sonnet
 

rev. 1:

Canon

The tune I grew to know became my voice,
the tune that made me grow. I grew alone.
It was the only tune. I had no choice.
It wasn’t pretty, rooted in a moan.
Virginia’s suicide, and Charlotte’s too,
then Sylvia and Anne. I hear them call
and harmonize, as if they also grew
my sound. I listen to their final fall,
their final thoughts revolving in regret
for ending pain they couldn't understand,
the oven, river, poison, gas, the net
to guide them to the shore, with death in hand.
I couldn't save my sister, though I tried.
She suffered all her life, and then she died.



~~~


original:

Canon

The tune I grew to know became my voice.
The tune that made me grow, I grew alone.
It was the only tune. I had no choice.
It wasn’t pretty, rooted in a moan.
Virginia killed herself, and Charlotte too,
then Sylvia and Anne. I hear them call
and harmonize, as if they also grew
my sound. I listen to their final fall,
their final thoughts revolving in regret
for ending pain they couldn't understand,
the oven, river, poison, gas, the net
to guide them to the shore, with death in hand.
I couldn't save my sister, though I tried.
She suffered all her life, and then she died.

Hi, Mary—

Suicide runs in my family, too. I suspect that many people write poetry as a way of throwing light into that darkness, and giving voice to that pain, not always successfully avoiding a fatal outcome. I am sorry about your sister.

I got Virginia Woolf (river), Sylvia Plath (oven), and Anne Sexton (gas) right away. After a bit of googling, I’m guessing that Charlotte refers to Charlotte Mew who poisoned herself by drinking Lysol. I am not familiar with her poetry.

Glenn

Very touching, Mary. And sadly (in every sense) effective.

Best wishes to you.

David

Mary, I think it works. It is hard when the canon of writers who speak to you is the canon of writers who committed suicide. The one place where it felt like a misstep was at the end of L1, where I think a comma would work better than a period, and in L2, where I think a period would work better than a comma after "grow." The idea in between works better to me as a continuation of the thought in L1, whereas I have more trouble understanding it when connected to "I grew alone."

Susan

Hi Mary,

Like Susan, I was tripped up in line two, which seems to say, as you have it, that N grew the tune that grew her. But it seems more natural to read it as two statement with the period instead of the comma.

Line four is also readable in two ways--"it wasn't pretty. It was rooted in a moan" or "it wasn't something pretty that is rooted in a moan"

In general, the opening four lines are super-familiar to me as a reader of your poetry, and come across as treading water for you. A better opening quatrain may serve to pull the poem, which has two abrupt shifts (line five and the closing couplet), together. Abrupt shifts are cool generally, but I don't feel the poem coming together very smoothly right now. I really love the closing couplet, and I think the eight lines between the opening quatrain and the couplet are very good. You need something, I think, and it can likely be achieved with a rewrite of that quatrain.

Rick

I am reading line 2 as meaning "I grew - on my own/by myself - the tune that made me grow." Changing the punctuation would change the meaning pretty drastically, I think. That said, I am a bit confused as to what the tune is and whether there is more than one. Is the tune a poetic voice haunted by that tendency towards suicide? Or is the tune something opposed to suicide, which the N had to grow all on her own because she didn't find it in the canon? Perhaps both tunes are present. I'm not sure.

Hi again,

I think Hilary's questions and uncertainties might provide a pathway for a rewrite of the quatrain.

Rick

Hi Mary,

I think is very strong. The ending, I didn't see coming, and found very affecting. It's particularly effective in that "sister" can refer both to a biological sister and or, after the listing or names, to a fellow female poet or poets.

Like others, I wondered at the opening. It did sound at first like there may be two tunes. The one she grows to know, and the one she grows that makes her grow. And yet L3 says there's only one. And, it can also be read that way too -- that there is only one tune, and that the N both grew to know it and grew it, and it made her grow. I'm guessing that's your intention and I like the (seeming) paradoxicality of that.

