SONNET #10: Two Lindens
 

For Two Lindens Newly Planted on Avenue D


Surrender now, you haven’t got a chance—
between the flood of piss from every cur
that cocks a leg, the daily whipped offense
of bike chain lacerations, the errant car
that jumps the curb to gall a tender strip
from you; and box-cutter boys who deface
your trunks, the burning road-salt I.V. drip
of winter, the corner cuchifrito place
dumping its fry-pot grease by night, your spread
festooned with deli-bags, and groping shorn-
off limbs where trucks backed in to unload beer.
Should you survive the year, you anguished pair,
then prove us snags all wrong—the standing dead—
fly pale green flags, this desperate April morn!

COMMENT BY CATHY CHANDLER: This is the sonnet that arrived in our emailbox at exactly 11:59 p.m. Quelle chance! A hybrid sonnet as far as form goes, using a mix of perfect and slant rhyme, the poem begins with a despairing command, “Surrender now”, followed by a detailed list of vivid images and metaphors pointing to the linden trees’ sure demise. However, by the time we reach line 14, the narrator wishes to be proven wrong, and thus the “pale green flags” of hope. The only word I had a little trouble swallowing was “morn” — it is so “poetical” — but its undertone of possible and indeed probable, mourning came through to me. I also found line 6 quite bumpy. The enjambment between lines 9 and 10 is inspired.

COMMENT BY GAIL: I once attempted to plant a sidewalk tree in front of my house in New Orleans. Talk about dumb ideas! Let's just say ours was not a tree-friendly neighborhood. So this sonnet had my sympathy all the way through. My only question is about the very end. I love the phrase "desperate April", but I wonder if "this…morn" is the proper usage for a day some distance in the future.

I love the first thirteen lines of this, with their city gritty detail and crunchy mouthfeel, so much that I'm sad to get tripped by the last line, where I was confused by the same phrase that bothers Gail.

Great imagery here -- I'd revise these line for accuracy and meter's sake though ...
your trunks, the burning road-salt I.V. drip
of winter, the corner cuchifrito place

Common medical abbreviation is IV -- but I think any abbreviation jars a bit...the burning salt (saline solution) line is great though...how about

your trunks, the road-salt intravenous drip
that burns, the corner cuchifrito place

Great till I got snagged at the end, beginning with the dashes setting off "the standing dead", and the expectation that these unfortunate two can raise and fly their flags this April morn, if they're not already doing so--"come...April," "next...April" is a more reasonable demand.

But on further reflection, the very unreasonableness of the demand may be the point. "Surrender now", says the city (or its collective snags). Why shouldn't the city demand the impossible of nature?

I retract my city-as-speaker reading in light of Maryann's post below on the definition of snag.

A tableau from NYC's Alphabet City. Having lived in America's greatest town, I feel the poem's imagery quite sharply. It paints a perfect picture in my head. On the other hand, there is surely more than one city with an "Avenue D," so this doesn't have to be NYC but the poem's craft succeed in carving an image in my mind and in light of my experience, it might as well be the Big Apple.

As others have noted, "morn" spills the milk all over this lovely tableau. Why not "dawn"? Which of course means a new rhyme word for "shorn." No problem, though, for the person who submitted this one.

Don

Added in: In light of Paul's comment, which I read after posting my first,

then prove us snags all wrong—the standing dead—.

My first take was that "standing dead" went with "us," the readers and the world in general that witnesses these two lindens. I'm not sure that the context helps. If the trees are the "standing dead," well, they aren't dead yet! Or, maybe that's meant to reflect what humans, "us," are supposed to think of the two threatened trees, that they stand in mortal danger?

On the other hand, are we, the readers and witnesses, the "standing dead"? That seems unlikely as such a judgment is not warranted by the poem. This line isn't clear enough. I wonder if the syntax could be improved to clearly mark the referent. Or rewrite entirely.

I have a guess about the author of this one! I agree that it cracks along very nicely up until line 13. (Sharon seems to have a point, but I would just write IV and have done with that line.)

