Last Friday, a group of seven of us, led by Liz Garton Scanlon of Liz in Ink, posted original villanelles. Mine was a nature-based poem called "Fierce."
I had wanted to do something other than a nature poem, because those feel like home, and I wanted to push myself out of the comforts of home. So I tried a war poem, written from a WWII veteran's point of view. I haven't glanced at it since I wrote it Thanksgiving week, so we'll see how it looks.
Wounded
Thanksgiving for my truth of yesterday—
for battling a stark, concrete regime…
But friends and hope both died along the way.
In war, my days were clear so far away.
My squad, my unit, one unbroken team:
thanksgiving for my truth of yesterday.
A bed, three meals, and comrades in the fray—
when going home was nothing but a dream—
I'm beginning to think that if Liz Garton Scanlon called for the moon to stay full an extra night or two, she would get it. Last year, she cajoled seven of us into writing a crown sonnet---even though the majority of us had never written a sonnet, crowned or uncrowned, before. This year, she eased up and requested but a villanelle apiece. Oh, with one rule: we had to use the words "friends" and "thanksgiving" in our repeating lines.
Again, I tumbled into the task; my first lines were atrociously weak. Again, I felt the rules of the form, the interlinking lines of the villanelle hold me up. And now? Now, I'm wishing for a lute to clutch so I could play minstrel and attempt to recite for my supper. I might be beaned with a stale roll for my trouble, but no matter. I'm a convert to villanelles, and no amount of heckling can dissuade me.
Here's my contribution to the seven villanelles posted today. You can find the links to each of them at Liz's place; it's astounding how varied and beautiful they all are.
Note: I tweaked Liz's rules and used "give thanks" rather than "thanksgiving." I did not, however, mess with "friends." That would've been foolish.
Friends, Marrow Each to Each
Friends, marrow each to each; else famine steals the feast;
Deck Brie in berries; fat the soup with heart-shaped clams;
Tho' light is gone, give thanks; in darkness, praise increase.
Gild lintels; silk-gird chairs; burn candles by the fist;
Salad greens dress in yolks and salted curls of ham;
Friends, marrow each to each; else famine steals the feast.
Honey-spike the squash; with silver eat, bright and greased;
Flood mouths with wine; potatoeswithbutter enjamb;
Tho' light is gone, give thanks; in darkness, praise increase.
Lift turkey, speckled trout and haunch of wilder beast;
From hand to hand, pass blessings with the loin of lamb;
Friends, marrow each to each; else famine steals the feast.
Cling to those beside you, crying, as for a priest;
Drench cake in cream; slather black bread with bursts of jam;
Tho' light is gone, give thanks; in darkness, praise increase.
If sing, full-throated keen; if dance, 'til dawn at least;
Hearts consumed by sorrow are hollowed gram by gram;
Friends, to all be marrow; else famine steals the feast;
Tho' light is gone, give thanks; in darkness, praise increase.
---Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)
*Marrow:
1. A soft oleaginous substance contained in the cavities of animal bones.
2. The essence; the best part.
3. In the Scottish dialect, a companion; fellow; associate; match.
4. v.t. To fill with marrow or with fat; to glut.
Poetry Friday is hosted today by Elaine at Wild Rose Reader.
I've written a new poem. Here it is:
Though others may be fair
Fabulous, free and fine
I love being a bear
My life is without care
No finer life than mine
Though others may be fair
I no longer grump and glare
Instead I sing and shine
I love being a bear
From my stuffing to my hair
I feel simply divine
Though others may be fair
Yes you may stop and stare
Wondering why I do not whine
I love being a bear.
If you're wondering about the form, this poem is a villanelle. The structure of the form is based around the first and third lines of the opening stanza, which form the essence of the poem and are each repeated as the concluding lines of the other four stanzas.
If you want to read some of the other poems I've written, I have previously tried:
A triolet
An acrostic
A diamante
An abbreviated haiku
An a haiku
Writing poetry is fun, and good for the spirit. You should try it some time.
This was for the February '07 Highlights For Children "What's Wrong?" back cover.
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Honey. Nobody will be beaning you with stale bread, I can assure you of that. Mercy, I'm loving this poem all over again! It's a full-throated keen and we are lucky, lucky, lucky you sat down to write for us...
Thank you...
Don't mess with friends - wise choice, indeed!
I have to confess that yours is my hands-down favorite among our villanelles. "Fat the soup with heart-shaped clams" and "potatoeswithbutter enjamb" slay me.
And that closing stanza has me swooning all over again. Such lovely work!
I shall not hurl rolls at you. That is beautiful. Can't wait to go read the rest.
What a treat when you ladies do this!
Girl you are making me HUNGRY. Thank the Lord for friends like you that never stop messing with me. This is truly lovely and wonderful. That last stanza brings down the house.
"Salted curls of ham" and "Honey-spike the squash" were my favorites. This was SO good, thanks for sharing. And I agree with Andromeda, your poem is making me hungry!
I think I would be crying for a priest -- for last rites -- if I ate all of this. Although the gilding of lintels, silk-girding of chairs and burning of fists of candles say I would go out happily and beautifully.
And full of honey-spiked squash.
*happy sigh*
Sara, this poem is such a feast itself, of glorious images/sensations. I feel like it should be woven into a tapestry and hung in a castle's great hall! Much heartier art than an image of a fox hunt or something.
It's full to bursting with details I love, but here are a few favorites:
Gild lintels; silk-gird chairs; burn candles by the fist;
Salad greens dress in yolks
Honey-spike the squash; with silver eat, bright and greased;
Flood mouths with wine; potatoeswithbutter enjamb;
Drench cake in cream; slather black bread with bursts of jam;
Hearts consumed by sorrow are hollowed gram by gram;
Friends, to all be marrow; else famine steals the feast;
This is scrumptious (and feels so polished, too)! Congratulations, Sara.
Where to begin in praise of this delicious work? Overflowing with my favorite kind of imagery, words savory, sweet, ripe on the tongue.
Love the details, the musicality and flow.
"fat the soup with heart-shaped clams" Are you trying to KILL ME?
"Potatoeswithbutter enjamb" ♥ ♥ ♥
Sigh. Definitely feel like a minstrel should recite this at a Medieval or Elizabethan feast.
I bow to you yet again.
Oh I feel like I have just sat down and eaten a huge and luscious feast of Thanksgiving goodness with the bestest of friends.
Thank you for this beautiful poem. I am awed by your words.
Thank you, all, for fatting my poetry soup with your heart-shaped comments. I savor them all. :)
Thank you for teaching me new meanings for a familiar word (marrow) and for another poem that will help hearts to heal as they turn away from sorrow and towards praise and thanks and friends. Bless you.