Reversing the first two lines seems to makes that clearer (to me anyway), because it seems to present the correct causal and chronological progression: She grows the tune that makes her grow. She comes to know the tune. The tune becomes her voice.

The tune that made me grow, I grew alone.
The tune I grew to know became my voice.

Still, swapping those lines would change your rhyme scheme, which you may not be keen to do.

Anyway, maybe there's a way of clarifying the opening, making it sound initially less like two voices -- but hopefully not at the cost of losing the paradoxical / interdependent feel of the N both growing the tune, and tune making her grow.

I wondered if there might be an alternative to repeating "final" in "final thoughts", which to me sounded a little flat.

Matt

Mary, this is very strong. I was reading Sexton just yesterday and early this morning. It's maybe too easy to say you see death in all her poetry, but it's certainly hard to miss. I had the same trip on L2. I "got" it by the end, but it felt a little disconnected on the initial read.

It's a strong sonnet.

Hi Mary,

I have no nits. I like it as is. Still, I wanted to show you how this would read with the sister theme, the sisterhood more universalized simply by switching to third person. Just passing a thought on....

All the best,
Jim

p.s. : The style of the piece made me think of Edwin Arlington Robinson, who of course, would have attached a name to the N. I think it's the rhythm and phrasings with a few abstractions mixed in that remind me of him. Sonnetwise, I think he wrote mostly Petrarchans true to form.

Canon

The tune she grew to know became her voice.
The tune that made her grow, she grew alone.
It was the only tune. She had no choice.
It wasn’t pretty, rooted in a moan.
Virginia killed herself, and Charlotte too,
then Sylvia and Anne. She heard them call
and harmonize, as if they also grew
her sound. She listened to their final fall,
their final thoughts revolving in regret
for ending pain they couldn't understand,
the oven, river, poison, gas, the net
to guide them to the shore, with death in hand.
She couldn't save her sisters, though she tried.
They suffered all their lives, and then they died.

Hi Mary,
This is sad, but very lovely.
With a few others' confusion at the start, I think it would be clearer that L2 is still talking about the tune, with something along these lines:

The tune I grew to know became my voice,
the one that made me grow, and grow alone.


After the N having already explained about growing her voice, I'd prefer to see the "grew" in L7 as "knew":

>>>>>>>>>>>>I hear them call
and harmonize, as if they also knew
my sound. I listen to their final fall,

Just suggestions, for what they're worth. Your work is always excellent to begin with!

Jayne

.
I, too, found myself reading over and over again the first four lines, trying to dissect their meaning, instinctively knowing that understanding them was essential to understanding the slant and heave of the whole.

Yes, as David highlights, there is a chorus of sadness that sings throughout. There is something of a eulogy emanating from it. I keep trying to disperse the renegade thought that this is about your sister, and that she did indeed join the dead of her own free will, but the rest of the poem tells me to resist that thought. It tells me that the poem is about Virginia, Sylvia, Anne, Charlotte and you. But who is Charlotte? Is this poem saying that the sisterhood of poets who took their own lives now have your sister to sing to and with?

Here are some thoughts that came to me as I read:

• The punctuation harnesses the poem. It ends as it begins: halting, full stops at the end of each line. Rick's analysis of the poem's abrupt shifts, i.e. the opening quatrain vs. the middle eight, vs. the closing couplet, is exactly the feeling I get from it. I like it, but Rick's point/suggestion may be a good one. I don't know.

• These lines hit like a hammer:

..........It was the only tune. I had no choice.
..........It wasn’t pretty, rooted in a moan.

• These lines reveal something universal:

..........as if they also grew
..........my sound.

• This is the sound/line that is loudest to me:
  ..........final thoughts revolving in regret[LIST]

• This arrested me: the net. I thought maybe it was referring to the internet and that Charlotte might be your sister... But then I noticed that there was no comma and continues into the next line with, "to guide them to the shore, with death in hand." ( I wonder if you need the comma after shore?) The net now becomes a traditional fishing net.

