick!

To avoid getting fatter

I'd best use the latter

I hope that the steps aren't too slick!

The idea to play with the words "ladder" and "latter" has been kicking around in my head for a long time.  I feel like this poem would be more successful with an illustration of someone at the top of some spiral steps, with a ladder going down the middle.

Someday I'd love to do an issue of Phase 7 with poems on the right-facing pages and illustrations on the left facing pages - like old humor books from the 50s.  That's why I write so many horrible limericks on this blog, to keep trying to get to a few good ones that can make the cut!

Ogden Nash

I felt like writing a limerick this morning, so I did!  The subject is my favorite poet, who I tried my best to pay homage to in these five lines:

There once was a poet named Nash
Who traded in light verse for cash
A few in the Post
The New Yorker, most
For humor he had not a mash

Ha ha!  See what I did there?  I'm sure Mr. Nash is rolling over in his grave... oh well, it was fun!  I'm digging through my poetry notebook, I'll try to find some other stuff that I have yet to post.

My 2012 Poetry Activity

It's funny to me that this is only my second post of 2012 on this blog, because I read poetry every single night before falling asleep and I think about poetry quite a bit!  I'm catching up on some blogging this weekend, so I thought I would talk about the poetry I have read this year.

20** Best American Poetry - I was given this poetry anthology as a gift, and dutifully plowed my way through it.  I am not listing which year it is, because I read every single poem, and did not enjoy a single one.  Sorry famous poets!  I'm sure this is my own shortcoming and not theirs...

I'm so new to poetry as an art form, that each book of poetry I pick up is an exploration of new territory.  I'm slowly figuring out what I do and do not like, and so far, I'm pretty big on meter and rhyme.  I can conceptually understand why many (most?) modern poets no longer use meter and rhyme, in the same way that many (most?) modern painters no longer feel the need to paint representationally.  In both art forms my taste tends towards the traditional.  

I love marveling at the technique and craft of a realistically rendered painting of a tree or person or scene.  I can even handle impressionist tweaking of reality, exaggerating the colors to bring a heightened sense of emotion to a painting, but as soon as it looses representation, I lose interest.  I'm sure a bunch of splattered paint on a canvas was very clever, and I can see where it fits into the continuum of art history, but I find it extremely boring.

For me the whole fun of poetry is that you are trying to express something, but there are constraints you must work within.  When someone can express something beautifully but still maintain a consistent meter and rhyme scheme, I marvel at it, the same way I do with a beautifully rendered painting.  The craft of it overwhelms me.  And this doesn't mean it has to be straightforward - I appreciate a strange turn of phrase, or things that are less tangible than just pure description, but as soon as it's just random words thrown together with no structure, I am bored and lose interest.

So I absolutely hated this collection of poetry, but I think it was a good expedition into unknown territory.  By reading a lot of poetry that I disliked, I took one step closer to learning what kind of poetry I do like!

The New Oxford Book of English Light Verse - The two books of poetry I have enjoyed the most so far have been The Penguin Book of Nonsense Verse and The Best of Ogden Nash. Both of these fall firmly under the umbrella of "Light Verse" so I thought this anthology would be right up my alley.  

It is organized chronologically by the birthdates of the various poets, and I found that the further I got into the book, the more I enjoyed it. When I broke into the 20th century, I really started enjoying the poems.  I think for the most part, the older work was a bit hard to penetrate because of either antiquated language, or topics which I simply did not understand (British politics, wars, etc.)

There were a few exceptions, such as "An Austrian Army" by Alaric Watts (1797-1864) which has twenty six lines, one for each letter of the alphabet.  The meter, rhymes, wordplay and alliteration were just mind bending.  And every so often a poet's writing style would be straightforward enough that I could enjoy the humor of the poem.

So again, this wasn't a home run, but I felt like this book helped me hone in on an era of poetry that I could fully explore and enjoy before trying to expand my tastes.

Ogden Nash: The Life and Work of America's Laureate of Light Verse - Claire and I went to a movie at our local theatre on a Saturday night, and they had a raffle, in which they call a few numbers from the movie tickets that were issued.  I won a $10 gift certificate to the second-hand bookstore across the street!  I went in a few days later and found this biography of Ogden Nash.  Since he is my favorite poet, I thought it would be quite enjoyable, and I was not wrong.

