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The Villanelle: A Particular Challenge for the Poet

 

Dylan’s fiercely morose "Go not Gentle Into That Deep Night” is probably the best known Villanelle:

 "Villanelle" is derived from the Italian word that means “peasant" or further back in antiquity, Latin for “a country estate.”  Villanelles came to English from Italy by way of 1500’s France.

This writer can’t read a villanelle without a flash of lusty peasants dancing around some grandly pagan phallic symbol -- a ribbon bedecked may pole or such -- all as a prelude to a magnificently carnal Bacchanal in adjacent woodlands and hay rows. Heaven forfend, of course! Yet fascinating or not, with their intricate interlocked rhyme schemes, villanelles have been a source of nervous prostration, colicky bowels and  domestic discord for generations of poets. It seems appropriate that “Villain” shares the same Latin root word as villanelle.

Care to try it?

 

Doc Feelgood’s Patented Painless

Villanelle Construction Kit

free to Chickasaw Plum Readers who have

the time and inclination.

 

1. Pick a topic.

2. Write lots of lines or phrases about that topic, even really hokey, shitty ones are ok, this being simply a point of departure. Recall that Villanelles are stanzaic but metrically free.

3. Pick a telling line for the refrain. This may or may not be one’s title also. I like color coding, as in ROYGBIV, at least at first to help me keep track of things. 

4. Type in the line numbers and rhyme scheme. 19 Lines, i.e. 5 tercets and a quatrain are what it takes. There are only two rhymes:

 

A1bA2, abA1, abA2, abA1, abA2, abA1A2.

 

A1 & A2 are two different refrains that rhyme. They occur in the same place in all villanelles. See Dylan’s “Go Not Gentle…” for a classic example. One may benefit from printing it out for a model. All the lower case “a” lines are different but rhyme with refrains A1 & A2. All the lower case “b” lines are different but rhyme.

I think of this as sort of like building a kit airplane; once you get the fool thing together, there’s still the question of will it fly?  For me it works best to put a poem aside for a few months then revise, often more than once. Academic calendars are such though, that sometimes work must go up still raw, bloody and dripping.    

 

 

Canticle for a Lion Lost

                        --Mountain Lion spotted in Beverly Hills

                                                TV News Item, Jan. 24, 2006

 

A1 What deer are their for you in Beverly Hills?

b   Footpad assassin of the forest night

A2 Diamonds and furs give feline hearts no thrill

 

a  For you the mountain redoubt’s dark is right

b  Flee, shadow creature from these burning lights

A1 What deer are their for you in Beverly Hills?

 

a  How succulent the pigeon on the window sill

b  What fell to bloodied claws and fearsome bite?

A2 Diamonds and furs give feline hearts no thrill

 

a  Your level gaze gives human hearts a chill

b   Deep pooled agate eyes of deepest dye

A1 What deer are their for you in Beverly Hills?

 

a   You must not tarry here until

b   You’re entered in the cold-eyed marksman’s sight,

A2  Diamonds and furs give feline hearts no thrill.

 

a.  Glitz and glamour cannot your wandering soul fulfill

b    While you may, make good your flight   

A1  What deer are their for you in Beverly Hills?

A2   Diamonds and furs give feline hearts no thrill

 

 

***After a quick spit bath***

 

Canticle for a Lost Lion

                        Mountain Lion spotted in Beverly Hills

                                                TV News Item, Jan. 24, 2006

 

What deer are their for you in Beverly Hills

Footpad assassin of the forest night?

Diamonds and furs give feline hearts no thrill.

 

For you the mountain redoubt’s dark is right:

Flee, shadow creature from these burning lights

What deer are their for you in Beverly Hills?

 

How succulent the pigeon on the window sill;

What fell to bloodied claws and fearsome bite?

Diamonds and furs give feline hearts no thrill,

 

Your level gaze gives human hearts a chill,

Deep pooled agate eyes of deepest dye.

What deer are their for you in Beverly Hills?

 

You must not tarry here until

You’re entered in the cold-eyed marksman’s sight.

Diamonds and furs give feline hearts no thrill.

 

Glitz and glamour cannot your wandering soul fulfill

While you may, make good your flight.   

What deer are there for you in Beverly Hills?

Diamonds and furs give feline hearts no thrill.

 

 

 

****************************************

 

 

Yin, the Receptive Earth

Gawaine Caldwater Ross

 

Over frosted grass, the free mares gallop south,

The lake they approach is deep and still.

The waters reflect perspicuous skies.

Ingenuous, she drifts on the water,

Alert and aware of joy on the throne.

She sees the horses running, and straightens herself,

She answers the awakening of adoration.

Bluebirds flutter from lilies to asters.

She trails her fingers in the transparent water,

And hears the frogs croaking along the shore.

With her friend at the oars, she studies the wind,

The pine trees grow at the touch of her smile.

The Son of Heaven will come in the gloaming,

Yellow silk garments glinting with garnet.

Her lips are the auspicious color red,

She speaks in floral sentences

Composing poems for her beloved.

 

A tortoise perambulates the shore of the lake

Marking his territory, and looking for food.

Vixens shy at the sound of the horses,

She stops the boat, and listens well.

 

 

 

 

 

Yang (The Creative Heaven)

Gawaine Caldwater Ross

 

The clouds pass, and the rain does its work,

The peony blossoms unfold in the light.

Riding the dragon of time, he perseveres

And cultivates the holy ground.

Green maple seedpods spin to the earth,

The Earth spins around her pole,

The stars spin round the galaxy.

Bittersweet twists about the hornbeam,

Snow falls in the higher elevations.

All is creative, nothing is spent,

Kingfishers sport beneath the plums.

Squirrels chew on walnut shells,

Chase each other, and owls note

The passing of their tiny feet.

From far away he hears the flute

And bells proclaim

The coming of the Yin,

He scrubs his skin and combs his hair,

And practices his dance steps.

All will be well when She arrives,

The presents are ready, incense smokes,

And the ancestors are very pleased.

He takes a squash and makes a lute,

He tunes the strings, and plays for her

A song of invitation.

She responds with a soaring heart,

And Love makes way for harmony.

 

 

 

The Chickasaw Plum  -  Volume III - Number 3 - March 2006

 

 

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