Exercise #12 (pages 200-201)

This exercise was to finish the ballad, the first two verses of which were provided.

Now gather round and let me tell
The tale of Danny Wise:
And how his sweet wife Annabelle
Did suck 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 Annabell and Danny had
Been married just a year
Life was good and nothing bad
Had made them shed a tear.

Until she large with child got
And had a terrible thirst,
And everything to drink she bought
Just only made it worse.

Her throat had never been so dry
A cure she could not seek
Then dripped a tear from Danny’s eye
As he kissed her on the cheek.

Each day, she drank them more and more –
Danny’s sweet, hot tears
The which he freely gave her for
His unborn child, so dear.

And when she gave to him a son,
Dan with joy was filled
And thought his cup was over-run,
Which ne’er before had spilled.

Alas, but it was not to be,
The tiny child died
And soon, poor Danny couldn’t see –
So much he wept and cried.

Annabelle, though broke with grief
Could not contain her thirst
And of his eyes became a thief –
She drank them ’til they burst.

Exercise #13 (page 208)

This exercise was to write a short dramatic monologue, a la Browning, about a stoned man trying to get out of a drug possession charge.

Yo dude, it’s like, these aren’t my pants, I swear
I don’t know how that bag of weed got there.
I heard this bang and thought that I’d been shot
And fell down flat; I guess my jeans got caught
Around my knees (but that’s beside the point).
Alright, this afternoon I smoked a joint.
And that, my honesty, should be enough
To prove I’ve never seen this other stuff.

Exercise #14 (page 229)

This exercise was to write a villanelle, six three-line stanzas where the first line of the first stanza is used as a refrain to end the second and fourth stanzas and the last line of the first stanza is repeated as the last line of the third, fifth and sixth.  In other words: verse 1: A1bA2, verse 2: abA1, verse 3: abA2, verse 4: abA1, verse 5: abA2, verse 6: abA1A2

Will my fragile heart be bold,
Take Love’s hand with joy, not fear,
Or growing older, grow more cold?

I’ll see the public all is polled.
I’ll find and ask the wisest seer
Will my fragile heart be bold?

Perhaps I’ll case my heart in gold
Which waterproofs against each tear,
But growing older, grows more cold.

Perhaps, forewarned, my heart is told
By me, in desperate act of mere
Will: my fragile heart, be bold.

Perhaps I’ll slip from Love’s large fold
With a heart that’s free and clear,
But growing older, grows more cold.

The answer can’t be bought and sold;
The question always looming near:
Will my fragile heart be bold,
Or growing older, grow more cold?

Northwest Passage

Northwest Passage by Kenneth Roberts, 4/5

This book took me completely by surprise.  I expected it to be a dry and boring account of some sort of exploration expedition.  It turned out to be an extremely well-written, engrossing historical fiction about the exploits of Robert Rogers, leader of Rogers’ Rangers, told through the eyes of artist Langdon Towne.  The novel is divided into two parts and I was disappointed to find that Book II did not demonstrate the same wit and unstrained style as Book I (if it had, I would have given the novel 5/5).

Exercise #15 (page 239)

This exercise was to write a sestina.  It’s too hard to describe, so here’s a link to the Wikipedia article.

Life’s a frantic flurry, a blur
Of soul and colour and sound.
If I close my eyes I find
There’s even more to hear
And there’s no way to silence
The constant chatter, clatter inside.

Even closed eyes create light inside –
Though I can ignore the bright blur
Under my lids, I only know silence
By the relentless, resuming sound
Of my thoughts, which say “Did you hear
Us cease just then?  We’re back now, you’ll find.”

Yet, at times, an eerie peace will find
Me and leave me hollow inside,
Loosen my connection to the here
And now, focus the blur
Into sharpness and the sound
Into a damp and muffled silence.

A cool and detached fog to silence
Extraneous thoughts, to seek and find
All my weaknesses and make them sound,
With coats of liquid steel inside
A human shell, to reduce the blur
Of time to “now” and the place to “here.”

In these times, it is no challenge to hear
The thud of my heart in the silence,
The sensations that once raced in a blur
Become stately in their passage, find
A majesty in deliberation, inside
Me – room to resound.