It was sprinkled throughout with his delightful verse, but it also went into Nash's long career and the many different venues he found for his skills.  He wrote greeting cards, wrote lyrics for musicals, published hundreds a poems a year in The New Yorker, The Saturday Evening Post and many others, and also toured the country doing readings and promoting the many collections of his poetry which were published over the years.  

The guy at the book store seemed very surprised that I was interested in Ogden Nash.  I told him that Nash was my favorite poet and he seemed very confused by that, a reaction which was repeated upon my next poetry purchase...

The Life and Times of Archy & Mehitabel - I went to the other used bookstore in our neighborhood, and saw some beautiful hand lettering on the spine of a book in the poetry section.  I plucked it off the shelf and flipped through the book only to find dozens of beautiful spot illustrations by George Herriman (of Krazy Kat fame).  I was tempted to buy it just based on those, but to sweeten the deal there was a great introduction by E.B. White.  After reading the introduction, I bought the book, which again, the bookseller seemed to think was very atypical.  I'm not sure why...

I'm still reading this book (currently on page 229 of 447) and it is one of the most unique, enjoyable bodies of work I have ever come across.  It was originally a newspaper column for the New York Sun starting in 1914.  The premise is that a free verse poet is reincarnated as a cockroach (ha!) who sneaks into the New York Sun offices each night and then jumps from key to key on a typewriter to leave messages for Don Marquis.  There is no punctuation or capital letters (because he can't push the shift key!) so his dispatches are presented in a faux-free verse which makes fun of the form (which must have been somewhat new at the time).  Here is a small snippet, with line-breaks preserved so you can see the unique writing style:

boss i am disappointed in
some of your readers they
are always asking how does
archy work the shift so as to get a
new line or how does archy do
this or do that they
are always interested in technical
details when the main question is
whether the stuff is literature or not

Mehitabel used to be an Egyptian princess, but has now transmigrated into the body of a cat.  She's friends with Archy and he reports on her various activities.  It is such a unique idea and there is so much energy in the writing, it is a real joy to read.  I especially like it when Archy breaks into proper rhymes.  Here is my favorite such example that I have come across so far, "archy s autobiography":

if all the verse what i have wrote
were boiled together in a kettle
twould make a meal for every goat
from nome to popocatapetl
mexico 

and all the prose what i have penned
if laid together end to end
would reach from russia to south bend
indiana 

but all the money what i saved
from all them works at which i slaved
is not enough to get me shaved
every morning 

and all the dams which i care
if heaped together in the air
would not reach much of anywhere
they wouldnt 

because i dont shave every day
and i write for arts sake anyway
and always hate to take my pay
i loathe it 

and all of you who credit that
could sit down on an opera hat
and never crush the darn thing flat
you skeptics 

archy

Oh man, that stuff makes my brain do back-flips of joy.  Anyway, the Herriman drawings are also incredible, so I highly recommend checking out this great book.

On that same trip I also picked up The Faber Book of Children's Verse, which I have not yet begun to read.  Based on my other experiences though, I think Children's verse might be a good area for me to explore.  I tend to lean more towards children's books, or YA stuff than "adult" novels in my regular reading, so maybe I'll enjoy this collection more than "adult" poetry.

I haven't written any poetry since March, and the way my schedule is shaping up, I don't think I'll have much time for it in the immediate future either.  I'm not giving up on the idea however, I just need to find the time.

For now I am enjoying reading as much poetry as possible and trying to figure out which poetry I enjoy the most.  If any readers out there who are more well-versed in poetry (pun intended!) have any recommendations for me based on this blog entry, I welcome them in the comments section!

Sick Day

I am not currently sick, but it is spring break, so I had some time to finally finish off this poem that I started last October, when I was sick for a few days.

Another school year's in full swing,
The students are working hard.
When without fail, I hear something,
My classroom's silence marred
By the clearing of a throat, a cough,
Then some sniffling and a sneeze.
That night, Emergen-C I quaff
And beg, "Not this time, please!"
But soon enough, I'm coughing too
And snot clogs up my nose.
My energy drops from ten to two,
An ache in my head grows!

