To Patrick, Sonnet (working on it) Options

[Psyche]

http://ibpc.webdelsol.com/2022/04

FIRST PLACE
To Patrick
by Sylvia Maclagan
Babilu

my son, who died aged 29 of ALS/Lou Gehrig’s disease.

I’ll just dream these lines, since you’re no longer here;
your voice, your laughter and your soul
are sunflowers in the summer air; I know you stole
their light to fill my waking hours with Irish cheer.

My love for you is wedded to the morning’s
elemental time, a coffee cup and friendly chat.
I spy the raindrops sparkling on your jaunty cap
my heart recalls each time the doorbell rings

three times. I hear the lively flute you’d play
for many radiant years; and in the knowledge
that you were going to die, I prized Commencement Day,

the youngster in the park who sketched your image
on artist’s paper. I know God shows the way,
absence, instants in life’s troubled pilgrimage.


What draws applause for the most celebrated elegies is a control on emotional chaos: the heart’s restraint so that art can commence. This control is what we experience in this carefully crafted elegy for a son. The loss of a loved one alters our daily lives – and, as this poem portrays, the most ordinary sights and sounds can become an unending requiem: “my heart recalls each time the doorbell rings/ three times. I hear the lively flute you'd play … and in the knowledge/ that you were going to die, I prized Commencement Day.” Plenty of room for sentimentality here –and yet, in verse lines that attend to a measured form, this poem achieves a beautifully-measured portrait of enduring love. --M.B. McLatchey








First revision (still needs many changes)

To Patrick

I'll dream these lines, since you're no longer here;
your voice, your laughter and your soul
are sunflowers in the summer air; you stole
their light to fill my hours with Irish cheer.

My love for you is wedded to the morning's
elemental time, coffee cup, friendly chat.
I spy raindrops sparkling on your jaunty cap
my heart recalls each time the doorbell rings

three times. I hear the lively flute you'd play
for many radiant years; and in the knowledge
you were going to die, I prized Commencement Day,

the youngster in the park who sketched your image
on artist's paper. I know God shows the way;
absence, instants in life's troubled pilgrimage.


Original


To Patrick

I’ll just dream these lines, since you’re no longer here;
Your voice, your laughter and your soul
Are sunflowers in the summer air; I know you stole
Their light to fill my waking hours with Irish cheer.

My love for you is wedded to the morning’s
Elemental time, a coffee cup and friendly chat.
I spy the raindrops sparkling on your jaunty cap
My heart recalls each time the doorbell rings

Three times. I hear the lively flute you’d play
For many radiant years; and in the knowledge
That you were going to die, I prized Commencement Day,

The artist in the park who sketched your image
On tawny paper. I know God shows the way,
absence, instants in life’s blessèd pilgrimage.

I've done my best, Daniel. I'm sure you can make it a lot better. Thanks so much for helping. These poems mean a lot to me.

Hi again, Daniel. Could you please show me exactly how you think I should combine "pilgrimage" with "knowledge" and "image". I'm hopeless at this sort of stuff.

[JustDaniel]

First of all, Sylvia, I know nothing at all about Sylvia Plath's "Wuthering Heights" (nor what it might have had to do with Bronte's work, about which I also know nothing)

Secondly, your rhyme scheme nearly follows one of the two typical rhyme schemes of the Petrarchan Sonnet, namely abba abba cdc cdc, though your final triad goes dcd.

Thirdly, most such sonnet begin with a question or proposition in the opening octet and closes with an answer or resolution in the closing sestet. I'm not sure yours does, but frankly that is of little consequence to me!

Fourthly, almost all such sonnets are written in iambic pentameter. The THRUST of your lines are iambic, but their length varies greatly:

I’ll just dream these lines, since you’re no longer here; - starts with trochee, 11 sylables
Your voice, your laughter and your soul - iambic, 8 syllables
Are sunflowers in the summer air; I know you stole - varied meter, 13 syllables
Their light to fill my waking hours with Irish cheer. - iambic, 12 syllables

My love for you is wedded to the morning’s - iambic, closing in feminine ending, 11 syllables
Elemental time, a coffee cup and friendly chat. - trochee, 13 syllables
I spy the raindrops sparkling on your jaunty cap - iambic, 12 syllables
My heart recalls each time the doorbell rings - good iambic pentameter w/ one variation

Three times. I hear the lively flute you’d play - good iambic pentameter
For many radiant years; and in the knowledge - IP w/feminine ending (11 syllables)
That you were going to die, I prized Commencement Day, - iambic but varied, 13 syllables

The artist in the park who sketched your image - IP w/feminine ending (11 syllables)
On tawny paper. I know God shows the way, - iambic to trochee, 11 syllables
absence, instants in life’s blessèd pilgrimage. - trochee to iambic, 11 syllables


Well, there is my first look. Not sure whether that helps or discourages, Sylvia.


Lightly critiquing, Daniel