No one has said this, so I could be totally off, but "snags" seems strange to me, unless there's an idiomatic use I'm unaware of. I guess everything listed in lines 1-12 is a "snag," metaphorically speaking, & perhaps it is fair to lump the speaker in with all the forces conspiring to bring about the trees' demise. But it sounds odd; it made me wonder if "nags" is really what was meant, (though that would be more fitting for the speaker than for everything else).

My other two problems have already been suggested; the break down of the subjunctive conditional statement in the last three lines (as Paul says, 'come April next' or some such would seem more appropriate), and that use of 'morn,' which I waver over, sometimes finding it a little fusty and embarrassing, but sometimes feeling that the poem, with its IV drip and cuchifrito place, etc., has earned the poeticism, that it suggests something of the trees' quixotic aspirations, which the poet, for all his grittiness and realism, is embarrassed to identify with. Having written it down, I feel that the poem gets away with the word; but the other two issues, 'snags' and 'this,' are still snags for me.

C

SNAG = Sensitive New Age Guy. I think the term was current in the 90s.

Chris, about the use of "snags," see if definition 1b helps you out here:

Definition of "snag" from the online Merriam-Webster

The N. is referring, I think, to the people all around in this difficult city as "the standing dead" who will, the N. hopes, be proved wrong by the still-living trees next year.

(And apologies if you were perfectly aware of that definition and I've misunderstood your post.)

Maryann, good to know, that does help. Brian, I think that meaning is probably the last one the poet wants.

LOL! Thanks Maryann, wasn't familiar with that definition. Doubtless the out-dated colloquialism was not intended, but it does fortuitously fit the context.

very new york
 

This is a great catalogue of details about what can happen to a NY tree. It's the language that throws me off. It just doesn't sound New York and misses some opportunities.

"Cur" is a country word; New Yorkers have mutts (cf. Winger's speech on everyone in his platoon being mutts in "Stripes"). "Daily whipped offense of bike chain lacerations" just goes on forever and wants to do too much; scars from bike chains, maybe by the Chinese delivery guys, would suit. "Gall" as a verb is correctly used grammatically, but in NYC "gall" is an attitude, as in someone "has the gall to." "Box-cutter boys" sounds like a phrase dropped from "Newsies." If he's referring to scratchiti, there has to be a better way to get at it, maybe by noting what's cut into the tree. "The burning road-salt I.V. drip of winter" is another overlong metaphor which makes no sense: NY plows the streets, and if it bothered to salt Avenue D, home of many projects the salt would never reach the trees on the sidewalks because the parked cars would be in the way.

I will give the author the dumped grease, the bags caught in the branches and the broken limbs from trucks. Those are NY.

Better title: "These Two F'n Trees on Avenue D."

This goes for me, too.

The definition answered my misunderstanding as to "standing dead." Though I'm still inclined to see this as a bit of a stretch, if uncharitable, to associate death with the humans interacting with the trees. It suggests, I'm sure unintentionally, something a wee bit "eco-extreme."

Stephen,
Perhaps the poet, like the lindens, has been "transplanted" from another place to NYC, thus the variations in language.

Really good use of imagery. I don't see a lot of slant rhyme which makes cur/car stick out for me. The mixture of rough and high-blown diction is amusing in some places but threatens cacophony at times, like one of those movies where some 18th century Englishman is transported to a modern city and waxes poetic about a hot dog.

It's a bit of a shame to me that this is only the second piece with real lyric intensity, and it's done ironically.

I like the intensity and imagery, but agree the ending needs a bit of work; not sure
that "snags" works--using Maryann's definition, it makes "the standing dead" redundant,
but more to the point, N has been a real literal observer, and switching suddenly to a metaphorical
description of N is distracting. I also am not overly fond of "morn", though it might grow on me
as a condensation of the last lines desperate romantic yearning.

Martin

FWIW:

Wikipedia:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tilia

I especially noticed:

" 'In German folklore, the linden tree is the "tree of lovers.' "

I'm with Stephen regarding the diction and pacing of the first part. A lot of it "just goes on forever and wants to do too much." It feels over-elaborate and arch.

L6, as others have noted, is very metrically bumpy.