When I was a younger, foolish jerk
I tried to power through.
But all my germs tagged along to work
And my coworkers got sick too!
I've long since learned a better way
To deal with being sick:
I rest for one entire day
And heal up much more quick!
Instead of working a flat ten percent
Efficiency for weeks,
I lay in bed, it's time well spent.
One valley yields more peaks!

Elliott Smith

Happy Halloween!  Here's another Limerick that I finished off the other night when I couldn't sleep.  It was originally started on 4/10/08 and is about Elliott Smith's self-titled album, which is my favorite album to listen to at the end of the day, when everything is winding down.

My life feels just about right
When drawing my comics at night
I hum along
To a sad little song,
Get sleepy, and turn off the light.

Breaking up is hard to do!

The other night I was going through my poetry notebook, trying to complete old, half-finished poems.  I came across the first few lines of the limerick below, which I started on 3/28/08 and I finished them off thusly:

It's simple when things end in hate
One month off and you're ready to date!
But when both get along
And the timing's just wrong,
The feelings take years to abate.

It was only then that I turned the page in my notebook, and saw that I had continued working on the poem which I posted in this blog back in 2008.  I think my new version gets much closer to accomplishing Gabe's original suggestion, to incorporate the entire second limerick into the last line of the first.  A happy accident.  Here's to second drafts!

A Limerick for The Center for Cartoon Studies

Here's a limerick about CCS that I started on 1/16/09 and then finally finished off the other night when I couldn't sleep.

There sits a fine school in Vermont
From New York it's a five-hour jaunt
If you have a yearning
For cartoonist-learning
Then this is the center you'll want!

Insomniac Poetaster

Insomnia strikes!
This year's first night of snowfall
Finishing off old poems

The Penguin Book of Nonsense Verse

A few weeks ago I ordered a few Quentin Blake books for my sister Galen, for her birthday.  While I was searching, I came across The Penguin Book of Nonsense Verse which I ordered for myself.

I've been pouring through it, a few poems each night before sleep, and I have been enjoying it tremendously.  The poems were not only illustrated by Blake, who is one of my very favorite illustrators, but he selected the poems as well.

In the introduction to the book, Blake says:

"There is one respect in which nonsense poetry isn't in the least bit crazy; the rhymes, the metre, the verse-forms are just as regular as, and in many cases identical with, those of more serious poems.  Indeed, it's the fact that nonsense poems preserve this decorum - that at first sight they appear to be serious - that makes them effective.  More than that it allows them, sometimes, to have their own mysterious poetry and atmosphere, so that they are funny and serious at the same time."

This observation is dead on, and I have been enjoying the silliness of work as much as the poetic qualities.  Plus, it's got poems by Roald Dahl, Ogden Nash, Edward Gorey, Shel Silverstein and a bunch of other greats.  Highly recommended!

A Limerick for Carl Barks

There once was an artist named Barks
Who mastered the making of marks
His comics had ducks
With trillions of bucks
And his stories were more than just larks!

Limerick for a Mail Thief

As some of you saw, I had some mail stolen last week, which was pretty upsetting for me.  I hate how it is making me mistrust other members of my community.  Anyway, it has been weighing heavily on my mind, so I'm afraid that it will be the topic of my poetry for this week (also, sorry I didn't post last weekend!  I was in Montréal, hence the stolen package).  Anyway, here is my angry Limerick for a Mail Thief

There once was a thief who stole mail.
But instead of him going to jail,
When he was caught
Some postage we bought
And mailed all his fingers to Vail.

NEXT WEEK: Hopeufully something less gruesome and more positive!

TOLT Poetry Exercises 19 and 20!

Okay, this week I have the last two exercises from The Ode Less Traveled.  First was exercise 19, in which I had to write some sonnets.  First I had to do a petrarchan sonnet, named after Francesco Petrarca who first popularized the form.

I guess the main idea with a petrarchan sonnet is that the speaker is debating something internally.  So the first eight lines are called the "octave," which rhyme abba abba, and which show one viewpoint of a topic.  Then the ninth line is called the "volta" which is the turning point.  The last six lines collectively are called the "sestet" which can either rhyme cde cde (which I chose) or ccd ccd, or cdc cdc.