In such calm of mind, it is joy to sound
The depths of me, from here
And there to gather loose parts of me inside
A dark well of silence,
With a knowing smile for others to find
If they too can escape the merry-go-round blur.

In these moments, the sound and silence
Balance; I hear the call to find
A like balance inside me the world can’t blur.

Tutankhamun

Tutankhamun: The Untold Story by Thomas Hoving, 3/5

Hoving presents an entertaining, if sometimes tedious, expose of the conflict, drama, lies and secrecy surrounding the discovery and exploration of King Tut’s tomb.

Exercise #16 (page 260)

This exercise was to write a triolet for your true love (sweet without being sickly) and also a rondeau redouble on any topic.

Triolet
This poem’s for you, my love most dear,
Though I haven’t met you yet.
Don’t think me forward when I make it clear
This poem’s for you, my love most dear,
If we never meet I’ll have nothing to fear
For one thing you’ll never get:
This poem’s for you, my love most dear,
Though I haven’t met you yet.

Rondeau Redouble
I miss you now, as you have likely guessed,
But since you’re busy, you might not miss me.
It’s not a thing I’d thought to have confessed,
Since I am good at living life lonely.

We had so many times of fun and glee
And also quiet times to learn the best
There was of us, and that is why, you see,
I miss you now, as you have likely guessed.

I often worry that I am a pest,
And that my absence fits you to a t.
It’s true that missing you can make me stressed
But since you’re busy, you might not miss me.

Most people that I meet could never be
Close friends – their presence makes me feel oppressed.
I miss how much the two of us agree.
It’s not a thing I’d thought to have confessed.

My friends are few but I am not depressed,
I know I can depend on none but me.
Without you, I did not expect unrest
Since I am good at living life lonely.

I didn’t want to come across clingy.
I’m not the type who’s jealous or obsessed.
That’s why we always hung out casually
But this can’t keep on going unexpressed:
I miss you now.

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers, 2/5

As with most modern literature, I didn’t “get” this and am having a hard time even finding reasons to justify the value of its existence.  The book was unfocussed at best, as well as being dark and depressing.  Some scenes resonated with me, but most of it left me wondering how McCullers could possibly have been motivated to finish writing it, or, once finished, imagine that anyone would be interested in reading it.

Exercise #17 (page 273)

This exercise was to write a parody of a favourite poet and also a cento (poem made from fragments of other poems).

Parody of Ogden Nash
When I say I hate you, I don’t mean
just a bit.
I hate you like I hate reading a really
sad obit.
That listlessly lists all the loved ones
left behind the recently died
And makes you wonder why said newly
departed wasn’t saintified.
You should know that my feelings for you
are much stronger.
If you think this couldn’t be true
because surely nothing could be
more distasteful than reading re
random dead people, you couldn’t
be wronger.
The inspiration for this angsty
abhorrence might surprise you,
fatale most femme –
I hate reading obituaries because it
always annoys me to find that you’re
not the star of them.

Cento of Emily Brontë
The starry night shall tidings bring
That Time is treasuring up for me
Not a sign of further grieving
(Such thoughts were tyrants over me!)

Glad comforter! will I not brave,
That from which it sprung – Eternity.
Three thousand miles beyond the wave
We’ll rest us long and quietly.

Compiled from the following poems: “The starry night shall tidings bring,” “A.G.A. to A.S.,” “A death-scene,” “Faith and despondancy,” “Anticipation,” “Death,” “Written in Aspin Castle,” and “Start not upon the Minster wall.”

The Ode Less Travelled

The Ode Less Travelled: Unlocking the Poet Within by Stephen Fry, 5/5

This book is delightfully informative – it is impossible to be unaffected by Fry’s passion for poetry and gentle, self-deprecating humour.  Because I procrastinated on many of the 20 challenging poetry exercises Fry poses in this book, it took me about half a year to complete.  As a result of this, I am still basking in the self-satisfaction of successful completion.  NB: There are several rude/adult innuendos in the book, so I wouldn’t recommend it for young people in its entirety.