Sonnet #3
 

This sonnet is a hilarious and incisive take on Heathcliff wannabees, and those dark, byronic, Jimmy Dean poseurs who never tire of taking pictures of themselves, or looking at themselves in the mirror, or posting new profile pictures on Facebook every day or so. ;)

N leads us merrily along for six lines, giving us a hint at what’s coming next in lines 8 & 9, and then hits us with the walloping volta in its classic place, line 9.

I have no nits whatsoever with this sonnet and I’ve even learned a new phrase, “cop it sweet”. I still chuckle as I type this critique.

Yup

I know exactly whose this is, too.

Even if the first 12 lines were no good, the closing couplet would redeem it.

Very accomplished, and takes liberties with what can be a safe form.

My fave so far.

I hope we are going to see some more liberty taking in the sonnets to come...

Philip

I remember this one, and the poet. Loved it then, and now.

The colloquial language works well - I would love to hear this read aloud by its author.

Very funny. An early favorite!

Tracey

Catherine - I like the way you have paired the sonnets thus far.

Hoo ha, I love this. Unlike everyone else, I don't know the author, but it must be a woman and I wish it had been me.

I remember this one fondly.

I do wish there weren't an extra syllable in the last line, and I'm not sure about the white space before L10--it creates a bit of a sledge-hammer effect, when the words alone make their point with brilliant force.

I just love these keen observations: the way men run from love and then mourn its fleeing, the fact that some men find "comfort" in being "stone," and that picture of them hiding behind furniture when a real wind blows in.

Well-crafted and fun!

Best,
Jean

My favorite thus far. And both the stanza enjambment before that horse-kick to the head, and the extra syllable in the final line seem vital to the heart-felt vaudeville here.

I also love the difference between sing and say in the second stanza: even the sweetest singer of love-heart things know when to say, when to call a spade a spade!

Nemo

The final line is a bit awkward, esp. "arse off romanticizing sleet". Its awkwardness seems intended though, and may contribute to the humor. I'm not exactly sure what type of man this is, and the poem seems to want to work through recognition. It may be "gendered", for lack of a better term. It definitely has the most spirit and wit, though, of any so far.

The last line is so crucial to a sonnet--I'd drop the "off", but British idiom(it's obvious it's not an American) may not permit it. An American may say "freeze your ass" although "off" is often added. The exquisite pause at the caesura--without the "off"--would make what follows sweeter.

Works for me, though I did find the rhythm of the last line a bit dodgy just when I want it to pack a punch. I like the stanza break where it is. This is a voice of experience. I particularly like the allusion to Wyatt, because these insights into a certain kind of male character are timeless.

Susan

My favorite so far too, though like others I'd like to iron out the last line.

Fun and delightful. I love lines 3 and 4. I also like the enjambment at the stanza break. That enjambment is a typical stand-up comedian's device and the line itself feels very familiar, but in the context of a sonnet it feels fresh.
I agree with Sam on "reservoirs"; I could have wished for another word. The irregularities in the meter work well for the most part, except in L7, at least in my opinion. There is some nice alliteration and nice assonance in the poem; and I was delighted with the internal rhyme of "comfor-TED and "bed" -- maybe more of a sight rhyme to some, but I could hear it.

I had trouble with "these men," couldn't place them until I realized they are probably bloodless poets or intellectuals.

Carol

Well done, except for the bumpy last line - which really has to be fixed. I'm almost certain I know who wrote it and, despite the skill, the ending didn't work well for me - too expected, the poet steps in too intrusively - and yes, I realize that's the point of it all, but someone has too stick up for cold men who frame themselves in cold windows.

(Re David Mason's comments below, I slept on this one, decided I was being too broad and making too many assumptions in my approach and initial reaction, and rewrote it - not directly in response to David, but it makes David's comment seem slightly misdirected. Apologies, David.)

Friends,
I took an interest in this poem right away because of its wit, whatever the merits of the last line. I thought it was wonderfully fierce in its turning. I've also noticed that in this Bake-off there is a wee game being played of "guess the author" and letting judgments be based upon such speculations, which don't seem to be all that fair in the broader scope of things. I'd like to suggest that we stick to the merits of the poem at hand in each of the cases in this Bake-off and not resort to ad hominem or feminem (sp?) commentary.

Best,
Dave

This one has an arresting concept and grabs attention right from the title.

The development is strong with a great, self-descriptive turn at L10.

I particularly like “who run from love and moan it flees from me” and “Move from the window, mate”.

The ending is striking and I don’t have a big problem with the extra syllable in the last line. It works well enough with a pause after “off”, and this one isn’t strictly rhymed and metered.

However, I’m not sure about the way the ending ties in with what goes before. In the penultimate line, I understand that “cop it sweet” is Australian slang for “to make the best of a bad situation”, usually applied to someone who isn’t accepting it well. So the ending seems to say “stop acting like a jerk or you won’t have a woman (i.e. me) to romanticize”. But, earlier, N has accused “these men” of ridiculing her, not of attempting to woo her.

