Greetings! Happy April Fool’s day. Far be it from me, though, to play a prank on you, dear reader. So, I begin today holding true to the self-challenge of writing 30 sonnets in 30 days in celebration of National Poetry Writing Month. For this first one, I have decided to be faithful to the Shakespearean sonnet structure, i.e. it scans and rhymes, has 10 syllable lines with 5 accents (pretty much), three quatrains and a couplet*, and the couplet reveals a theme or purpose or conclusion. Shakespeare’s sonnets were, I think it’s fair to say, primarily but not exclusively, love poems, or love triangle poems. In terms of subject matter for my own sonnet project, I think that’s probably the first part of the mold I will break. I have no idea where the subject matter will take me, but let’s start with a kind of meta-sonnet, a sonnet about sonnets.
*But oh my goodness, I realize now, too late, that I have broken another part of the mold first thing out of the gate! This poem is 15 lines long! I am editing this post now after having published it about an hour ago. Should I leave it?
One
The poet Larry Levis said or wrote
That sonnets are a bitch. There’s a t-shirt
That proves it’s true, although, it’s fair to note
Another poet, romantic Wordsworth,
He had a counter, opposite viewpoint,
And saw the sonnet as a cozy room,
A solace and a respite from too much
Liberty, the same way the weaver’s loom
Is no prison, the hermit’s cell no such
Dungeon. He saw the form, and he used it,
As Shakespeare did, as Milton did, and Donne,
A tool to work through the difficult shit,
A winnowing, searching way to become.
So, I have made with it an April deal:
I have but thirty days to make it real.
O my god, it’s so easy to fix. I can’t let this stand, but I think it’s kind of funny and maybe a bit instructive to let the first one sit and post a revision as well, so here goes!
One
The poet Larry Levis said or wrote
That sonnets are a bitch. There’s a t-shirt
That proves it’s true, although, it’s fair to note
Another poet, romantic Wordsworth,
He saw the sonnet as a cozy room,
A solace and a respite from too much
Liberty, the same way the weaver’s loom
Is no prison, the hermit’s cell no such
Dungeon. He saw the form, and he used it,
As Shakespeare did, as Milton did, and Donne,
A tool to work through the difficult shit,
A winnowing, searching way to become.
So, I have made with it an April deal:
I have but thirty days to make it real.
michael jarmer 