The "snags...the standing dead" kind of works for me. I like the turn to implicate the speaker (and everyone), with an inversion of the image of the trees, and the way it offers a strange word (which almost doesn't seem like one, until you think about it), then a quick definition of the word, which also expands it a little.

In the last line, I'd make it: "some desperate April morn." (Morn seems okay to me, especially if the earlier lines are tightened and made a little more pungent and punchy.)

I love the first line.

I like this alot. Re the last 2 lines: I like the standing dead definition from MW - these are dead branches, not referring to the people in the city at all. The speaker is a neighboring branch, a dead twig! speaking for the bunch of them. I do agree that 'this desperate april morn' needs to be in future tense.
What I love: interesting use of (tactile, violent) nouns as verbs throughout: cocks, gall, drip, grease & spread in same line. And verb as adjective 'whipped'. Also 'shorn-/off' (with great line-break thrown in). 'festooned with deli-bags', 'cuchifrito', great image/language. in the sonnet tradition, the phrase 'anguished pair', refers to the trees almost as lovers, who face an onslaught of adversaries over the course of a year. We know just what & who these adveraires are (hence the list), because lovers throughout history must undergo these same trials. So - a comment and a wink toward the traditional love sonnet. It's all great fun!

That's a fine appreciation, Kate. I too like the verbs and muscularity of this sonnet. Welcome to the Sphere.

Clever. This takes an awfully old-fashioned conceit, addressing and personifying an inanimate object, and gives it a modern citified SNAG gloss. (I know that meaning of snag is unlikely to be the one intended, but it's perfect). Even the message is Romantic, but the point is made with wonderfully unromantic modern language. It achieves what it sets out to do better than most.

On the down side, Blake et al perhaps said it well enough already. The language sometimes slips away from modernity, as others have commented (morn, etc). And the exclamation point is unnecessary.

But overall I like it.

I like the idea of this one and it started out well, but L6 sounds a beat short to me, with a very awkward rhythm, and the ending falls apart, with lack of clarity and mixed diction. I do like the turn from telling the trees to give up to hoping they won't.

Susan

This one ranks high in my estimation, except for that very last phrase, which I find both confusing and tonally off. But otherwise, I much admire this poem's very fluent and assured tone, its well-crafted momentum, its well-chosen details, and the shift of attitude that Susan mentioned.

Oh, I love it! Finally, a funny one that makes me laugh. The humiliations are vividly pictured. I particularly like the aliteration of "corner cuchifrito place", which somehow sounds fried. "Burning road-salt I.V. drip" is the sort of phrase I usually denounce as modifier pile-up, but it works here, and has momentum. Rhyming "cur" with "car" is inspired. I feel that last three lines should pack a stronger punch, after all that amazing trash--"desperate April morn" feels out-of-date and not quite convincing.

Still, awesome. I'm going to have a tough time choosing between this and "Childhood". Different poems, each wonderful in its own way.

This reminds me of a Danish poem in translation, 'I love the trees in the city' (or close to that), but this sonnet is strong and realistic and not at all sentimental - till the very end. I think it is quite brilliant.

Martin, I know this is minor, but here I disagree slightly. The phrase "the standing dead" was the reminder that I needed in order to recall that technical meaning of "snag." Now that we've seen how many people were unaware of the "standing dead tree" definition, I think the poet included it in full knowledge that many readers would need to have the meaning made overt. For them, it's a clue rather than a redundancy.

Lindens are quite the poetic choice--there's Coleridge's "This Lime-tree Bower My Prison," and Proust's madeleine dipped in tilia tea--so there's a nice contrast in the subject and treatment.

I like this one very much. I takes me back to New York, it's a sonnet structure with an utterly contemporary and hard-edge vocabulary, the references and visuals are a delight, it sings!

I had no real problem with the last line - I took "pale green flags" to be new shoots.

Sweet and too close to home...
 

Beautifully iambic and the most modernistic I hope accept in a sonnet, playing like the legitimate with a Spenserian touch, deftly rambling into the sestet with Miltonian ease, and the characteristic laziness of a Shakespearian where we find it too easy to run ourselves nearly out of bounds ere being forced to tie it all up with a closing couplet, which this handily tenders sans the exaction.