John

John -- I don't know what the poet intends, but I can tell you how I saw it.
I think what the men are laughing or scoffing at is the narrator's easy ability to show her feelings -- she has no problems embracing love, talking about it, and showing her emotions. This type of man, on the other hand, cannot show his feelings easily let alone talk about them. So, if you have a kind of relationship with a cold-window man, how do you take it "to the next level" and deepen it when the man is so closed up and wary? He wants you, but he doesn't, and above all he doesn't want to talk about it. You feel the attraction between the two of you, you know he does it too, but how can it "get a move on" and develop when he's stuck in his cold window? The poem is about cold-window men in general, but it seems to zoom in on a particular man at the end, one whom the narrator is involved with -- hence the message.

I think the octave blows hot and cold – hot in lines 1, 3, the Wyatt allusion and again in lines 7-8. Rather a bumpy ride, but the good bits are very good. And then in the sestet I feel I’m in very good hands. Bitter and sweet. Yes, “off” should go in line 14. Metrically better and just punchier.

I am truly sorry I couldn’t participate in the bake-off – unexpected and unavoidable travel and tumult kept me off-line.

Before the next event takes over, I want so much to thank everyone who commented here, as well as those who voted for the sonnet. I only entered it when Cathy made a plea for more women to send sonnets, and never imagined ‘Men’ would make the finals, let alone win.

The last line’s meter has been the talking point, and all I can say about it is, well, frankly, I’m not going to change it! Sorry! When I say it out loud, it sounds so right. That’s one ‘reason’. It sounds to me like FREEZE ya ARSE off – and then there’s a subtle tone shift and pause - the last part of the line almost sounds like she’s calling him a ‘romanticising sleet’, like an epithet, as well as what he’s doing – making something romantic and high-minded out of sleet.

I’ll let Mark Twain express the other reason I can’t change it: “You can straighten a worm, but the crook is in him and only waiting.” All those of you who have been frustrated by my metrical irregularities – I need you to know that I do understand what you’re saying, and I could do it, but the crook is in me. I just love it when the meter runs away. I can’t help it. I just do.

And I’d like to thank you, Petra, a lot, for being so accepting of the irregularities this time, because I know how much I’ve frustrated you in the past, and I don’t mean to. Truly. I am so glad you like those internal rhymes. The slant one I like most is “gall” and “girl”!!! Also for your explanation to John, which is spot on, and to which I would only add that I really hope readers can see that this sonnet is having a go at the ‘sweetheart girls’ just as much as the ‘cold men’! It’s a game of personas, an eternal power game, seducing personas, and it’s so funny! Really – when you get to a certain age, it’s such a giggle! And great fun to play the game once you’ve seen through it – seen through the self-images we identify with and present to the world. There’s nothing stable about it. It’s theatre.

Which brings me, finally, to Michael Cantor.

Michael, late one night, I did manage to grab a few moments at the computer, and read your original comments. I wish you hadn’t deleted them. They were deliciously cruel and outrageously misguided. It must have felt good to have a go at me. “Look at me, I’m free and I have emotions”? That’s how you see me? Hilarious. And when you said that my “body of work” is basically one-dimensional, well – firstly, I never thought I had a ‘body of work’, and so the really great thing you’ve done for me is make me do something that several people have been asking me to do for ages: look for the poems I’ve written so far, and keep them in one place. So after reading your comment, I did. And I can see small groups, three at any one time, that are clearly drawing inspiration from a particular experience, but then it all changes – suddenly I’m writing about dead dogs or whales or fishing or daughters or glass or Mark or just death. And the forms I use are always changing. This “Men” sonnet – god, it’s …what …the third sonnet I’ve ever written?

I do write from experience . I truly don’t know what else there is – I am not inventive. But it isn’t the actual experience. It’s transmuted experience. I see the poems I write as language objects. They are made. And any “I” in them is made, too. It’s a persona. The “poet “who steps in is a persona, too. My biggest fun in life is having fun with personae. If you believe I am some free-wheeling emotional hippie thing, you couldn’t be more wrong. If you are referring to my life – well, what can I say? It’s my life. I am homeless and un-housed. I wander about. I am almost always alone. I’d love it if someone loved me and let me share their roots. But nothing about my external life makes me “free”. The more I learn and learn is that the truest freedom, the only freedom with meaning, is ceasing to care what other people think of me.

So you are free to perceive me however you want. I love what you bring to this Sphere. I love your work. I used to be terrified of you, and would freeze when your name appeared on a poem thread of mine. And I am grateful for your original comment, because it showed me that things have changed. To use another fine Australian colloquialism, I couldn’t give a fat rat’s clacker what you think of me now. And thanks for overcoming your prejudices, and giving the poem a vote!

Thanks, everyone!! For all that I've learnt here at the Sphere. I can't know for sure, but I doubt I would ever have started writing if this supportive community didn't exist.

To personae!

Let seem be finale of be.


Cally

Dear Cally

Well said you.

And contra David Mason's comment above, I liked the damned poem, whoever it was by.

On the other hand, high time the Aussie Sheilas got a fair suck of the pineapple.