• The final couplet is an abrupt change from the preceding eight lines and compels me to think this is a eulogy for your sister. I could be dead wrong about that but it feels right to me.

As you say, this is not a pretty poem. More a moan. But it is a song.


.

The impression I get, Mary, is of my ear falling through the lines of the poem, a relentless tumble down through the rush of letters and words and their emotional correspondences & resonances—. Yet that descent into darkness, that final fall, is interrupted and ultimately alleviated by the strong rhymes and the fiercely end-stopped lines which act as handholds that I catch onto as I fall. They almost bruise me as I bump against them, but they slow my approach to the abyss, they save me from surrendering too fully to that silence at fall's end. That quality of being saved, however, is not all light, it has a dark side too, it has the melancholy property of allowing one to continue to hear the moan of the painful past—that background moan that tunes "my voice", that abyss which must be faced even by a life recovered. It's as if true survival always harmonizes with its opposite.

Nemo

Thank you all so much. I'll respond in more detail soon but wanted to clarify that the poem refers to Charlotte Mew. Here's one of my favorites:

Not for That City

Not for that city of the level sun,
.....Its golden streets and glittering gates ablaze—
.....The shadeless, sleepless city of white days,
White nights, or nights and days that are as one—
We weary, when all is said, all thought, all done.
.....We strain our eyes beyond this dusk to see
.....What, from the threshold of eternity
We shall step into. No, I think we shun
The splendour of that everlasting glare,
.....The clamour of that never-ending song.
.....And if for anything we greatly long,
It is for some remote and quiet stair
.....Which winds to silence and a space for sleep
.....Too sound for waking and for dreams too deep.

I remembered how much you love Charlotte Mew.

Hello Mary

The ending is blunt and powerful. Its plainspoken pain is unexpected and affecting.

Because the N says she “tried to save her sister”, then I think “sister” must refer to an actual sister or friend rather than the historic sister-poets.

There a couple of places where I get a bit lost. (My sense of direction in poetry is not very sure).

“I hear them call and harmonize, as if they also grew my sound.” The voices of the female poet-suicides are singing in harmony. But the narrator’s voice is described as a “moan”. So I don’t quite see how they grow your sound. (Perhaps their sound is like the sirens luring listeners to their deaths?)

The sentence beginning with “I listen to their final fall” has a series of commas linking ideas and things that I can’t quite join up. There is a list of suicide methods that ends with a net guiding them to shore. But “guide” and “shore”, for me at least , imply a place of safety, a refuge after the perils of the sea, rather than the place that death might take us.

But as I said at the start, the ending packs quite a punch.

Joe

Thanks for the introduction to Charlotte Mew, Mary. That's a beautiful poem, and, reading the bio at the link you provided, it seems that the she is the most central to your poem of the writers you mention by name. Maybe some kind of epigraph naming her--a line of her poetry with an attribution--would help. She is probably the least recognizable of the women you mention by their first name to most readers, even to a lot of poets. I think it would be a good idea because, assuming that I'm right about her relative obscurity, it would introduce and elevate her without changing that part of the poem. It would provide clarity.

I, too, am glad to be introduced to Charlotte Mew. I had not heard of her before. Reading some of her poems on the Poetry Foundation site, I am struck particularly by "From a Window." The one shared here is also beautiful. Rick's idea of an epigraph is worth considering, though it might give too much weight to one name over the others.

I think the Charlotte popping up in the the poem is good the way it is, it kind of straddles that muddled line between fame and anonymity that suicide straddles as well.

Nemo

I guess I look at it much more simply. I know who Anne, Sylvia and Virginia are and what (among other things) they have in common. Charlotte involuntarily triggers.... Bronte? Did she....? No, right? That might be my problem, but there is some indication that the name adds an obscurity to a poem that is quite delicate and could use clarity at that point.

