‘merging dark with light’, the section title for the Monthlies’ villanelles is a phrase from Yvonne Romano’s villanelle, ‘Dusk’.
A villanelle is a poem with five triplets and a final quatrain; only two rhyme sounds are permitted in the entire poem, and the first and third lines of the first stanza are repeated, alternately, as the third line of subsequent stanzas until the last, when they appear as the last two lines of the poem.
www.baylorschool.org/academics/english/studentwork/stover/toolbox/poetry.html
The villanelle “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” (1952), by Dylan Thomas is one of the most celebrated poems of the 20th century. Poets.org – the award-winning website of the Academy of American Poets - has this poem online, as well as a wonderful audio clip of Dylan Thomas’s reading of it. Click here to read the poem and/or to hear it read http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15377
Seventh draft
(for all the Monthlies who sweated out a villanelle)
A poem doesn’t arrive
perfectly formed, ready to read.
A poem has many lives
and resurrections, contrived
from words that sweat and seed.
A poem doesn’t arrive;
it struggles to survive
the lift and shift, from there to here.
A poem has many lives;
some thrive, some die
the death they need.
A poem doesn’t arrive -
it struggles to the light,
shoots tender stems and leaves.
A poem has many lives.
In worlds of words it strives,
it cries, it laughs and bleeds.
A poem doesn’t arrive.
A poem has many lives.
Dinosaur
The Karoo stretches vast and empty
Trapping my thoughts in contemplation
Shadows across immensity
The beast heaves in mud so mightily
Last breath shudders and grows thin
The Karoo stretches vast and empty
Bones caught in death without dignity
In the battle with time you cannot win
Shadows across immensity
Here a skull and there a knee
Scattered ribs and toes and skin.
The Karoo stretches vast and empty
Life and hope gone without pity
Only brightness left in horrid exultation
Shadows across immensity
Grey bushes and plains to infinity
Escape no longer from this prison
The Karoo stretches vast and empty
Shadows across immensity
Dusk
Dusk lingers briefly merging dark with light
its flimsy mantles cast a gauzy glow
a bridge connecting daytime to the night
The sky an awesome ever-changing sight
from apricot to darkening indigo
dusk lingers briefly merging dark with light.
Two hadedahs announce their homeward flight
reflected in the glassy lake below
a bridge connecting daytime to the night
White moths on trailing jasmine soon alight
I smell Greek island scents of long ago
dusk lingers briefly merging dark with light.
Mosaic memories however slight
suffuse my mind in constant ebb and flow
a bridge connecting daytime to the night
I dream of how you set my life alight
and cling to moments past I must let go
dusk lingers briefly merging dark with light
a bridge connecting daytime to the night
Happy Contemplation
My garden is a great delight,
it nurtures all my senses.
I can enjoy it day and night.
When summer days are sparkling bright
with dog-roses on white fences,
my garden is a great delight.
But vermin surely I shall fight
after watching their offences.
I shall enjoy it day or night.
When early morning’s first pale light
brings with it birds’ cadences
my garden is a great delight.
I hope I work my garden right
as each new day commences,
that I may enjoy it day or night.
As scents and colours well unite
to animate my senses,
my garden is a great delight.
I can enjoy it day or night.
Into the cave
The skulls of seekers line the cave,
concealed, submerged beneath the night.
So who will help her to be brave -
to find the secrets that she craves -
the diamonds lying out of sight?
The skulls of seekers line the cave.
They worship in the darkened nave
and prostrate lie before the altar bright.
So who will help her to be brave
to face her demons, abject and depraved,
that passing time will bleach to white?
The skulls of seekers line the cave.
In sombre filigree, the bats may save
her from the fiery dragon’s blazing bite.
So who will help her to be brave
to recognize the crystal rave
of stalagmites in sil’vry light?
The skulls of seekers line the cave.
So who will help her to be brave?
Uncertainty
We grew in the darkness of a long night,
waiting in the soft comfort of the womb.
Who is promised a future that is bright?
We did not know the misleading light,
that the vagaries of fate may assume.
We grew in the darkness of a long night.
From birth we were taught to do what is right,
our teachers worked to nurture and groom.
Who is promised a future that is bright?
When does a human show the first blight,
the dark mildew that attacks the bloom?
Does it grow in the darkness of a long night?
We all need strength to battle with might
to stay the good course from cradle to tomb.
