Sonnet 8 - The Iamb
 

The Iamb

That last year of the fifties, still before
the eyes of ultrasound, the doctor missed
me waiting there behind you. When he pressed
the stethoscope, his single silver ear,
to the darkness, listening with no picture,
he couldn't find me hiding and dismissed
the second heart, my weaker beat, as just
a bouncing off, an echo trailing yours.

Since then, the one named Ann, defined and certain,
you've always known which way your life was bound;
while I, a hesitation, then a sound
that never seems to finish or begin,
forever pause to check myself, to question,
that second beat still waiting to be found.


I don't think anyone but a twin could understand the closeness of this bond – two human beings sharing the same womb, the same DNA… Of course, it's not that simple – with the bond comes sibling rivalry, intensified all the more by the closeness, the lack of individual identity, the inevitable comparison of one twin to the other.

The narrator of "The Iamb" describes this experience from the POV of the "weaker twin". From the beginning, N. is overshadowed by the slightly older sibling – this before the days of ultrasound where there are no surprises – the hidden presence, the second heartbeat that the doctor dismisses "as an echo, trailing the stronger beat."

This second heartbeat serves as a metaphor for the self-perception of the narrator, who, compared to the "defined and certain twin," sees his/herself as "a hesitation, then a sound," still overshadowed by the strong, confident beat of the older twin, still "that second beat ... waiting to be found."

I think the poet portrays this darker side of twinship with clarity, insight and poignancy. Oh, and the title! Talk about the connection between form and content! What better way to express the strong beat/weak beat metaphor than iambic pentameter?

Bravo/a!

First one so far I can't find a nit with. Excellent!

(DG, they needn't share DNA. If it's bravo and not brava, for example, they don't. But I think it's brava and I think I know who the poet is, though I'm not sure).

I am not wild about the rhythm of L5, but I like the content very much, including the "I am" hidden diffidently in the title. I also like the mix of slant and true rhymes, which echoes the dissimilarities of the twins.

Susan

A brilliant, exquisite and mature sonnet. I particularly liked the slant rhymes sustained through the octet and would almost have wished them continued in the sestet, although the bound/sound/found rhyme has its own masterful appropriateness to the trope. As one who looks for stresses in metrical verse rather than slavish attention to form, I also welcomed the interruption of line 5, where I found stresses "to the DARKness, LISTening with NO PICture" proving again IMO that in the hands of a confident craftsperson, metrical considerations can yield to the demands of story. A pleasure to have read. Wells Burgess

I hadn't looked closely at the meter, since it all read smoothly. Now that I focus on L5, I think the stress is naturally drawn to "to", the first syllable, which is why I heard/hear the line as pentameter.

My favorite so far, and it's not close.

From the title to the end of L14, this poet has pondered every word.

I particularly like "the eyes of ultrasound" playing perfectly against "his single silver ear." The line "you've always known which way your life was bound" layers meaning on meaning.

Clear, poignant, persuasive. Couldn't be better.

This is wonderful--today's sonnets are both superb.

Other than wondering if "the" could be cut from the title, I have no suggestions.

Yes, this is my favorite so far. Not only is it well crafted, it's memorable. I also think the article could be cut in the title without any loss. In fact without it, the double meaning of "I am (a being distinct from my sibling) and the metrical foot comes into play.

iamb
 

I agree that dropping the "the" from the title would play up the "I am" aspect. My only nits are the eye of ultrasound and ear of stethescope. Everyone knows what these are, so I don't see the point of the images. Otherwise, pretty good.

I'm wondering if this very fine sonnet isn't by Catherine Chandler. I also have a guess as to who's writing the commentary, but I'm not going to stick my neck out.

No criticisms here. Just wondering if anyone felt the need to know the name of the second twin (the iamb), since the first twin, Ann, is named in the poem. Would that enhance the poem, or ... maybe it doesn't matter? (Of course, that would also partially identify the writer of this poem!)

Clear, well paced, psychologically believable, and on a theme that hasn't been done to death. Uses quirky rhyming to advantage. My favorite so far.

Well, it’s an interesting collection so far, and I have no favorite yet.

Has everyone accepted the “missed” of L2 and “dismissed” of L6 as rhymes?

If “I” is the weaker part of “Iamb”—supposedly the meter and not the actual word—then is “Ann” the “amb” part? And why not a trochee? (Though admittedly there is only one in the poem as it is written—unless it be an anapest, as Wells believes.)

And how is the second beat [of an iamb] still waiting to be found?
I’m not sure it works on both levels.

