[Susan McLean]

Bruce Bennett:
I received only one terzanelle, but it’s a good one, and seemed like a poem I should share. For one accustomed to villanelles, the terzanelle takes a little getting used to, since at first it doesn’t appear to be doing what it’s supposed to. One’s ear anticipates the a b a rhymes, and doesn’t get them. The trick, of course, is to think terza rima. But one can still be surprised when that second line turns up, with whatever variations, as the final line in the succeeding stanza.


Everything He Knows He Learned from Crossword Puzzles (terzanelle)

His head is full of odd and useless facts
from working crosswords in the Houston Chronicle
and gleaning trivia from almanacs.

Twelve-letter DNA is “mitochondrial”—
Cold Case Files supplies the latest terms
for working crosswords in the Houston Chronicle.

Forensic evidence each night confirms
who killed the banker’s sexy secretary.
He’s lost the plot, but memorized the terms.

His day is dull; his routine doesn’t vary,
and by tomorrow night he won’t remember
who killed the banker’s sexy secretary,

although he watched it five times in September.
But when he needs a word that ends in L
for DNA tomorrow, he’ll remember.

He knows the hill where Boudicca’s army fell;
he knows that Lizzie Borden took an “axe.”
The History Channel serves him very well,
along with trivia from almanacs.


“Everything He Knows He Learned from Crossword Puzzles” is fairly gently satirical in the way it puts down the unnamed “he” who is obsessed by trivia as he leads a humdrum and wholly predictable existence. We learn essentially everything there is to be learned about him from the title and the first three lines.

He watches the same tv program over and over, but with no interest whatever in what it depicts about “life,” however tawdry or melodramatic. Yet he gets out of it what he watches it for, so in that sense it serves him and he can be said to have a passion: he does appear to derive genuine satisfaction out of working his crosswords and being a solitary master of esoteric knowledge. He is himself, the poem dispassionately suggests, a “cold case,” but he seems not to know it, which may, or may not, make his existence that much more pathetic. Or isolated, anyway.

I have one quibble: surely everyone, not just masters of trivia, already knows that Lizzie Borden took an “axe” (which seems even more obvious after the obscurity of the allusion to “Boudicca’s army”). This particular fact would not be one an aficionado of the arcane would take pride in knowing. So, it did occur to me as one reader seeking an answer: is it possible that the point here is the violence? After all, this anonymous loner does incessantly watch replays of real-life murders and is fascinated by “forensic evidence.” Is there just the very slightest hint being dropped that one day, goaded or compelled by who knows what, our silent connoisseur of the crosswords and history channel reruns is going to cut loose from his “dull” days and unvarying routine in a way that none of us would wish to be around for? I have to add that I don’t believe this is intended, but it would explain Lizzie Borden to me.

Perhaps the author has a sequel terzanelle in mind? Tune in next week!

[Andrew Frisardi]

This one uses the form (which is new to me) and its repetitions effectively for the theme. Monotony is mimicked by monotony. “He’s lost the plot, but memorized the terms” is superb, and is a sentence I’d like to have on my gravestone.

That statement, however, seems contradicted by the assertion in the next stanza that N will not remember who killed the secretary. Wouldn’t it be the opposite: he remembers who killed her but not the tragedy of the woman’s lost life?

In stanza 4, space is wasted by stating directly that the man’s day is dull and his routine doesn’t vary. The poem itself is telling us that in every line.

A question about the intentional and monotonous repetition in the poem: does it help the poem to repeat, in stanzas 4 and 5, the bit about the secretary and the DNA? I get that the repetition is meant to communicate obsession, but isn’t this man being portrayed overall as an emotionally desiccated collector of facts, rather than a high-strung neurotic? The bit on the secretary, particularly the repetition of “sexy,” hints at a brooding and repressed type who might suddenly become violent. This is reinforced by “Lizzie Borden” later on. I guess this is intentional, but it seems to me that the poem is undecided as to whether this is a man whose passion is entirely caput or one who’s working up toward a raptus of God-knows-what.

