George Herbert to Thee Who Art Far More Above Deceit Then Deceit Seems Above Simplicitie
From fourth dimension to fourth dimension I write verse, though I wouldn't want to encourage you to call back I'k whatever sort of reliable guide. This web log post is nigh writing a blazon of verse called a wreath. Accept from it what you can and condone the residue.
How many senses?
A couple of weeks ago, my friend Kimberly Hirsch at Pens Around the Earth, shared a writing prompt virtually the 5 senses. I looked at it and thought, with hubris, I can write a poem about that. Except, being a fleck of a contrarian, I decided I had to know exactly how many senses medical scientific discipline currently believes we have.
There isn't a definitive answer, just the consensus of all the webpages I looked at seems to exist eight. Beyond the basic 5, at that place is also our sense of remainder (vestibular sense), the sense nosotros have of our trunk in space (proprioception), and our sense of what is going on inside ourselves physically and mentally (interoception).
Okay, eight senses. So the next question was, could I make a poem out of that? Eight senses suggests an octave (an eight line verse). That could be a free-continuing viii-line verse form, or I could combine the octave with a sextet (6 line verse) and write a sonnet. But I didn't feel similar writing a sonnet.
Structure
Since I was clearly on Formal Verse Structure Road (as opposed to Free Verse Lane), the next question was, how many beats to the line? Sticking with the number eight, an iambic tetrameter (an 8 syllable line, four stressed) felt like something I should aim for.
Then came the question, should information technology be rhymed or not? And if rhymed, rhymed how? That was when another Internet search turned up the wreath.
An octave wreath poem has a basic rhyme scheme of abab cdcd. (Or variants of.) Simply with the added flourish of an internal rhyme inserted in the first part of each line subsequent to the beginning. Something similar this, (where '–' is an unstressed syllable and '/' a stressed syllable and I've replaced '/' as appropriate with the rhyming pattern).
- / - / - / - a - a - / - / - b - / - b - / - a - / - a - / - b - b - / - / - c - c - / - / - d - d - / - / - c - / - c - / - d
A Wreath
Perhaps it'll make more than sense if I share the acknowledged commencement wreath poem of English. This is "A Wreath" by George Herbert (1593-1633). Bear in mind this is in iambic pentameter (ten syllables, v stressed) and a twelve line verse form, just read it aloud and y'all can clearly hear the woven rhyme.
A wreathèd garland of deservèd praise, Of praise deservèd, unto Thee I requite, I requite to Thee, who knowest all my means, My crooked winding ways, wherein I live,— Wherein I die, not alive ; for life is straight, Straight every bit a line, and e'er tends to Thee, To Thee, who art more far above deceit, Than deceit seems higher up simplicity. Give me simplicity, that I may live, So live and like, that I may know Thy ways, Know them and practise them: and so shall I give For this poor wreath, give Thee a crown of praise.
So, that was the rhyme scheme I was going to attempt.
Wreath on a trip
Back to the prompt. Kimberly presented the five common senses in the social club: hearing, sense of taste, smell, bear upon, sight. I tried working with that sequence, but getting the rhymes and rhythms to work in that order was beyond me. And so I swapped them effectually till I found something that functioned and so started looking for the rhymes. Rather than but repeat whole words (as Herbert does) I opted to go for rhyming stressed vowel sounds (and accepting some well-nigh rhymes).
Rhyming wasn't easy. In fact, the more I struggled the more desperate I felt they were condign. Fortunately help came in the form of the pictures Kimberly had shared in her prompts. A man bites into a lemon. Flat fish swim in a touching tank at an aquarium.
One of the image cues in detail took my fancy. It was the one included to represent sight, and information technology was surreal and weird and called Trippy. So I decided to put that at the middle of the poem and promise the generous reader would sympathize the desperate rhymes and sense of the latter lines were all downwards to magic mushrooms.
Eight Senses
I count my senses, make them 8, My gustation, my hearing, touch, smell, sight. I bite the lemon, stroke the skate, and celebrate this spaced-out lite. My nose ignites, my ear's astute, the fruit of space – oh whither? Whence? My sense of balance in dispute, my self reboots, I'thousand all pretence.
Ta-da!
Have yous always tried to write a wreath? Go out me a link in the comments and I'll take a look!
Notes
The illustration, Trippy, is by allyartist. Picture used, with thanks, under the Pixabay license.
If the above seems too flippant as an explanation of the wreath octet, have a wait instead at this folio on the website of the Poets Collective: https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/tag/8-lines/
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Source: https://thesupercargo.com/writing-a-wreath-adventures-in-poetry/
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