Who is promised a future that is bright?
Is it fate only that weaves at our loom?
Without free will would we descend into gloom?
We grow in the darkness of a long night.
Who is promised a future that is bright?
Sea anemone utopia – or not
Hunger-striking, homesick sea anemones in a tank
in the wet lab, cold and light and bright
Their glass box jail balanced on a plank
Dangled, tempting mussels draw a blank
Rejected, dispelled, try as she might
by the hunger-striking, homesick sea anemones in a tank
Anemone utopia – cool and wet and damp
Regular food throughout the night
in their glass box jail balanced on a plank
Rocks to sit on in the water sank
not crushed together or packed in tight
These hunger-striking, homesick sea anemones in a tank
shrivelled trunks, tentacles lank
Hardly the picture of a utopic sight
this glass box jail balanced on a plank
Sea anemones longing to be back on the bank
on the rocks or the sand with the tide at its highest height
Not hunger-striking, homesick sea anemones in a tank
in their glass box jail balanced on a plank.
Jazz Villanelle
Hear the tune of the Duke’s Indigo Mood:
The saxophone croons its plangent notes;
Music is coaxed from brass and wood.
Rhythms of jazz, a beat of blues, a tune is cooed
In riffs from the vibes; notes scatter and float
Where is it from, this Indigo Mood?
A strain is played, melancholy, gay– a flood
Of notes and sounds –like stars or motes
Of light: the music is coaxed from brass and wood.
In the smoky dark hall, fans sway, swoon, brood,
Held in the spell, they smile, they muse, as those who dote
And wonder, “Where is it from, this Indigo Mood?
Beats quicken, rhythms swell it feels so good,
Clarinet, trombone tenor sax, combine their throat
And music is coaxed from brass and wood.
The sax’s voice, the drummer’s swish, the percussion’s crash, all could
Make blues, ragtime, swing — in cascades of notes;
Where is it from this Indigo Mood?
The music is coaxed from brass and wood.
Lost (on the Cape Flats) – a villanelle
Your world you see like blindness in the night
stars blinkered in the dark expanding view
hidden from your own progress, lost to sight.
Harsh winds, unhampered, throw a sandy blight,
scraping at closed memories blowing through
your world. You see like blindness in the night,
weeping, where darkness is your chosen light,
your shuttered stare as piercing as the blue
hidden from your own progress, lost to sight.
Open-eyed, your tears could wrong the right
of others’ struggle building lives anew –
your world you see like blindness in the night.
Most blind men feel, they laugh, they touch. They fight
grim fields of tin and plastic; but not you,
hidden from your own progress, lost to sight.
Beyond the days unchanging in their plight
small dreams, if looked for, can come true.
Your world you see like blindness in the night,
hidden from your own progress, lost to sight.
Lucifer’s villanelle
It’s damned suspicious if you ask me -
known through all the ages:
the sneaky snake and that apple tree.
The Devil is dramatic, sartorially
And his first chapter repeats on all pages:
It’s damned suspicious if you ask me!
Fear’s more sophisticated. It’s plain to see
it’s pleasure that pays sin’s wages.
The sneaky snake and that apple tree.
Gold medals for religion, I’ve got three:
Not tickets to freedom – just cages -
It’s damned suspicious if you ask me.
Blonde, blue-eyed Arab? That can’t be!
What’s in the shadow of these images?
The sneaky snake and that apple tree.
I’m fumbling and stumbling towards being free,
There’s a need in me that rages.
But it’s damned suspicious if you ask me -
The sneaky snake and that apple tree.
Sometimes poems decide that a rhymes with b rhymes with a – as Sue says: ‘Can’t go according to a maths formula.’
Acclamation
Singing into her double chin
Shoulders straight, tummy in
Showing weakness is a sin
Afternoons of bridge and gin
Tough rooster served as coq au vin
Singing into her double chin
Frayed and penniless to begin
Life a constant fight to win
Showing weakness is a sin
Never used a begging tin
Face all hardships with a grin
Singing into her double chin
Made it to the highest pin
Uptight, upright and holding in
Showing weakness is a sin
Is it all it should have been?
Does she hold her peace within?