[Mary Meriam]

I'm afraid I'm too bored by useless facts and trivia to get beyond the first stanza, though I tried a few times.

[Chris O'Carroll]

The point about "axe," I think, is that a crossword puzzle enthusiast (or a Scrabble player, for that matter) would know that the word can be spelled with or without the final "e."

[David Rosenthal]

It seems like a pretty exacting form and difficult to pull off. And that is what strikes me about it -- it satisfies an exacting form, and does so well. But I wonder if a better poem might be made of the same stuff minus the pattern of repetitions. I guess I am a bit of repeating forms curmudgeon or something, but I think it is hard in the world of repeating forms not to draw attention to the artifice of the poem, which is no automatic sin, but makes it hard to pull off a poem where the content holds its own with the form. IMO.

David R.

[FOsen]

Further to Chris's point, I think by juxtaposing something commonly known with something as esoteric as Boudicca's army, the poet is indicating that the subject may not have the capacity to discriminate about the nature of the facts he collects.

Frank

[Martin Elster]

I've seen this one before on the workshop and I remember commenting on it, but can't quite remember the poet. It's a fun poem, and I think crossword puzzle and scrabble enthusiasts would most likely relate to it on some level.

FWIW, the last quatrain goes outside the traditional terzanelle. In other words, the poet has taken some liberties with the form, which usually ends either fAFA' or fFAA'. This poem, however, has three new last lines, instead of repeating the AFA lines.

“He’s lost the plot, but memorized the terms” is superb, and is a sentence I’d like to have on my gravestone.

That statement, however, seems contradicted by the assertion in the next stanza that N will not remember who killed the secretary. Wouldn’t it be the opposite: he remembers who killed her but not the tragedy of the woman’s lost life?

I agree with Andrew about the superbness of that line, as well as the contradiction in the next stanza:

and by tomorrow night he won’t remember
who killed the banker’s sexy secretary

I Think Andrew's and Frank's points about the “axe” are interesting and, for me, justify those lines.

A terzanelle is very difficult to write well, and the poet did a good job with this one.

[Catherine Chandler]

It's no wonder Bruce only received one terzanelle. The form is horrendously difficult to pull off well, and I believe this one does a pretty good job of it. Like Andrew, the contradiction about the secretary gave me pause.

[Michael Cantor]

I'd give this one a B+ for ambition in tackling the form, but only a C- on execution. The form and theme go well together, but it's an extremely difficult form and I feel that the writer has taken too many liberties. The impact is not demerits for cheating on the repetends - I don't care about that, if the poem works - but the repeats are loose enough so that the droning echo that lends another dimension to the terzanelle isn't really there consistently enough, and the impact suffers. Form doesn't enhance theme as strongly as it should.

More specifically, it is only in S2 and S4 where the L5 repetend really repeats properly (and S2 gets the gold star, because it also changes sense.) S3 and S5 simply use the last word of the line. And, as Martin points out, the last stanza, which is supposed to reach all the way back to S1 for two of its three repeats - to lock the cycle shut - ignores them all. Sorry, guys, but this is not much more than a terzanelle in name only - it's not a bad poem, and it applies some of the features of the terzanelle some of the time - but thassall.

Confession - I'm a repetend freak, and I've started many terzanelles - but only successfully completed one. I always feel like Indiana Jones when I try one - a fresh crisis in every stanza (except that I'm not as successful in overcoming them as Harrison Ford is) - and you have to continually think five lines ahead so that the repeat line slides in and not only makes sense, but says something other than doo-wah doo-wah doot-doo-wah. The form is a bitch - it can be very effective and unusual when it works, but getting it to work can kill you in the process. Which, I suspect (and as Catherine also indicated), is why Bruce only received one terzanelle. (For an example of the form used effectively, check out this one by the poet who invented the form.)

[Janice D. Soderling]

I know the author and I like it. I would like it even if I didn't know the author.