02 February 2010

Poetry for Imbolc

Actually, there's two parts to this entry today: 1) poetry offering and 2) poetry update. thus:

1) Poetry Offering

as my contribution to the 5th Annual CyberSpace (Silent) Poetry Slam, one of my all-time favorites, in which the most accomplished English Court Poet of All Time compares the courtly lover to a fish in sauce (Because He Can):

To Rosemounde

by Geoffrey Chaucer

Madame, ye ben of al beaute shryne
As fer as cercled is the mapamonde;
For as the cristall glorious ye shyne,
And lyke ruby ben your chekys rounde.
Therwyth ye ben so mery and so iocunde
That at a reuell whan that I se you dance,
It is an oynement vnto my wounde,
Thoght ye to me ne do no daliance.

For thogh I wepe of teres ful a tyne,
Yet may that wo myn herte nat confounde;
Your semy voys that ye so small out twyne
Makyth my thoght in ioy and blys habounde.
So curtaysly I go, wyth loue bounde,
That to my self I sey, in my penaunce,
Suffyseth me to loue you, Rosemounde,
Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.

Nas neuer pyk walwed in galauntyne
As I in loue am walwed and iwounde;
For whych ful ofte I of my self deuyne
That I am trew Tristam the secunde.
My loue may not refreyde nor affounde;
I brenne ay in an amorouse plesaunce.
Do what you lyst, I wyl your thral be founde,
Thogh ye to me ne do no daliance.

2) Poetry Update:

There may be an infinite number of narratives which explain why I spent several decades NOT writing poetry (and being tormented that I wasn't writing poetry; it's not like I just forgot, or that I didn't care), and then was able to start writing poetry, and I have none of those narratives to which I currently owe allegiance. I didn't write. Now I do.

Sometime in about June, I started writing every morning, the first thing after I made a pot of tea. I'd write for an hour, maybe two. I'd journal, I'd work exercises out of the various books of writing exercises I own. I started writing other stuff. I wrote a draft of a short story. I wrote notes for a play. I wrote poetry.

In September, I started sending it out. To date, 5 poems have been either published or accepted for publication. More are out there. A chapbook MS is at a press for review. Another chapbook is being put together. A third chapbook is being thought about.

I went to a writer's weekend workshop and came away with two poem drafts, notes for several other poems, and plans to find a place to get a low-residency MFA in poetry.

That's my update. Didn't write. Now do.

Here's a link to one of the published poems.

And many thanks to That Brigid. Many.


T. Thorn Coyle said...

That poem of yours is fantastic in all senses of the word!

三合 said...
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Anonymous said...

Chaucer is like reading the works of my students. I get the sense. I had more luck with him when my grandfather recited. Why? Because he could, of course. And it gave him such joy that the joy was spread.


Anonymous said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Anonymous said...

That's my update. Didn't write. Now do.

Here's a link to one of the published poems.
(The link does not work. Should we know why?)

Pandora said...

Anonymous --

Yes, it didn't work because the journal redid its site after I wrote the post. It's been fixed in my post.


CarlBrannen said...

I was surprised the other day by my ITT boss, the Associate Dean, who lapsed into Middle English, or whatever y'all call it. I hadn't told her that my sister spoke it.