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]

allege
dredge
fledge
hedge
ledge
pledge
sledge
drainage
old age
assuage
engage
offstage
sage
page
gauge
upstage

[Psyche]

allege
dredge
fledge
hedge
ledge
pledge
sledge
drainage
old age
assuage
engage
offstage
sage
page
gauge
upstage

Thank you Daniel. Maybe I can fit in "pledge", but not sure how. I'll study it and come back.