I did sorta like the "the eyes of ultrasound," once I figured it out, but the single ear is not so successful, since the doc does still use both ears to hear through it

Marta

Marta --

Here's how I'm reading the poem --

There are twins, and we know one twin is named Ann. The name of the other twin, the second one to be born, the speaker in the poem, is an "iamb" -- two syllables, with the accent on the second syllable. (That's why I asked earlier whether anyone felt the need for the second twin to also be named.) The beat of a heart is also an iamb.

Well, if Gail is guessing the poet by name, I'll join in. My guess is Julie Stoner, though I don't recall her using this many slant rhymes before.

I'm not sure I'd say the poem is about the "darker side of twinship," as DG puts it, since presumably Ann's sonnet on the same gestation would have a completely different slant (assuming Ann doesn't entirely dispute the shadow she casts on her sister).

I still have no nits, but if I struggle to come up with a nit, no matter how nerdy, it's this: If the weaker heartbeat is "trailing" the stronger, we're dealing with a trochee, not an iamb. It's interesting to wonder how the poem would be affected if there were no prosodic references in the title (as there are none clearly stated in the body of the poem). I still think the title should stay, but I'm not sure it's utterly essential. Perhaps it's too much poet inside-baseball, and I'm wondering a bit if readers who don't know what an iamb is might be unduly confused.

But no. I think the poem is perfect as is.

Spot on, Roger! I absolutely admit to having written this! For every possible minute that I can get away with it. When are the authors unmasked?

I'm going to be really disappointed if I find out that her name isn't Uma, which was my best guess at puzzling out lines 11 and 12.

Then again, first-person narratives aren't always autobiographical, so I can imagine it's "Uma" to my heart's content.

[Edited to say--Or maybe Emma?]

[Never mind. Then the poem might be titled "The Trochee".]

[Actually, the stronger beat does come first, as described in the poem, in a trochee, not an iamb...but I'm probably being overliteral. Again.]

Ah, this sonnet... One thing I can say is that the iamb was poignant to me on many levels. The phrase is rife with meaning, starting with the basic idea of being the faint beat behind the stronger one (*waiting behind the stressed one) and moving toward the hope of being able to stand up and say, “I am.” I think of I am that I am as a holy way of not only thinking about God but also the sanctity of life-not only the strong, but love and care for the weak. Giving voice to the voiceless. The eternal I am is indicated too, when it has no beginning or end. I don’t consider this poem religious; but the idea of lasting importance and strength being found in seemingly fragile individuals is present. Lovely.

This is so very, very good, the musicality of the sextet is sublime, I like 'still before' as it suggest 'still born' this is enormously clever and enchanting. Full of a deep meaning I for one need.

In order to satisfy the blood rhythm of the sonnet and the logic of the title, the second twin's name must begin with B. Otherwise there's no point in naming the other one. Is there, O clever and musical poet? (A poet who is clearly clever enough to be imagining this situation entirely, anyway.)

Is it not a little too soon to be guessing identities and naming names?

I think this is the personally felt gem many were waiting for.

I love the poem's "twinship"/heartbeat metaphor; the layers of meaning in the title (no, don't rename it "The Trochee"!); the well-chosen slant rhymes coalescing at the end in the perfect rhymes bound/found/sound; the whole feel and sound of it.

This strikes me as something different and lovely. Kudos to the writer!

A touching and deeply meaningful poem. Somewhere in the future there's an anthology with this in it.

A lovely sonnet in every way. Very original content but with careful heed to form. It will get one of my top three votes, I'm pretty sure but I'm waiting for the new postings. And who knows, we might even get a bonus or two. That happens sometimes.

A lovely event, the annual sonnet bake-off is.

Or maybe someone named Ann wrote it from the twin's perspective.

I'm on board with everyone else here in liking this poem a lot. Along with the craft, I enjoy the subtle play of thought in it.

The mention of "Ann" made me wonder if there's a metaphor embedded in the name, and a google informs me that Ann, from Hebrew Hannah, means "He [God] has favored me." That fits the sense of the poem, obviously. At the same time, the poem's title is "The Iamb," which is a homonym for "The I am," which is what G-d self-names in the Bible. If there's anything in that reading, dropping the "The" from the title, as someone suggested, would lose a possible layer of meaning.

I like that this poem has so much going on in it, on so many levels.

Yeah, this is pretty damn magical, and certainly of the breathtaking quality one hopes for in a bakeoff.

I typically dislike slant rhymes, but they're handled so expertly here that one almost doesn't even notice.

I generally agree with the muted nits mentioned above about the title being "trochee," but then that takes away from the lovely double entendre of Iamb = I am.