Inversely, the other names may be too familiar.~,:^)

Maybe attempt it? There may be a great line. And I suppose I could speculate on how the epigraphed name showing up where it does would add a dimension to the poem that would improve it.

Rick

My issue is that "Virginia killed herself, and Charlotte too" might literally be read to mean that Virginia killed Charlotte. The thought comes through despite the grammar, I suppose, but to smooth that wrinkle and also tell people which Charlotte you mean, perhaps make it "Virginia killed herself, like Charlotte Mew"? This would also indirectly let us know that Charlotte died some years before Virginia.

Thanks again, everyone.

Glenn: I sense your kindness, though I think it’s wise to not make autobiographical assumptions about poems.

David: thanks.

Susan: I’m going with your revision. With the title, I had these two definitions in mind: "Music: a piece in which the same melody is begun in different parts successively, so that the imitations overlap." And also "the list of works considered to be permanently established as being of the highest quality.” But I can see that I was using the first definition as an excuse for confusion.

Rick: I cranked this one out over a few days, which likely made the shifts.

Hilary: Does the change in punctuation work for you?

Matt: The idea of a suicide’s “final thoughts” has been haunting me for a long time.

John: I hope this poem doesn’t suggest I see death in all of Sexton’s poetry, because I don’t.

Jim R.: Interesting thoughts.

Jayne: thanks for your suggestions!

Jim M.: You can read “sister” in any way you wish.

Nemo: gorgeous reading, a poem in itself.

Joe: Why can’t moans harmonize? I imagine a suicide would feel that death meant a place of safety.

Rick: I’m considering an epigraph, if I can find one.

Roger: bingo. I’m glad you pointed out that wrinkle, which I’ve smoothed.

Mary, the changed punctuation does clarify your intention in those lines, but now I am not sure about "I grew alone." Is the N really alone if she is in the company of these women who are harmonizing together? I suppose she is alone in some sense - we are all ultimately alone, aren't we? - but it still gives me pause.

Also, now that it reads "Virginia's suicide, and Charlotte's too," it would make more sense grammatically (I think) to say "then Sylvia's and Anne's."

Hi Mary,

I strongly preferred the original's more direct "killed herself". For me, the revision makes the act seem more abstract, and -- absent a verb -- more passive. It places the reader at more of a remove from the act, I think, and is less effective (and less striking) for it.

If you think the original wording is confusing, maybe there's a way around that the keeps the active, direct wording? "Virginia killed herself. Charlotte did too" maybe?

To be a bit clearer on my original point: there's something about "their final fall, their final thoughts", which either has to do with the repetition of "final" (and "their"), or the assonance of "fall" and "thoughts", or the combination of the two, that I find sonically flat / unappealing. If you wanted to address this -- and you might not, of course -- you wouldn't necessary have to change "final thoughts". Though I guess it's also the case that you could probably still convey the idea of "final thoughts" without that exact wording.

- Matt

I would revert on the Virginia killed herself line. It's quite obvious that you don't mean Virginia also killed Charlotte. It isn't grammatically incorrect and I agree with Matt that it's just stronger.

Hi again,

I'm surprised that you changed to a period in line two, changing the sense of things.

I agree that the original Virginia line was stronger, for the reasons Matt articulated. It also had the benefit, perhaps, of being a sentence rather than a fragment.

Hello Mary, I think that it is a strong sonnet. My main concern, coming late to the conversation, and hopefully not repeating what others have said earlier in the thread – is that the running musical metaphor gets dropped in the final few lines with net and shore and the final couplet about the sister. Thus, the move to the personal, which is meant to be emotional and a resolution to what went before, works on the human level, but less on the figurative level. I don’t have a specific phraseology to suggest, but thought I would flag that as something to consider in your future revisions. All best, Tony.

Hi Mary,

the last two lines feel perfectly weighted.
Where I do pause, albeit briefly, is on moan, and its secondary interpretation of a complaint.

RG.

I can't contribute anything but praise, and I particularly like the the ambiguity of the last two lines.