Sonnet #8
 

I love the rhyme scheme the poet uses in this love sonnet (abab, cdecde, fgfg), but that’s not the only imaginative or admirable aspect to it.

This might interest readers:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iJKkqC8JVXk.

As Sam says, this needs some basic housekeeping, but retaining some of the extra spacing in for effect. Maybe:


She thinks there’s no more deadly word than and
(as in and Juliet). The moon and sea
are up to their old tricks. It should be banned,
she says, this syllable of tragedy.

He asks her       (Dido and)      why women fall
for liars. In reply she sings You’ve got
no heart, Johnny, and I do love you so.
Desire’s catastrophe lies in such small
conjunctions       (Bonnie and).       A speckled knot
of snakes is winding through her hair, although

she seems oblivious       (and Heloise).
He plucks a reed and coos a lazy air.
She walks away between the sleeping trees
to tell the moon it has no business there.

This manages to be coyly inventive and yet quite passionate at the same time. I agree with Sam & Cathy on the need for some basic housekeeping--but I'm not sure exactly how to proceed, and think extensive experimentation on the page would be necessary to decide on a consistent visual plan. I do think the italicizing of both the parentheticals and the direct dialogue is a mistake: that's where it gets just too busy. I think all the direct quotes could just be straight, with nothing but the she say/she sings to identify them as dialogue. That would smooth out the look considerably and keep all those italics from competing with one another for attention.

I do so love the device of only translating the epigraph within the body of the poem! And the closing image of each stanza is startlingly good.

Nemo

Yes - I love this one for reasons already mentioned: its inventiveness, the imagery of moon and sea and snake, not to mention its use of one of my favourite songs!

And this: "Desire's catastrophe lies in such small / conjunctions ..." I love it when a poem can slip in such enormous truths without seeming wise.

And I love "sleeping trees" - great sound, and image. (But them I'm the one who loves the "weeping moon"! so pay no heed to me!)

Cally

I like this one a great deal, and I have no difficulty dealing with the sentence fragments, nonstandard punctuation, and italics. For me, they work fine in distinguishing the components in the mix of straight story and literary allusion/thought intrusion, and that mix is the poem's major point of interest.

What Nemo said. Again. Damn, the dude's psychic.

I like this sonnet a lot, and I'll probably come back later with more comments. Meanwhile, I'm wondering if what's italicized and in parentheses are snatches of her conversation -- she's giving examples, out loud, of the "syllable of tragedy". In a sort of a meandering, drifting way. A name comes to her mind, and she speaks it aloud, then a little later another.
It would make sense, because the italicized parentheticals are not quotations -- they don't come from Brecht's song. Reasonably, then, they are also parts of her dialogue. Not sure why the "Juliet" parenthetical isn't italicized, though. If it is the narrator's own example, then it would be better to delete the parentheses.

This sonnet really grew on me. On first and second readings, I found it interesting, but less than clear--partly because of what others have noted about punctuation and italicization, so I hope the author will fix that . . .

. . . because I understand now how clever and cutting and rich this is. It's essentially a sonnet about the dangers of "and"! I did immediately zero in on a line that Cally liked, too: "Desire’s catastrophe lies in such small / conjunctions"--yummy.

I wish there were a way for "and" to appear in the very last line--or maybe even "und" . . .

The ideas are very finely considered, but I do think that this sonnet proves how important tiny technical details can be in the impression a poem makes.

Best,
Jean

I have to agree. Although Catherine's 'housekeeping' did help the poem, I think it might need even more work, as Nemo and others have said.
For me personally, as I said above, I can get the parentheticals to work better if I imagine them as snatches of the woman's dialogue. It makes for an interesting effect, especially in S2, where it feels as if she is talking at the same time as the omniscient narrator is telling us what's happening:

He asks her (Dido and) why women fall

The omniscient narrator says "He asks her" and it's as if the character suddenly "interrupts" to say "Dido and" to the man in the poem.
It's very strange but very cool to see it that way, rather surreal. I very much doubt that's what the poet intended, but it works for me.