I wonder if it will turn out that this poem is by someone who is not a regular 'Sphere poster. The voice sounds very unique to me.

Definitely the best of the eight in my book.

Admirable stuff. Likely my number one, though I have a couple of issues with it.

As a metaphor for the twinship, the iamb doesn't hold up, as some have noted. A trochee would be more apt. If limited to N's summation of herself (L11) it works, but where the octave seems to apply it to the 'weaker beat,' the echo trailing the stronger, it simply doesn't fit. I think it's a stretch to see reference to the Deity in it—it just adds to the confusion, suggesting N sees herself as God, given that the title is self-descriptive. (Unless the title is intended as descriptive of Ann. Then L11 becomes questionable.)

L9 is awkward syntax, switching to the parenthetic "the one named Ann." I would favour "my sister Ann" as an address that could be seen as affectionately sardonic.

I think the choice of title bears rethinking to untangle the confusion. It's an unnecessary distraction.

That said, the sonnet reveals a master's touch and I'm suitably impressed.

I'm still thinking about names here. Why would the N. need to mention the name Ann -- one syllable, "defined and certain" -- at all? (The word "iamb" is a trochee by itself, of course, but its meaning is the opposite.) Perhaps the N's name is an iamb -- Lynette, Renee, Jenelle, whatever. Same question: Is it a flaw in the poem that the N's name isn't mentioned? Would that make things clearer?

I, too, have just a teensy problem with the too-close rhyme of "missed" and "dismissed" in the octave, as someone mentioned early on. Only teensy....

That's the third time you've asked that question in this thread, Elise. It would seem that nobody else has a problem with mentioning the name Ann. But I can only speak for myself. I don't really see the issue.

By the way, I just happened to be glancing at a very old thread here at Eratosphere discussing an aspect of teaching meter to children, and Alicia Stallings suggested likening iambs to heartbeats. I was reminded that this is a familiar way of describing an individual heartbeat, so the title here is apt even if Ann's heartbeat followed by the fainter heartbeat of the speaker come together as a trochee.

PS--
Apropos missed/dismissed, I suppose they are technically non-rhyming if one speaks in perfectly delineated syllables, but I tend to blend the "s" into the "m" so it's more like rhyming "missed" with "smissed", which is a perfect rhyme.

Once again, our DG picks an interesting subject and approach - but this one also features a strong poem - one of my favorites. Nits:

- I found the opening "still before/the eyes of ultrasound" confusing.

"just" as the ending of L7 bothers me. Possibly:

- the second heart, my late and weaker thrust,
as just an echo, bouncing off of yours.

I assume the narrator's name is an iamb ending on a long vowel. "Uma", as Julie suggested, or equivalent.

I like this one a lot. It's quite stylish and cool, and creates its own poetic planet in 14 lines.

Michael -- isn't "Uma" (as in Uma Thurman) a trochee, accent on the first syllable? I'm confused.

Double posted twice in one week. A new personal record!

It seems that Ann was good at everything -- but her sister wrote the poem.

The twin could have a trochee for a name.

Shoot! Trochee! You really know how to embarrass somebody, Elise I've always had left-right problems. Now it's spread to iamb-trochee problems.

Roger --

The only reason that I asked the name question more than once was because no one answered it. (Or at least I didn't see the answer if there was one.) I have no way of knowing whether anyone has even seen/read a question if it's not addressed.

Michael --

I truly didn't mean to embarrass you! You just got caught up in Julie's thoughts about who the writer of this poem is (assuming that this poem is autobiographical). And then there seems to be general confusion about the whole trochee/iamb thing, with the word "iamb" being a trochee itself. I started to get confused myself!

not a critique, but a question about this line:

"you've always known which way your life was bound'

Is "bound' meant to indicate direction, or a tying-together, or both?
The reason I ask is that it struck me a just a little odd. I thought about this, and realized that it might be because "bound" as an adjective used in this sense is usually followed by "for," with the "destination" mentioned, or is preceded by a destination, e.g. "homeward bound." In this instance, "way" seems to indicate direction, whereas "where" would indicate destination. Can anyone shed any grammatical light on this for me? It will help me understand this use of the word better when encountering it in the future.
It is, of course, a wonderful poem with a great combination of very natural language at its surface that yields to great depth of thought and craft with reading and rereading.

Ed, it seems to me I've seen plenty of subordinate or interrogative expressions that end in "bound" without "for," but this lyric is the example that leaps to the top of the list: Can't help but wonder where I'm bound.

Adding: a search on "Which way are you bound" turns up a number of archaic hits. Perhaps this direction-rather-than-destination usage feels strange because it has become uncommon in current speech and writing.