POETS Day! Some Sonnets with 14 Lines

Petrarch observing Simone Martini while painting a portrait of Laura – Giuseppe Ciaranfi (1818-1902)

[This entry is cross posted at ordinary-times.com]

“Piss Off Early, Tomorrow’s Saturday” as usual and enjoy the weekend, but I got caught this week and ran short of time. This week’s is gonna be a quick one.

I was looking to do something on George Meredith’s sonnet series called Modern Love. He’s known for his novels. At least he was. I think The Egoist is the only one many would recognize these days, and I’ll wager few have read it. Modern Love is the story of a marriage as it falls apart told over the course of fifty sixteen-line sonnets. The story is engrossing as only the best soap opera like guilty pleasures no one admits to can be. I very much want to do a post on it in the future, but I got caught up by the idea of a sixteen-line sonnet. Can you do that?

I was of the impression that the sonnet was a set form. It’s usually a thought posited in an octave with a volta, or turn, taken in a sestet that may or may not resolve the thought. It doesn’t have to be laid out with a break that way. You can set stanzas in various ways or leave it all as one beautiful verse lump. There are plenty of rhyme schemes to choose from. The one thing I’d never seen as anything but a constant is that a sonnet has fourteen lines. When defining the form, length is the characteristic that first pops to mind. I’d be surprised if I’m alone in that.

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POETS Day! Comparing Apples and Rossettis

Lady Lilith by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (cropped)

[This entry is cross posted at ordinary-times.com]

This is no time to be outdoors. It’s only 91° here in Alabama. I say “only” because we’ll settle into the mid to high nineties and see a hundred a few times before the summer’s gone, but this is the first time we’ve hit the nineties this year. I need acclimation time. This is regularly timed heat. It happens every year and we all know it’s coming, until it suddenly does.

There’s no easing into it. It’s not like a soothing warm shower where you can start at tolerable and slowly increase towards shipwreck-fog-thick steam (although it’s arguably as humid.) It’s not like a cold pool where you wade slowly in, brief tiptoe, and then settle. This is immediate and all the worse knowing how wonderfully air conditioning cools if only you were in it. It’s Tartarus.

Just a few days ago I wore a now unthinkable blazer. If you work outside, you don’t need convincing. Piss Off Early, Tomorrow’s Saturday. Get to shade. Save yourself. Whatever they’re paying you will be enough in a few days when you’ve had time to adjust, but right now, it ain’t.

Conversely, if you work inside you may wanna sit this week out. There will be other POETS Days and some people swear by deferred pleasure. You’re not sweltering. Stick around a while and make sure you’re seen. Maybe read a little verse.

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