For the first part of exercise 19, Fry suggested I write a Petrarchan sonnet about voting.  In the octave I was to talk about how lazy and uninterested voters are, and then in the sestet I was to decide that apathy is probably the best response.  This isn't exactly how I feel about voting, but here's what I came up with just the same:

In 2012 the time will come to vote,
  But many voters will not heed the call
  Of TV ads and signs in yards and all
The names of candidates they've learned by rote.
These lazy people, to their friends will gloat,
  That they're too busy shopping at the mall
  To visit a polling station booth or stall,
As if they were protected by a moat.
Maybe there's a reason for this 'tude.
  It's easy to be sick of politics
In modern times of mudslinging and lies.
  At first the candidate's an awesome dude,
But post election, promises are nix
  And trust that took so long to build, then dies.

For the second part of exercise 19, I was to write a Shakespearean sonnet, which is formed a little differently.  There are three quatrains, which rhyme abab, cdcd, efef and then there is a couplet to wrap it up rhymed gg.  Again the topic was voting, but this time I was to spend the first four lines talking about the apathy of voters, the middle four giving complaint against this fact, the last four admitting my own apathy and then the couplet saying it makes no difference anyway.  Again, these aren't necessarily my views, but it helped me to have a clear idea of what I had to write.  Here's mine, with apologies to Shakespeare!

On voting day, a lot of people don't
Attempt to use their democratic right.
It's not because they can't it's 'cause they won't.
For politics, they've given up the fight.
Come on, you folks!  Let's get out there and vote!
Help steer the course our country's set upon.
It takes all hands to keep this ship afloat.
It does no good to stay at home and yawn.
I know that politics can be depressing,
Corruption spreading up and down the hill.
And often, casting votes can feel like guessing,
Who knows if yours will pass the proper bill.
I know the voting system needs improving.
Just hope there are no plans for its removing!

The last section of the book is devoted to some pretty weird poetic forms, including pattern poems, which were the subject of exercise 20, which was the last one in the book!  I was to write two, one about the letter "I" (with serifs) and one in the shape of a cross.  Here's what they look like:

The Magnetic Fields

Made

That

One

Album

Which was called "I"

I never

Went to

Church

When I was a child growing up

In Seattle, so I don't know a thing 

About Christianity or religion.

To each

Their

Own, I

Always

Say.  If

It helps

People,

Good for

Them.

The very last thing I had to do was to write a rhyming acrostic verse, spelling out my name with the first letters of each line.  

After many months of struggle

Lines have finally all been written

Elevated, I hope, above a poet muggle.

Certainly, by the poet bug, I've been bitten!

Well, that last poem says it all.  It took me two years to get through this book, and it was one of the most challenging things I have ever read, but I'm glad I did it.  Honestly, it felt like taking a really good college course about poetry.  So if you'd like to learn more, I highly recommend The Ode Less Travelled by Stephen Fry.  

I'm still working my way through The Best of Ogden Nash (and still loving it) and I guess I'll try to keep posting some poetry in here on the weekends.  It'll be fun to dive back into it, armed with new knowledge!  

TOLT Poetry Exercises 16, 17 and 18

The next section of The Ode Less Traveled focused on even more poetic forms.  For exercise 16 I had to write a triolet about my love (Claire Sanders) and then a rondeau redoublé about any topic of my choosing.

A triolet is an eight line poem, with two rhymes, in which the first (A) and second (B) lines are used thusly:  ABaAbbAB.  I guess since the A line is used three times, that's where the "tri" comes from.  Here's mine about Claire, sorry it is so mushy.

Of all the girls I've ever met
I love Claire Sanders the best.
I'm lucky she's the one I'll get
Of all the girls I've ever met.
We'll set out on quest after quest
And build ourselves a little nest.
Of all the girls I've ever met
I love Claire Sanders the best.

