Examples of three specific poetic forms, with poems by Philip Allen (2021 Open Issue), Sarah Yerkes (Days of Blue and Flame) and Clarinda Harriss (2018 Open Issue).
6 minutes
TRANSCRIPT
On this episode, examples of three specific poetic forms.
Let’s start small, with haiku. Haiku is a Japanese form consisting of three lines, five, seven, and five syllables, respectively. Here are some Pandemic Haiku by Philip Allen from Passager Issue 70.
Come to my parlor,
Dear Zoomlings, but don’t observe
How unkempt my web
Her car and his car,
Both quiet now, breathing deep
Without running roads
Postpone shopping quests
Groceries grow on backyard plots
Harvests for today
Family harmony
Played in covid key ends with
Malicious discord
Riskier the work
Essentialer the worker:
Old ways of bondage
Five haiku inspired by the Pandemic by Philip Allen from Passager Issue 70. He said they imposed themselves on him while he was gardening in his Annapolis, Maryland backyard.
The terzanelle is a 19-line poem consisting of five three-line stanzas and a concluding four-line stanza. The middle line of each triplet stanza is repeated as the third line of the following stanza, and the first and third lines of the initial stanza are the second and final lines of the concluding quatrain. Here’s Sarah Yerkes’ “Terzanelle for Bill.”
Now more than ever, I want a small pill;
I witness many friends who’ve lost their mind.
Does one like living? Does one have the will?
I wonder what of interest they find
to fill their vacant, dreamy night-and-day.
I witness many friends who’ve lost their mind.
So does affection, tender touch, convey
a comfort to them, showing love’s at hand
to fill their vacant, dreamy night-and-day?
Is life glad or sad in that unknown land?
Do poems, pictures, music still appeal:
a comfort to them, showing love’s at hand.
What is it like? Does the real seem surreal?
We on the outside cannot ever tell.
Do poems, pictures, music still appeal?
Like death, is it heaven, is it hell?
We on the outside cannot ever tell.
Now, more than ever, I want a small pill –
Does one like living? Does one have the will?
“Terzanelle For Bill” by Sarah Yerkes from her book Days of Blue and Flame.
According to poet Billy Collins, a golden shovel poem “takes a word from each line of an existing poem and uses them as the last word of each line in a new poem.” Clarinda Harriss wrote her golden shovel poem about an old boyfriend whom she reconnected with at their 55th high school reunion and subsequently lived with for six years until his Alzheimer’s disease forced them to live apart. She bases her poem “The Bad Night” on this line from Emily Dickinson: “After great pain, a formal feeling comes.” If you listen carefully, you’ll hear those words in order at the end of each line and then in reverse order.
The bad night came after
a bad day, a day involving a great
bustling of plumbers and Tom’s pain
at my disappearing for a
whole hour to visit Home Depot. I made a formal
apology in the form of a fine dinner, but a feeling
lurked: it’s coming, it’s coming. It comes.
Blood comes.
Lip, chin, eyebone. An out of body feeling.
Then my call, short and formal —
to family, not the police this time. A
strange absence of pain.
Tom’s good heart was great
with shame. No. No happy ever after.
“The Bad Night” by Clarinda Harriss from a series of poems she wrote, “Golden Shovels for Tom,” that Passager published in Issue 64.
To buy Sarah Yerkes’ book Days of Blue and Flame or either of the issues tonight’s other poems came from, or to subscribe to Passager or to learn more about Passager and its commitment to writers over 50, go to passagerbooks.com. You can download Burning Bright from Spotify, Apple and Google Podcasts, and various other podcast apps.
For Kendra, Mary, Christine, Rosanne, and the rest of the Passager staff, I’m Jon Shorr.
The cover art for this episode is a detail of a painting by David Yerkes, titled “A Cheerful Goodbye.”