Philip

Congratulations, Cally. Fine answer.

Tracey

Hasty corrective to Philip. It wasn't I who read Cally's poem based on personal speculation. You will see if you re-read my note that it was the poem itself I loved from the get-go. I was remarking that others had read it in speculative terms. What I am growing to love about Cally's poetry is a force of personality and persona that, coupled with charged and ecstatic language, lifts the work into a rare vitality. I want vitality in art, not correctness of any sort. I love the sass of it.

Cheers,
Dave

I suppose it's easy to take things personally here. After all, poems are in most cases an extension of one's person -- whether it's personal emotion, personal experience, personal observation of the human condition etc. But I can't for the life of me understand how someone could be terrified of a poetry critic. I mean no offense by saying so Cally, but what on earth can a person halfway around the world say to you that strikes fear into your heart?

There are many things that Eratosphere is great for. A community of (mostly) formalist poets is a GOOD thing, for the most part. It's encouraging just to know they're there, and a lot of the criticism and support is hugely beneficial to our particular brand of poetry in general. But without Eratosphere, formal poetry would still exist. Likewise, without positive or negative comments leveled at your poems, I would expect that your writing would still continue and evolve, just as it does WITH positive or negative comments. It's fine to be influenced by commentary, but it shouldn't affect the ultimate impetus behind your poems.

I guess I'm just baffled at the notion of "terror" at another's comments, or the need to defend the fact that you now couldn't care less about what Michael Cantor thinks of your poetry. It should be even simpler than that: if you find any value in what someone says, then use that value to your poem's advantage. If you do not find any value / merit in someone's comments, you are under no obligation to incorporate anything in those comments.

Frankly, I've haven't been a fan of all of your poetry. But by no means do I think that your poetry isn't valid, doesn't have merit, or isn't worth reading (or worth your writing, for that matter). The fact that I'm not going to rush to read the next Cally poem shouldn't offend you -- it simply shouldn't matter to you. There will always be people who utterly love your work, just as there will be people who don't really care about it.

Your poem won an anonymous reading among a dozen other poems. Take something from that and build on it.

I think that terror simply implies a depth of emotion that not all of us surrender to. It doesn't even seem such a negative thing to me.

Nemo

So true, Nemo - terror is so enlivening! Terror never stopped me doing anything. Terror moves me like nothing else - it's irresistible!

No offence taken at all, Shaun! I've never felt 'offence' - (is it actually an 'emotion'?) Fences aren't for taking, they're for jumping.

Let there be no mistake - I love the Sphere. I've fed my heart on it, and bled my heart into it. I adore the whole experience of workshopping a poem - terror and all! I love how people come in and play around with my word-creations! The generosity of people here is stunning! And I adore Michael Cantor, and have enormous respect for what he does here. I will never forget when I posted 'For VW' - Michael was the first to comment, and he wrote one word, and the word was "Beautiful". I just wanted to fling myself into his arms! I remember all the support you gave my poems when I first started writing, too, Shaun. Your warm words of appreciation were a major encouragement to keep writing! I will always be grateful to you for that. I don't mind at all that you don't care for what I write now - not at all! And it certainly doesn't affect how I value your generous critiques and praise when I first started writing poems.

Thanks Phlipper, (fair suck of the sav, mate!) and Tracey, and Darling Dave Whom I Adore More Than Tongue Can Tell!

Now, lest I again feel an urge to fling myself into the arms of Michael, let's fling ourselves into French Repeating Forms!

Cally

Besides, wasn't what she said all about how she is overcoming the specific terror she identified?

Cally -- for the record, yours was the only one I recognized from the boards and knew who the author was, but it didn't matter one way or another -- it is a fine poem and was, IMO, easily the cream of this very fine crop. (And for my money, there is no real problem with the last line. There are "permissibly scannable" readings possible, if that matters to anyone, but it is a killer close anyway.)

Best,

David R.

Cross-posted with your last post, Cally. (That means we were just standing next to each in cyber land. Cool.)

(Very cool! Imagine standing close in real land - very huge hugs for you, David Ahh!)

Thank you for this, and for everything you've ever given me - all the feedback and advice and encouragement. You have always been unstinting with your time and energy and help. There aren't enough ways to thank you, David R. Ahh!

Cally

By the way, I probably missed typing a word or two when I said "I've never been a fan of your poetry", as that's not true. I distinctly remember some poems of yours which I've liked a great deal. I'm not sure what possessed me to say that -- mea culpa!

No worries at all, Shaun! It's really lovely to talk with you again!

Cally

neh, it's
FREEIZ y'AR sorf!
crack open a pack a'timtams, timtammer! doozpwa n'wowza to the oz!

Ay, Seree! wowooda do with air chew!

yr a fair dinkum grouse mate, mate!

timtammer

Aha! I'm not the only one who has had that terror! So happy for you, Cally! It's such a good poem, and so beautifully rendered in your voice.

Pedro.

Thanks precious Pedro! Let's hold hands and break fear with breast and brow! Love to Kimsy!

Cally