I wrote all of these on the train from White River Junction to New York.  When Mr. Fry said I could write a rondeau redoublé on any topic, I asked Claire and she said I should write it about our pet rabbits, Patty and Selma.  Rondeau redoublé is another one of those really complicated forms.  Like the triolet, it only has two rhymes, and it reuses the first four lines, one line in each of the subsequent stanzas.  It looks like this:

Stanza 1: A1 B1 A2 B2
Stanza 2: b a b A1
Stanza 3: a b a B1
Stanza 4: b a b A2
Stanza 5: a b a B2
Mini Envoi: repeat the first four words of the poem

So the key here was to write the first four lines very carefully, and to pick end words that had lots and lots of rhymes.  Here's what I came up with, which is also kind of mushy...  sorry!

We own two bunnies who love to hop.
Patty is white and Selma is brown.
They are cute from bottom to top.
Watching them washes away any frown.

Up they'll go, to sniff the air, then down
To bound around until they drop.
If napping was a country, they'd have the crown!
We own two bunnies who love to hop.

Patty cleans herself all day, the fop.
But give her lots of hay and she'll act the clown.
Selma peed again, grab the mop!
Patty is white and Selma is brown.

Once Claire made them each a gown,
But neither liked the extra prop.
Bunnies' fashion sense is not renown.
They are cute from bottom to top.

After a long day, down they plop.
To them "cage" and "home" are the same noun.
They'd still be cute if they tried to stop.
Watching them washes away any frown.

We have two bunnies.

Okay!  If you've made it this far without barfing, you should be able to get through the rest with no problems.  The next chapter of TOLT was all about comic verse, including the Limerick!!!  Alas though, the exercise was not to write some limericks of my own.  Oh well, I'll get back to those as soon as I'm done going through this book.

For exercise 17, Fry first suggested that I write a parody of my favorite poet.  I knew right off the bat that I would not be able to do that.  As I mentioned a few weeks ago, my new favorite poet is Ogden Nash.  I have been steadily plowing through The Best of Ogden Nash (as of this writing I'm on page 244 of 438).  But still, I don't think I could write a poem in his style.  So instead, I decided to attempt Fry's second option, which was to create a cento.

One creates a cento by pulling real lines from various poems by one poet, and then rearranging them and trying to make them have a different meaning.  Luckily, I had my collection of Nash with me on the train.  I flipped through randomly, trying to come up with lines that were somehow related.  Here was my fist false start:

The citizens of Oklahoma
Their water has a chlorine aroma

Of course, this was cheating, because I took two different poems where Nash had rhymed the word "Oklahoma."  Oh well!  Then I tried to get something going with water-based imagery:

The fisherman, oh the fisherman,
I'm hoping not to see one.
On the shores of Lake Michigan
Slumbered a princess waiting to be won,
That whales are mammals, just like us
A shrimp who sought his lady shrimp,
We laugh at how he looks at us.

Hmmmm... as you can see, that stopped making sense pretty quickly.  It's too bad I couldn't find some way to turn those first two lines into a story told from a fish's perspective.  Oh well!  The only couplet I built which I didn't scratch out, was the very simple:

I'm only waiting for my cue,
That's how much I love you.

Good enough for me!  And apologies to Mr. Nash, who is probably rolling over in his grave right now.

In the next section of the book, I was very excited to finally, properly learn something about haiku, and some other forms of poetry from far away lands.  It turns out, according to Fry, that haiku are traditionally about a season and have a "kigo" word, which focuses on the weather or atmosphere.  For exercise 18 I had to write four haiku, one for each season.  As you have seen elsewhere on this blog, english versions of haiku usually have 5 syllables, then 7, then 5, which I have used here:

"Shluf" the sound of snow
Sliding off the roof next door
New snow collecting

April showers
Bring May flowers, but not here
Instead we get mud


Homesickness is worst
In the hot humid summer
I miss Seattle

The crisp autumn air
Red, orange, yellow and brown leaves
My favorite season

Well, that's it for this week.  Next week I will post the LAST exercises from TOLT and then I'll finally dive back into writing some poorly-crafted limericks, just for the fun of them!

