I had wondered whether to reserve this blog for completely new creations, as per NaPoWriMo’s criteria, or to share some already-documented adventures from my previous expeditions into poetry. While this space owes itself to April and the creative cause, I feel that a few throwbacks may be in order, given that I’d like to continue updating here on a regular basis, regardless of what season it is (and let’s be honest―it is certainly easier to uphold such a promise with a cache of already-written material to draw upon from time to time!)
But more importantly, I’d like to solicit the participation of you, my readers. If I am to grow as a writer and poet, I’ll certainly need all of the guidance that I can draw. I invite you to apply your thoughts, suggestions, criticisms, etc. to my verses, both new and old, in the comment sections that follow. What did you like about that poem? Why does this pantoum make you cringe? Is the meaning of this line clear? What the hell did I just read? Please, don’t hold back, whether it is praise or judgment―I value your voice.
Perhaps it is fitting to begin with a poem that has garnered both admiration and confusion from those with whom I’ve shared it. I wrote An Aurous Inquiry in November 2009 as part of a creative writing course in my undergraduate studies. In response to Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss, I adapted the villanelle form of poetry to suit my needs: I added an additional line (and rhyme) to the second and fourth tercets, tying it into the final quatrain with another such line embedded between what would otherwise be the last two lines of the poem. (If it sounds confusing, I was all sorts of turned-around when I first tried a villanelle, let alone the variations.) So here you have it:
An Aurous Inquiry
What more can hopeful words do to assist
an eager subject’s sojourn into peace
when all the world has seen the famous kiss?
When gods alight within a gilded mist –
entreat that love might wear a golden fleece –
what more can hopeful words do to assist
such clear divinity?
Beneath drawn lids, two lovers’ eyes know bliss,
for Love is blind; her subjects see release
when all the world has seen the famous kiss.
When silence is the best thing on our lips
and skin is silence, words can only cease:
what more can hopeful words do to assist
such deaf affinity?
Enshrined with sweet abandon in their midst,
the centuries’ eyes upon them matter least
when all the world has seen the famous kiss.
Such sacred peace cares not that words persist,
for lovers’ quills have long designed release;
what more can hopeful words do to assist
the brief infinity
when all the world has seen the famous kiss?