Singing into her double chin
Showing weakness is a sin
sometimes words become more important than a rhyme scheme
and the heart dictates which ones to use
Do not grieve long the loss of your first-born
(a slightly skewed villanelle)
Do not grieve long the loss of your first-born a
For fit it is that he should take a wife; b
Now is the time for you to laugh, not mourn a
A mother’s fate calls her to cast c
Upon the waters wide her bread of life; b
Do not grieve long the loss of your first-born a
Her only hope is that her children may d
Turn to her often, as onward they go; e
Now is the time for you to laugh, not mourn a
That they in lighting their own hearths and hearts f
Should, thinking of her, let her share their weal and woe; e
Do not grieve long the loss of your first-born a
Pray in his going with his wife beside g
Their growing is a blessing shed around; h
Now is the time for you to laugh, not mourn a
Pray that their family life be strong and sound. h
Pray that, loving his children dear, he learn from them i
Do not grieve long the loss of your first-born a
Now is the time for you to laugh, not mourn a
in en uit op die gety
ons wieg in en uit op die gety
onder alsiende oog van die maan
ontvlug die wreedheid op vlerke van liefkry
onderneem ’n reis, jouself verby
seil deur die nag van waan
ons wieg in en uit op die gety
spikkelmens eenkant, opsy
huilende oog met ’n traan
ontvlug die wreedheid op vlerke van liefkry
ek sal in jou voetspore bly
paaie stap, weë oopbaan
ons wieg in en uit op die gety
Reik uit, raak hande, maak monde vry
voel wanhoop, kom dan te staan
ontvlug die wreedheid op vlerke van liefkry
My hart punt. Dis jy
wat my trek in jou wentelbaan
ons wieg in en uit op die gety
ontvlug die wreedheid op vlerke van liefkry.
Shadow Self
Unique perfection the projection
With break of morning light
Behind is cast the reflection
Shadow shrunk in dimension
At midday shinning bright
Unique perfection the projection
Sinking sun shadow’s extension
Darkness falls no more in sight
Gone from behind the reflection
Now the time for introspection
Free from shadow through the night
Unique perfection the projection
Blackness gone no more protection
at dawn’s first rosy light
Unique perfection the projection
Behind is cast the reflection
Deflections of Being
Slivers of being, ever receding, never yielding.
Do you see me, or just your perception
of what you think I’m shielding?
Are these tricks of light, these images I’m wielding?
Bouncing between us in perpetual deception.
Silvers of being, ever receding, never yielding.
Snug haven of a soul constantly fielding
the probing lights that seek comprehension
of what you think I am shielding.
Shifting shadows duck and sway, shielding
a hesitant soul from too much attention.
Silvers of being, ever receding, never yielding.
Flashing shards of images, deftly concealing
mirrors of understanding or tell-tale reflections
of what you think I am shielding.
Is this me? Is this you? Or are we wielding
shards of imagined selves, eclipsed for protection?
Slivers of being, ever receding, never yielding
what you think I am shielding.
My demise
Dribbling wax cements my flesh to the night
my bones crack and crumble into one
and darkness binds my ligaments tight
My curving journey begins, takes flight
like tributaries rising to greet the sun
dribbling wax cements my flesh to the night
I struggle to see through the blinding light
my heart beat now a distant drum
and darkness binds my ligaments tight
I am suspended by a powerful might
like an effigy strung, and truly numb
dribbling wax cements my flesh to the night
I am no longer a rigid mortal sight
my dance with infinity has begun
and darkness binds my ligaments tight
I remember the shimmer of motherhood delight
like the slither of a ripe and bloodied plumb
dribbling wax cements my flesh to the night
and darkness binds my ligaments tight
Darkness black as night
Darkness, black as night
Once she walked along the road
striding briskly in the light.
Now she has to fight
limping along the path once strode
the darkness, black as night.
Holding pain and anguish tight
she pauses in isolation mode
where once she sought the light.
Will she live or die?
To live she must erode
the darkness, black as night.
She sees the candle, burning bright –
casting shadows, flickering gold
striving, bringing light.
She has fought the demon of the night
the end of a story told –
no longer darkness, black as night
striding briskly in the light.
On a cloudy day
On a cloudy day
I’ll shine with a smile
when the sea is grey
My song I will play
as long as the Nile
on a cloudy day
So have your say
but I’ll follow my style
when the sea is grey
Thorns on my pathway
will clear all the while
On a cloudy day
you will hear me pray
for those full of guile
On a cloudy day
when the sea is grey.