TOLT Poetry Exercises 13, 14 and 15

Okay, these three exercises from The Ode Less Traveled each focus on a different poetic form.  For exercise 13 I had to write some heroic verse (iambic pentameter with AA BB CC DD rhymes, but using enjambments and caesuras, in a modern sort of way).  As for the subject manner, Fry suggested "a short dramatic monologue... in which a young man in police custody, clearly stoned off his head, tries to explain away the half-ounce of cannabis found on his person."  I'm not super proud of how my effort turned out, but here it is nonetheless:

Oh officer, why don't you hear my plea?
In any other country I'd be free!
You locked me up because of pot?  As if
I'm out to sell.  It only took one whiff
Of me for you to start your search.
My lousy luck, it happened by the church!
Would you have thrown me in this cell, if all
Those god damn catholics hadn't left the hall
Exactly during your discovery
Of the ounce of pot I had on me?
I know you're quite devout they say, but had
We been alone that Sunday morn, a tad
More leniency, perhaps?  The USA
Has such a rigid stance on "Mary J"
I'm sure the Europeans'd let me free
Including Rome, the heart of Italy!

Yes, well.  Good practice anyway!  Next up was exercise 14, in which I had to write a villanelle, which is extremely complicated.  It has six stanzas, the first five with three lines, and the last with four.  Each line either ends with an A rhyme or a B rhyme,  but also entire LINES are reused thusly:

Stanza 1: A1 b A2
Stanza 2: a b A1 (where A1 is the entire first line from Stanza 1)
Stanza 3: a b A2 (where A2 is the entire first line from Stanza 1)
Stanza 4: a b A1
Stanza 5: a b A2
Stanza 6: a b A1 A2

Got it?  Fry gave permission to write on any topic, so I chose one of my favorites: sequence.

All things in life are sequence.
No moment stands alone.
Someday this all will make sense.

Maybe thirty-five years hence,
Or when your children are grown.
All things in life are sequence.

You're hired to paint a picket fence
'Round a house with a lawn that's mown.
Someday this all will make sense.

You grow so weary of monthly rents,
You work your fingers to the bone.
All things in life are sequence.

So you save your dollars and your cents,
And buy a house of your very own.
Someday this all will make sense.

You mend and fix and paint the dents
With skills that took ten years to hone.
All things in life are sequence,
Someday this all will make sense.

Exercise 15 required an even MORE complicated poetic form, the sestina.  Now let's see if I can get this right...  There are six stanzas and an ending "envoi" and this form is all about the end words of each line, or "hero" words.  The numbers below represent the hero word at the end of each line (or rich rhymes, or homonyms), which are reused throughout the poem.

Stanza One: 1 2 3 4 5 6
Stanza Two: 6 1 5 2 4 3
Stanza Three: 3 6 4 1 2 5
Stanza Four: 5 3 2 6 1 4
Stanza Five: 4 5 1 3 6 2
Stanza Six: 2 4 6 5 3 1
Envoi: 2-5 / 4-3 / 6-1

Is that complicated enough for you?!  In the book, Fry's father comes up with a mathematical algorithm which explains how the order is arrived at for the hero words.  It's very complicated.  Anyway, for my sestina, I started out by trying to figure out six words that each had multiple meanings, including an old confusion that used to arise from the possessive of my name, "Alec's" and the name of my best friend in high school, "Alex."  Then I started to weave a little story, using Alec and Alex as characters, not me, or my real friend Alex, mind you!  I think I was more focused on the hero words than the meter, so I apologize if this doesn't scan well.

The sit inside the dingy flat,
Alec, Mark and his roommate Alex.
Each of them, at the wall now stares
At the newly hung poster of Karl Marx.
"That's that," says Mark, the the A-L-E pair.
"It'll give this place a revolutionary air!"

But when they move out, who will be the heir
Of this poster, hanging on the wall so flat?
Alex bought it, but he's been known to pare
Down his belongings.  Maybe he'll make it Alec's!
Or Maybe Alec won't want it and it'll be Mark's,
If it leaves this apartment at the top of the stairs.

It's a well-worn path, up the steep, creaky stairs
With the smell of factory smoke thick in the air
And names scrawled on the wall with spray paint marks,
But the rent is cheap, so it's not a bad flat.
Like the poster, the apartment was found by Alex,
Then Mark moved in, an unlikely pair.

