[Carol Taylor]

Advent Windows

Holy Holle, Mother Winter,
Shakes her eider till it flutters,
Till the ticking frees its feathers,
Drifting, shifting into snowflakes,
Soft as swansdown, slowly falling,
Blanketing the world in whiteness.

Robed in furs of spotless whiteness,
Rapt, the Snow Queen watches winter.
Glacial ice, her mirror, falling,
Shatters into shards: each flutters
Through the air; her splintered snowflakes
Fly, all fletched with freezing feathers.

Fairies paint the panes with feathers,
Frost the frames with hoary whiteness,
Limn the pines and posts with snowflakes,
Weave the world the gown of Winter,
Fragile lace that never flutters,
Fixed and frozen in its falling.

Ghosts of past and present falling
In with future float like feathers
Round the miser; each one flutters
Trailing winding-sheets whose whiteness
Rivals that of Old Man Winter,
Swirling, thick as churchyard snowflakes.

Standing stark amidst the snowflakes,
Faint, the Little Matchgirl, falling,
Strikes a match to ward off winter,
Sees it blaze like phoenix feathers,
Green and gold and Hope’s bright whiteness--
Like a dying moth, it flutters.

Mary rides; her heart still flutters,
Though she does not know of snowflakes
Save a star whose wondrous whiteness
Blazes forth to stop man’s falling,
Heralds Hope like angel feathers
Left within her lap last winter.

Hope still flutters, icons falling,
Six-vaned snowflakes, Heaven’s feathers,
Stars of whiteness lighting winter.

[Richard Wilbur]

“Advent Windows” is an artful sestina in which each stanza focuses on yet another figure typical of winter. There is some inherent tedium in any sestina, and I think the “Hiawatha” tetrameter, though faithfully maintained, is at times so rigid as to be inexpressive. Because the key words are all descriptive of snowfall, it is hard for them to have fresh senses as the recur, but the poem does pretty well nonetheless.. I very much like the way “feathers” is refreshed in the frosty window of stanza 3, and again in the blazing phoenix of stanza 5, and I admire what happens to “falling” in stanza six.

~Richard Wilbur

[Michael Cantor]

Kevin -

I admired this when it was originally posted for the wondrous things it did with language and the word sounds; and its ability to work through all those sestina stanzas with very little variance in the use and meaning of the key words - and yet still not look labored. Most sestinas start breathing heavily about S3, as the writer struggles to find still one more way to use the goddammed word without being repetitive (personally, I always cheat by starting with words which have 47 meanings and a string of homonyms, but you didn't stoop that low), and you avoided this by telling six separate tales, so that every stanza seemed fresh. (I've always been a Little Match Girl fan, so it was good to see she's still remembered.)

I share Mr. Wilbur's reservations with the thumping tetrameter, and I guess what really bothers me is that the meter - which tends to dominate the poem - really does not relate to either the skirling, swirling feel of blowing snow; or the quiet fall of heavy snow in still air. Your intelligent ear normally does a very good job of matching rhythm and meter to poem, but in this case - even with the good sibilance and alliteration ("fly, all fletched with freezing feathers" is right up there with "nattering nabobs of negativism") - my nit with the poem is that rhythm and meter do not follow content. I would have preferred a looser, longer line.

Michael Cantor

[Rose Kelleher]

That makes sense, Michael, but for me the combo of trochees and feminine rhymes has magical associations ("double double, toil and trouble"). I still say "Fly, all fletched with freezing feathers" is too hard to pronounce, but mostly I just love the way Kevin uses alliteration so fearlessly. Damn the torpedoes, let the future float like feathers! And if snow ever made the sound of a letter as it hit the window, it would be f or s. Fine Stuff.

[Chris Childers]

I think the most metrically rigid stanza has got to be the third one, which has no enjambment or in-line punctuation to break up the monotony of the tetrameter.

Rose, I think it's ghosts, not the future, that are floating like feathers there. I also find the alliteration a little heavy for my taste, but de gustibus.

Chris

[Rose Kelleher]

Thanks for the correction, Chris, but I think you're taking my comment a bit too literally.

[Tim Murphy]

I agree with Michael that it is not the meter I would have chosen, and in fact when I do use the acephalic tetrameter, I substitute freely. That said Kevin "faithfully follows it" and there is much redemption to be had by the fact each stanza describes an entirely different world, from the little match girl to the Nativity. As a Beowulf translator, I adore the alliteration. It's at least twice as hard to write a sestina in seven syllable as in ten syllable lines. Remarkable poem, and that's why I asked for it.