I love the writing style in the poem. I wouldn't know what to call it, but the words "nonchalant sophistication" come to mind, and I mean that as a compliment. Cally said it better when she commented on one of the very fine lines in the poem: "I love it when a poem can slip in such enormous truths without seeming wise."

I love the part about the moon and the sea, and of course the "sleeping trees". I also like the "speckled knot of snakes" in the woman's hair. Though it's hard not to associate to Medusa, and I'm not sure whether that's intended. Finally, I wonder about this couple. I get the feeling it's a "prologue" to a possible relationship. That is, It doesn't seem as if the passion is there yet; it's a relationship that hasn't got off the ground yet. But you can feel the potential passion in the periphery, out there with the moon and the sea. Very charming.

This is clever as all get-out. I particularly admire the last 3 lines and the sound of the man who "coos a lazy air."

This is very clever and very well done, and yet...and yet...I wonder if it has any chances for survival beyond a web site or specialized journal appealing to the kind of individuals (us) who are absorbed in technique as well as poem. Is it something of a rare orchid? Does it try to accomplish too much? Are these questions legitimate? (The answer, in all cases, is a resounding "I'm not sure.")

Innovative but not mere novelty. It reminds me of Jules Laforgue. The last stanza is photogenic, whimsical and has the sense of inevitability.

It's pretty and shit, but also clever, and that means the world to me. This might be my favorite.

One thing, is the epigraph needed? The Brecht song is already alluded to in the title. It seems unnecessary to include title, epigraph, and then have a translation of said epigraph in the body of the poem.

I agree with O. Screw the housekeeping nits. This is your winner, and the epigraph is superfluous.

RM

I like this one very much, including the epigraph. Its over-the-top romance is balanced by a wry self-awareness.

Susan

Yeah, I agree - this one is there, even though it's not quite there yet.

Frank

The idea of expressing the pain of unrequited love in terms of the danger of the conjunction “and” is the most distinctive concept of the contenders. And the interjections of incomplete pairings of lovers are inventive and effective.

The situation appears to be that the woman, who according to the song is stranded in Burma, is having a conversation with Johnny. I am left with questions about how the song and the poem relate to one another: Surabaya v. Burma; how her reply relates to his question; what the snakes imply (Medusa and Poseidon?); and how the poem’s ending fits the song situation.

John

The song 'Surabaya' has such a huge part in this sonnet, from the title to the epigraph to the text, that by rights you should suspect that the couple in the sonnet are Johnny and the woman who loves him. But I can't get away from my impression that's it's simply a couple who hasn't yet capitulated to love. Desire is there between them, the moon and sea provide the romantic backdrop, but the woman in the poem is setting herself against love, which she sees as synonymous with tragedy. In essence she's saying, "I'm not going to fall in love", and she goes off (in the wonderful ending line) to chase away the (romantic) moon, which "has no business there". The man in the poem could well be "a rogue" (of the charming type) -- there's something about the way he plucks a reed and coos a lazy air that gives me that impression. And of course the woman in the poem (who no doubt is attracted to him) knows it. That's my own take on the couple and the sonnet -- which I've read numerous times now. It's exquisite, and I admire it hugely.

This seems to me JUST the sort of subject for a sonnet. I like it a lot and I don't pay much heed to the thought that it's too technical for the crowd. caviare to the general in fact.

Thank you to everyone for so many interesting and helpful thoughts, and for liking the poem beyond all my expectations. Sorry about the various oddities of layout. A lot of brain-racking went into the punctuation, and I still have some work to do on that. Thanks Cathy for very helpful editing suggestions.

It's very reassuring that the overall outcome isn't too weird.

Sorry again for missing the main part of the event, but what a treat it's been reading all these great sonnets and comments since my return.