Each morning Alex begins to munch on a pear
As he heads out to work, down the steep, creaky stairs.
A few blocks away, he swings by Alec's
And the two go to work in the cold morning air.
Meanwhile Mark sleeps on his back, dead flat.
He used to be a student, but he had bad marks.

They still send him money, those parents of Mark's.
They think he's still in college, that unknowing pair.
Mark drinks gin all day, with tonic that's gone flat
and waits for the sound of Alex coming up the stairs.
When he enters, Mark begins to throw ideas into the air.
But a long day of work has made a weary man of Alex.

If there's a knock at the door, they know that it is Alec's.
He comes to talk to Mark about the philosophy of Marx.
They talk and smoke and talk and smoke, 'til both do fill the air,
While Alex sits there quietly, munching on a pear.
At last a final silence falls, their eyes all in stares
Looking at Karl Marx on the wall, whose ideas spin 'round the flat.

Someday Alex will move and retire, he'll eat his daily pear.
Less certain is the path of Mark's, who'll always live upstairs.
Alec moves in and the fill the air with ideas that just fall flat.

Okay, next weekend we'll take a look at a Rondeau Redoublé, a pathetic Cento I whipped up, and my first proper Haiku!

TOLT Poetry Exercises 10, 11 and 12

Okay, back to the book!  I'm afraid this entry might be a bit dry, but we need to plow through to get to some of the more exciting stuff!

Exercise 10 was all about rhyming.  For the first part, I was given ten minutes to come up with as many rhymes for "girl" as I could, using the masculine "url" sound for the rhyme.  Here's what I came up with:

1. pearl
2. whirl
3. unfurl
4. hurl
5. purl
6. rural
7. curl
8. mural
9. earl
10. squirrel

Next, I had ten minutes to come up with rhymes for the feminine ending in "Martyr."  I only did slightly better with this one:

1. barter
2. Carter
3. farter
4. garter
5. parter
6. starter
7. tarter
8. smarter
9. harder
10. ardour
11. larder

Mr. Fry said that his rhyming dictionary had 24 rhymes for "girl" and 28 for "martyr" and that if one could get ten that was pretty good, so I felt okay about this.  In the second part of exercise 10 I had to come up with at least twenty words about things I could smell, see or hear in my current location.  When I wrote this I was staying at Claire's old place in Oakland, so here is some of what I came up with:

Next up was exercise 11, which was the only exercise in the book that I feel is poorly designed.  In the section preceding exercise 11, Fry showcases a series of open forms: Terza Rima, Ottava Rima, Rhyme Royal, Ruba'iyat and the Spenserian Stanza.  For each form, he has written a poem IN its form, and then he supplies one other example of each.  The exercise is then to write you OWN poem about the form, using the form.  This is extremely frustrating, because I only just learned about the form and so as I look back to try and figure out what the form is, I'm looking at Fry's example, which is written on the same topic that I'm trying to write upon.  I only made it through the first form before I got extremely frustrated and gave up on the rest of the exercise.

In Terza Rima mode, the rhymes are three

And in the first two tercets you'll use two

First there's ABA, then BCB

Then if you know what you are supposed to do
CD CD will use the final ryhme
Your first section of T.R.'s through!

But this form can repeat time after time
Its interlocking scheme will never end!
I know this poem's not worth a lousy dime
but check out Dante, Terza Rima's best friend!

For exercise 12, I was to finish off a ballad that was begun by Mr. Fry.  He supplied the first two stanzas (in italics below) and then I continued the rest of the story (I'll warn you, it gets a bit gruesome).  This was fun because I didn't have to worry about meter or syllable count, as long as the lines rhymed and it had a nice bounce.  Here goes!

Now gather round and let me tell
The tale of Danny Wise:
And how his sweet wife Annabelle
Did pluck out both his eyes.


And if I tell the story true
And if I tell it clear,
There's not a mortal one of you
Won't shriek in mortal fear!

Now Danny Wise was quite a flirt,
He talked to all the girls.
Lewd comments he would ofter blurt
When passed by golden curls.

Annabelle grew mad with rage
To see her husband acting so.
She felt as though locked in a cage
While he was flitting to and fro.

