I received an award last month from kayla in her blog found here
http://ocdliveshere.blogspot.com/
Details are at her July 29, 2008 entry. BTW, her blog is a candid and courageous account of her successful confrontation with obsessive-compulsive disorder. I recommend highly it to you, along with her creative blog
http://www.thefourteener.blogspot.com/
Long-time readers of my blog will notice we share an interest in that meter, among other things creative.
Thank you, kayla. :)
I must also add the award conveys several responsibilities to its recipients. One of them is that I find five other blogs to award, as well.
Nominations are welcome!
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
The Seed's the Thing ...
A lot of what we do involves sequence. We choose a word, then another, and then another after that.
The meaning, the sound, the structure all must follow in a certain order. Not so in free verse. After all, it's called "free" for a reason.
What happens, in traditional verse, after we get to the last line?
"The End?"
Not necessarily. Sonnet sequences were common, once upon a time. As were sequences in "rime royal." Et cetera.
You don't necessarily have to narrate to establish a sequence. You need just a line of thought, a developing feeling, an insight. An intuition that grows into something bigger, like a tiny seed into a live oak.
Some say Shakespeare's sonnets, when unscrambled, tell, or at least imply, a story. Want more? Google "Sir Denis Bray."
Don't you love it when I give you homework?
The meaning, the sound, the structure all must follow in a certain order. Not so in free verse. After all, it's called "free" for a reason.
What happens, in traditional verse, after we get to the last line?
"The End?"
Not necessarily. Sonnet sequences were common, once upon a time. As were sequences in "rime royal." Et cetera.
You don't necessarily have to narrate to establish a sequence. You need just a line of thought, a developing feeling, an insight. An intuition that grows into something bigger, like a tiny seed into a live oak.
Some say Shakespeare's sonnets, when unscrambled, tell, or at least imply, a story. Want more? Google "Sir Denis Bray."
Don't you love it when I give you homework?
Monday, August 18, 2008
Sound Weaving
Euphony has its place, especially among the discordant. If all you do is string pretty sounds together, you may have something nice-sounding, but meaningful?
You may need to blend the sweet with the not-so, weave wool into the silk, to get the right effect or to find the right word.
I guess that's why they call it "art."
You may need to blend the sweet with the not-so, weave wool into the silk, to get the right effect or to find the right word.
I guess that's why they call it "art."
Monday, August 11, 2008
Down the Road We Go
Rhyming sits at the summit of the euphonic art. It's not just a trick or a tack-on to your traditional poem.
Like tires on an automobile, it's what meets the road as far as the sound of a traditional poem goes (or doesn't go). The ancient art of alliteration forms the axle, the urgent but gentle substructure of assonance the spoked wheel, but rhyme is the rubber on the road, the place where you feel the bump.
And like automobiles (or personal computers), traditional poems are evolutionary devices: the early "motor coaches" of the Model T and Benz era (and before) laid the groundwork for the latest Lincoln or Kompressor models. The new ones are faster and fancier, for sure, but essentially no different.
You may not write like Shakespeare or Chaucer (or need to), and you may not speak quite the same language, but you (and I) must drive the same highways.
Like tires on an automobile, it's what meets the road as far as the sound of a traditional poem goes (or doesn't go). The ancient art of alliteration forms the axle, the urgent but gentle substructure of assonance the spoked wheel, but rhyme is the rubber on the road, the place where you feel the bump.
And like automobiles (or personal computers), traditional poems are evolutionary devices: the early "motor coaches" of the Model T and Benz era (and before) laid the groundwork for the latest Lincoln or Kompressor models. The new ones are faster and fancier, for sure, but essentially no different.
You may not write like Shakespeare or Chaucer (or need to), and you may not speak quite the same language, but you (and I) must drive the same highways.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Why It's Hard ('cause ...)
First, you might want to glance at the previous two posts to make sense of this one.
Second, you might want to review this entire weblog (so very nice, thank you, Google! :) ) briefly to get a better sense of What This Is All About.
And Third, you might want to consider this: the physical sound of your poem becomes a lot more important once you start to rhyme.
Not to say that free-verse poems don't sound good. It's just that they don't have to sound "good" to the ear, necessarily, to succeed as a poem.
But euphony becomes crucial when you start to rhyme. Even if you want to make disharmonious sounds with words, you still must consider what sounds good before you make your words sound "bad."
Really good rhyme sounds are both numerous and euphonic. What's euphonic depends on you, naturally. And your aesthetic. And your taste. And your critical ear. And your ... .
All the stuff I've been talking about, in other words. In combination. All at once.
See now why it's hard?
Second, you might want to review this entire weblog (so very nice, thank you, Google! :) ) briefly to get a better sense of What This Is All About.
And Third, you might want to consider this: the physical sound of your poem becomes a lot more important once you start to rhyme.
Not to say that free-verse poems don't sound good. It's just that they don't have to sound "good" to the ear, necessarily, to succeed as a poem.
But euphony becomes crucial when you start to rhyme. Even if you want to make disharmonious sounds with words, you still must consider what sounds good before you make your words sound "bad."
Really good rhyme sounds are both numerous and euphonic. What's euphonic depends on you, naturally. And your aesthetic. And your taste. And your critical ear. And your ... .
All the stuff I've been talking about, in other words. In combination. All at once.
See now why it's hard?