Why did I fall for this beauty so easily?

Maybe because I saw afresh my saplings, the inevitable trash and all that too familiar abuse forced on those tender innocents made to endure what I couldn't, while dearly yearning to solace me in their shade and figures standing against man's sorry retinue of desecrations.

I love the easy flow, forcing myself to nit pick for that "haven't" in L1 which would be best written out, but is perfectly fine as is.

L9 is definitely not iambic, as if the sonneteer felt lazy enough to yield to the easier excuse of finishing out the thought begun in L8 as if sacrificing a bit couldn't hurt. I know the feeling too well, and have to guard against it to maintain a higher standard since I have a healthy lazy streak.

The confusion over the initial injunction and surprising final plea leave the reader mulling the hopes pinned on these two darlings, apparently planted on Arbour Day, this not so tender array of offenses to endure proffered as they are beginning brightly enough to face a harrowing year ere time can crown them with success.

Perhaps I've gone overboard in appreciation for the closeness of the topic and delicious imagery's array of familiarity. Recklessly barely matched or unmatched end-rhyming crown this as another which makes the grade for its pleasing ability to look perfect when it clearly is not.

Thanks for sharing, I fear I love it too much.

ttfn,
Jenny

I meant to comment on this poem earlier. I like the message and the way it is conveyed. The poem does have attitude and interesting imagery. The "salt-road I.V drip of winter" is definitely inspired, and I kind of liked being called a "snag" at the end (learn a new word every day). The poem wants to pick a fight with me, and I kind of like that approach. This is another one where I have a good guess who wrote it.

It is interesting to see that the "list" sonnet is a pretty successful approach, at least in this competition.

By the way, are we sure this one didn't come in at 12:01? Were the clocks synchronized? Just sayin ... hey, the poem started it!

Sean

Yes, Sean, believe it or not, the email arrived at 11:59 p.m.!

sonnet form
 

I'm just posting this comment randomly at any sonnet.... There has been some debate about adherence to sonnet "form" since this bake-off began. Is this a stupid or too obvious question? There are the Petrarchan, Spensarian, Shakespearean sonnets, etc. Obviously, someone tinkered with the form at some point. To the so-called "traditionalists": Why can't someone tinker a bit with it now?

Welcome, Elise. There is obviously no reason other than the disapproval of those who have declared themselves the guardian of a tradition they are so happy with as it stands that they wish it to continue without further changes. I'm sorry they are disappointed, but there's really nothing they can do about it, since poets will do what they do and that's life.

I agree that poets will do what they do, and that they're entitled to call the results poems. The question is, are they entitled to call them sonnets? I think that the point made by many people is that of course the sonnet will evolve in terms of content, but that in terms of form, if pushed too far, the word "sonnet" ceases to be meaningful.

To take a musical analogy that I've used elsewhere:

If I write a four-movement work for orchestra, there's a good chance I can call it a symphony.

If I write a one-movement piece for orchestra (Sibelius's 7th), or an 11-movement piece for orchestra and voices (Shostakovich's 14th), there's a reasonable chance that I can do the same.

But if I write a 1, 4, or 11-movement piece for solo piccolo, it would be meaningless to call it a symphony. And a completely classical four-movement work for two violins, viola and cello is not a symphony - because it's a string quartet.

So a 13-line or a 15-line sonnet? Maybe. A 5-line sonnet in anapestic metre with an AABBA rhyme-scheme? No, that's a limerick.

Of course the formal boundaries can be stretched, but only within certain limits. Beyond that, it's a different animal.

I realize that this begs the essential question: what are those limits? But I'm just about sonneted out for the moment.

Two Lindens
 

I voted for this as one of my top three. (Let me here apologize publicly for voting for my own sonnet too, not realizing it was a breach of etiquette.) A lovely sonnet; congratulations to the author.

I admire the accumulation of well-chosen details, and "morn" doesn't bother me the way it bothers some commenters. But I agree that line 13 is confusing.