One night while Danny took repast
His wife snuck to the loo.
And there she got revenge at last
With some super glue.

See, all those years of looking 'round
Had weakened Danny's eyes,
So a pair of glasses were often found
On the face of Mr. Wise.

But lately the specs had not been seen.
For contacts he'd traded them in!
Danny thought the contacts were keen,
So the glasses went in the bin.

And now while Danny ate his fill,
His wife had found his contact case.
The saline water she did spill,
A wicked smile upon her face.

In its place, she poured the glue,
Some in right and left.
Then down the stairs Annabelle flew,
So sneaky and so deft.

That night before Danny went to sleep,
His contacts he took out.
And in the glue they rested deep,
Which Danny knew nothing about.

The morn, you can imagine, my friends,
For Danny was quite a surprise.
When he put one glued-up contact lens
Right onto one of his eyes.

He screamed for help from Annabelle
Who calmly entered the room.
He asked her if she knew what the hell
had happened to her groom!

She gave his arm a tiny pull
And then there was a "pop."
No longer was his socket full,
His eye now sat on finger top.

Dan wailed "I'll make amends!"
He tried to back away.
"You forgot your other contact lens."
He heard his dear wife say.

Now when a sweet young thing walks by,
Old Danny can't remark.
He is a much more faithful guy
Now that he's in the dark!

Okay, that's that.  I'll try to post some more exercises next week!

The Ode Less Traveled... finished!

It's national poetry month!  To celebrate it, instead of bringing a bunch of comics to work on during my recent trip out to Portland, Oregon, I brought The Ode Less Traveled by Stephen Fry and a notebook to write in.  After almost TWO YEARS of working my way through this book, I am happy to announce that I finally finished it off today!  Thank goodness for long flights and even longer train rides.

Needless to say, it was one of the most challenging, yet rewarding books I have ever read.  If you are interested in learning more about poetry, I highly recommend it!

There were a total of twenty poetry exercises in the book, and it looks like I left you all hanging back on exercise number nine, so I'll try to post the rest of my examples, a few each week and then I can get back to writing some new limericks!

My New Favorite Poet

Every week or so, Claire and I will head over to the brand new library which was just built across the river in West Lebannon, New Hampshire.  We usually check out a big stack of  picture books, whichever ones spark our respective fancies, and then we read them out loud together before falling asleep each night.

A few trips ago, I came across a book called The Tale of Custard the Dragon by Ogden Nash.  I mostly picked it out because it had nice dragon illustrations (by Lynn Munsinger) but I found upon reading it, that I was equally charmed by Nash's verse.

The little bio for Nash on the book's dust jacket sang his praises and then some, saying he was a master of "light verse" and humorous poetry.  A quick read of Nash's Wikipedia article confirmed these endorsements.  It turns out that tiny sayings such as "Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker"  are actually poems of Nash's (that one is titled "Reflections on Ice-Breaking") and the page also showcased some of his many charming limericks and short, funny poems.  Which is to say, EXACTLY the kind of poetry I would like to write.

We looked in the library system for a book of Nash's poetry, but alas, there were none.  But a few months later, Claire and I found ourselves in Montpelier, Vermont, attempting to kill an hour before a movie started.  We headed into the Montpelier library, and found a nice neat stack of Nash books in the poetry section.  I flipped to page after random page, and each poem I found seemed to be winking up at me, as I smiled back down at them.

I ordered The Best of Ogden Nash which arrived a few days ago, and every page has sent me chuckling.  I am charmed by his wit and humor and rhymes, though I think I'm driving Claire nuts, with my constant "Ha ha, Claire!  Listen to this one!"  As per the instruction of The Ode Less Traveled, I'm reading the poems out loud (usually quietly, to myself) and the meter feels just right.  For some reason, I'm able to read these poems much faster than any other I have read before, maybe because of their simplicity and straightforwardness.

It's so great to see an example of someone doing exactly what I want to do with an art form.  This book already has me excited to write more poetry and I know it will continue to do so.  ANYWAY, I'm only on page 23 (of 460!) but I'm so in love with it, I wrote my name on the front endpaper with INK.  It has already earned a place of honor on my shelf of poetry.