mary
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Post by mary on Nov 23, 2008 3:20:10 GMT 2
I'm wondering if we can use this board for a quick-and-dirty sonnet challenge: first round, we would need one or two people willing to post a sonnet of their own; second round, use a line from one of the posted sonnets to write and post another sonnet of your own. Or on the same theme. Or whatever......
I would suggest ground rules specify that this is a workshop (that work put up on this thread is not considered published) - we're just doing it for fun. I know there aren't many days left to the end of the Fest, but Louisa's email about 2009 made me think how to use our time/space best.
I'm happy to put up a work in progress... Are there any other takers?
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mm
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Post by mm on Nov 23, 2008 3:33:30 GMT 2
Here's a sonnet I wrote, published in The Gay & Lesbian Review. Anything to do with sonnets, I'm here. Gaze And oh the amazonian old girl, her polo collar straight up, and her eyes averted from the inner-outer whirl of actions indisputably unwise. Administration, I believe? So clean, her clothes, so crisp. An early seventies collegiate scene, we cross the campus green, and as we pass, I see her skin say please.I’m sorry there’s no language round her lips. Her walking on suggests that she’d prefer to stay alone. Now fearful winter tips my fancy back in time, I fancy her, the model of restraint, the employee, who’d never touch young lesbians like me.
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mary
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Post by mary on Nov 23, 2008 4:57:27 GMT 2
and another well-dressed woman:
THE NEW OFFICE MANAGER ADDRESSES HER MIRROR
Shall I wear the Gucci scarf today? It’s far more lovely and more corporate than what sleek young managers affect in all the offices up and down the way.
It gives an air of strength, they always say, classic looks for classic power dressed, Look and feel and act as though you’re best and the rest will follow, as the night the day.
No dangly earrings! What women call postmenopausal zest, in other places gives a bad impression overall. I will notice all their airs and graces, a quiet woman, not looking to outwit them… I shall run the show before they know what hit them.
Originally published in Millionaire's Shortbread, Univ of Otago Press, 2003.
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mm
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Post by mm on Nov 23, 2008 6:32:17 GMT 2
Let's see, I know this poem, and putting that together with NZ, I think I figured out who "mary" is ;D
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Post by louisa on Nov 24, 2008 3:50:43 GMT 2
From Patricia: Dear Womposonnetresses! Wow how like you that denomination? I'm just getting advice from Louisa how to post to you about sonnets. I love "Mary's?" Idea but don't see the replies. I have 3 offerings and do hope this is not too much. I'm always, btw , in awe of others' success with sonnets and I find MM's ? to be active, agile gems of the sonnet form. Here is my Sonnet Sampler for a SUnday evening, one in which my daughter 18, is having a very angry teary night as she ploughs through a tough Freshman 1st semester where the girls do not seem friendly and she's so sad.So I'm sad too and would like to look at poetry instead of dinner dishes. First check out (posted elsewhere on the FEST site??? )a sonnet sequence I wrote with 7 other Womponies -- all leaders of form -- including the new Wisconsin poet laureate Marilyn Taylor and Annie Finch's co editor for An Exultation of Form, Kathrine Varnes . Our Triple Crown is called WHAT LIPS and I'm sure you will get great kicks and giggle s and sighs if you can find it on the FEST SITE. I will try to post again to give you the link HERE. But you can also find us by going to ZINKZINE which published WHAT LIPS in 2006. www.zinkville.com/zinkzine/Archives.htm - or just GOOGLE ZINKZINE and go to Spring 2006
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Post by louisa on Nov 24, 2008 3:56:28 GMT 2
Patricia's second post:
2. Here is a sonnet//one of many that is included in my upcoming chapbook AMERICAN DESIRE. Please visit American Desire's lovely page designed by our own FESTMAMA Shayla ...
I am posting this poem because its subject is one of our/Ellen Moody's Foremother Poets: Dorothy Wordsworth. I have not stuck to strict iambic pentameter or direct rhyme:
Next post I will include a poem by Sir Thomas Wyatt who really knew his sonnet stuff, as he was the first to bring the sonnet from Petrarch into the English language back home in London under Henry the VIII, he of too many wives
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Post by louisa on Nov 24, 2008 4:03:17 GMT 2
Patricia's third post:
a poem by Sir Thomas Wyatt who really knew his sonnet stuff, as he was the first to bring the sonnet from Petrarch into the English language back home in London under Henry the VIII, he of too many wives.
WILLIAM'S SHY ROMANTIC
She breathed her own ethers into his words. Recorded pine, cloud-cave, brother’s footfall; felt fog stir, heard lightning release, denied her own bruised feet, wrenched spine, rent heart with the starched nightdress, under the pillow. Brewed late-day, spiked possets, cooled his hot head. Too soon, he brought Mary and seven babes. She nursed them too with mother-herbs, chamomile, the poppies and packed journal tossed out in her green world to curl yellow. She anticipated, enflamed his muse. Well, what was she to do? She did for two. If he were mouthpiece, even brain, she was lute, reflex let-down, milk-blue rain.
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Post by tielansari on Nov 25, 2008 18:59:19 GMT 2
I don't know if my browser's just being wonky, but I don't see links for Patricia's posts, except the zinkzine one Anyway here is one of mine. I'll think a bit about the others on offer and see if I can come up with something... Pleistocene Relic The color of my mind is silence. Wind through hollow trees and over river beds of sand and gravel. Seedless thistle heads adorn the broken teeth that lately grinned from bleaching skulls on tundra prairies. Dusk turns air to lavender and earth to grey. A gap in western clouds; a single ray, a glimpse of red that glitters on my tusk. The thunder of my hooves is silent. Sky fills every crevice in my cranium. I wait, immobile, for the rain to come and pool like blueness in my empty eye, my staring socket, hollow ivory bone a frame for wooden shaft and fluted stone.
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Post by louisa on Nov 25, 2008 20:43:37 GMT 2
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