[Kevin Andrew Murphy]

I have to admit this is the first sestina I've ever written. I'd read a reminder of the basic rules on the boards, then went out skiing for the day, listening to the sound of the snow as it scraped across the skin of my parka or blew against the metal poles or the walls of the liftshack.

I agree with Michael that the meter is not that of snowfall down at a house or in the valley. But high on a mountainpeak, when the wind drives the snow in visible layers like sheets of rain, it is the rhythm I heard, and it's also the rhythm you use to shake out a featherbed, or for that matter, ski down a slope, weighting and unweighting as your skis scrape the ice of the hardpack: Holy Holle, Mother Winter...

Once I'd composed the first stanza, and fragments of others in my head (the phoenix feathers and the frosted window Dick liked so well were both conceived on the slope), I went back home, and after getting my sister's kids to bed, sat down at her computer and composed the first draft, Frau Holle shaking her feathers (and the rhythm) down onto the other stanzas. I posted it and went to bed.

The next morning, I heard the reactions, and among them -- here seems a good a time as any to announce this -- was a note from Jody asking if he could have it for First Things. He's now tentatively scheduled it for this next November's issue. As an extra prize, Tim asked to slate it for his next guest lariat, not telling me that would be Richard Wilbur. The honor is mine, and I'm very grateful to Dick for his comments so I can incorporate suggestions into a final draft before publication.

With what Dick said about the rigidity of the "Hiawatha" tetrameter (which I believe Longfellow originally got from the Kalevala, and thus I think suited for a midwinter piece), and the need for fresh senses -- along with Chris's astute observations on the lack of variation in structure with the lines of S3 -- I've made a revision to the end of that stanza, especially since the words had never quite satisfied me, even though no one had any specific complaints about them before (not that "unobjectionable" is any recommendation for poetry). Anyway, here's the new stanza:

Fairies paint the panes with feathers,
Frost the frames with hoary whiteness,
Limn the pines and posts with snowflakes,
Weave the world the gown of Winter,
Fragile lace, its frills and flutters
Fixed, all frozen water falling.

As Tim notes (as do Rose and Chris), I like alliteration, and the extra pinch here lets me describe the gown of Winter in a bit more detail and dressmaking terms, plus I get to use "flutters" as a noun to break from the constant verb use of the word, and I get to describe the snowfall on trees as a cascade of lace and a frozen waterfall (or at least is the echo I hope folk pick up from "water falling"). Plus, after four unbroken lines, I think the pause after "lace" and especially the abrupt pause after "fixed" (which goes with its sense, I think), help to make the ice a little less rigid.

With "feathers" and "falling," when I thought up the original six words, I thought of these two as my "hinges," the ones that would allow me the greatest latitude to kaleidescope the stanzas into new, but still recognizable, snowflake forms. Though the Nativity, and the use of "falling" there, was a bit of serendipity just before I went to bed.

Thank you all again, especially to Tim, for holding it in such high esteem to bring it to Dick's attention, and to Dick Wilbur, for sharing his wisdom so I can make the piece better.

(Honestly, my first sestina.)

[Mark Allinson]

Kevin,

I love the new stanza.

I must say I am a great admirer of your metrical skills. I love the way you make the lines snap like stock-whips - so clean and sharp. I never see anything blurred or out-of-focus with your stuff, nothing woolly or vague - very impressive.

I am a great fan of alliteration, too. The ffff sounds here suit the images of drifting powdery snow and delicate frost patterns.

And the work you do on behalf of the endangered words of our great language is admirable - we must not lose control of our limns.

And other such rarities.

Richard does, however, put his finger on something I have also commented upon - the very fine ear you have for meter can work against you if you don't vary it a bit. The shorter the piece, the less this matters. But with longer pieces, like a sestina, it becomes noticeable. This is simply a matter of continual practice and wide reading - which you do.

But when you have mastered this one remaining problem (the over rigid meter not being "expressive"), then anything will be possible for you, and I look forward to seeing some truly great stuff in the very near future.

Congratulations on this one - and for the pub.

Yes, I can believe you that this was your first effort - because exactly the same thing happened to me when I had my first shot at dac-hex. It worked straight off - the trick is to keep them coming, in the same or better quality.

Best wishes, Kevin.



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Mark Allinson

[Henry Quince]

Kevin, I remember coming in early — perhaps even first — when this was originally posted, to say what a nice Sestina it was, and with what striking sonics. I still think that. And the revised stanza improves on the old version.

Henry