Sonnettics

I know you went through hell, but you forgot
To bring a little sulphur back with you
Although it’s true that sulphur can be bought
And yes, I’m sure you know just what to do!
This life transition may seem rather cold
So warm it up by burning sheets of shit!
Don’t let ’em sit and gather ugly mold
Your life was hell, now make a blaze of it!
It’s only paper filled with words you hate
So let your hate burn bright, then turn to ash
The path is good when travelled with your gait
I don’t see any reason you should dash!
Just walk on straight.  Don’t stop.  Don’t cry.  Don’t turn.
You’re beautiful and strong.  Just let it burn!

I fantasize, just standing by my door
And waiting for the warmth she’ll bring inside
My heart is sure it’s never wanted more
I’m glad she makes it easy to decide
She’s not a fantasy; she’s more than real
I’ll wait as long as choice is mine to make
I love the way such waiting makes me feel
And how her warmth gets warmer for my sake
She wishes she was curled up with me now
Her comfort is the only warmth I need
I plan to give her comfort; I know how
Her every wish, I know I can exceed
My fantasy requires nothing more
Than waiting for her warmth, inside my door.

What is the muse?

Since I am a poet, I will address this question from the poet’s perspective. I do not know how or if this perspective translates to other creative mediums, or even, more specifically, other language-based mediums.

The “job” of the poet is to create expressions of ideas through the use of words and groups of words. At their most basic, words have three distinct elements which the poet may utilize: the sound of the word, the meaning of the word, and the place of the word within the poem.

In composing a poem, the poet creates relationship paths between these three elements. Some of these relationship paths are so common that we give them names. Rhyme, consonance, assonance, and alliteration are words we use to describe specific sound-based relationship paths between words. Metaphor, simile and imagery are examples of meaning-based relationship paths between words and word groups. Meter and stanza denote place-based relationship paths in a poem. If a relationship path exists internally to a word between its sound and meaning, we call that onomatopoeia.

The number of relationship paths that exist between two single words is 3^2 or 9. For a single line of iambic pentameter, the greatest number of relationship paths that could be defined is 3^10 or 59,049, and that assumes that we are using the same 10 single-syllable words. I am not trying to reduce poetry to a mathematical formula; I am trying to demonstrate the physical complexity of poetry. Although I’m sure that the total number of relationship paths for all the words and combination of words and word groups could be derived, it would be an astronomically large number. I’m also certain that the total number of relationship paths in the current body of extant poetry is miniscule compared to the universe of potential paths.

The obvious reason as to why the total amount of extant poetry is small compared to the universe of potential paths is that not all potential paths produce poetry. The question then becomes: Which relationship paths produce poetry? Or, in short: What is a poem?

A poet (Carolyn Forche) was once asked the question, “How do you know when you’ve written a poem?” The answer was: “When an editor buys it, then I’ve written a poem.” Teachers and students struggle with defining poetry every day. Most poetic attempts in the classroom result in mimicry that only satisfies the mechanical definition of what a poem is. As I’ve struggled to answer the question of what a poem is, I have settled on an analogy to an idea gleaned from my study of philosophy. In the field of ethics, actions may be either right or wrong. I believe that, analogously, in the field of poetics, a poem may be either poetic-right or poetic-wrong.

So what makes a poem poetic-right or poetic-wrong? If the relationship paths in a poem are all poetic-right, the poem is poetic right. If any of the relationship paths in a poem are poetic-wrong, then the poem is poetic-wrong, or at least not poetic right, and therefore not a poem.

This is why every word matters in a poem. The sound of each word in a poem matters. The meaning of each word in a poem matters. The placement of each word in a poem matters. Arbitrariness has no place in poetry. (Unless arbitrariness itself is specifically being employed as a poetic device.)

At this point I have deconstructed the concept of poetic-right down to the basic level of poetic relationship paths. But, we still do not have any idea of what makes a poem poetic-right or poetic-wrong. This is where the muse comes in.

Although I do not fully understand the workings of the muse, it helps me to relate it back to my ethics analogy. In ethics we speak of a “moral imperative,” a principle which compels the individual to act rightly or wrongly.

Here is the definition of the moral imperative from Wikipedia:

A moral imperative is a principle originating inside a person’s mind that compels them to act. … Later thinkers took the imperative to originate in conscience, as the divine voice speaking through the human spirit. The dictates of conscience are simply right and often resist further justification. Looked at another way, the experience of conscience is the basic experience of encountering the right.

Translated analogously into what I would call the poetic imperative, it would read as follows:

The poetic imperative is a principle originating inside a poet that compels them to compose poetry. The poetic imperative may originate in the poetic conscience, as the divine voice speaking through the human spirit. The dictates of the poetic conscience are simply poetic-right and often resist further justification. Looked at another way, the experience of poetic conscience is the basic experience of encountering the poetic-right.

Remember, I am not asserting that a poem is right or wrong from a moral point of view (I actually believe that poetry is amoral), but, analogously a poem may be poetic-right or poetic wrong depending on the poet’s application or dis-application of the poetic imperative, i.e., the muse.

The poetic imperative is the muse.

Philosophers debate whether the moral imperative originates within the individual or outside the individual. Humanists and atheists would argue the latter, theists and spiritualists the former. I believe the same arguments can be engaged in by those ready to debate the origins of the muse, the poetic imperative. I am not presently as concerned with the origins of the muse as I am with my interactions with it. To quote William Blake: “I will not reason and compare, my business is to create.” Whether the muse comes from within or without, if I do not follow it my poetry is poetic-wrong.

How is that possible? How can a poem be poetic-right or poetic-wrong?

If the poet composes the poem as directed by the muse, the poetic imperative, it is poetic right. The audience, in order to experience the poetic-rightness of the poem, must either trust the poet or seek their own confirmation of the poetic-rightness of the poem directly from the muse.

If the poet composes the poem in any way other than that directed by the muse, it is poetic-wrong.

So how does the poet know if he or she is following the poetic imperative, or listening to the muse? Back to the analogy—How does an individual know when he or she is making a decision that is morally correct? I remember one of my favorite lines from the movie K-Pax: “Every being in the universe knows right from wrong.” Every poet knows poetic-right from poetic wrong. If a decision, morally or poetically, needs clarification, justification, or equivocation, it is probably wrong.

Louisa’s Cafe & Bakery is quaint
Like something from a different, better time
I’d like to say it’s common, but it ain’t
Louisa’s isn’t common; it’s sublime
Her menu wanted us to order these:

• The Biscuit Basket; more than just a roll
• Macaroni and Cheese and Cheese and Cheese
• Blackberry Cobbler, sin within a bowl

Our waitress brought our food, then served us more
She snapped a photographic souvenir
We didn’t have to beg her or implore
It felt as if Louisa’s soul was near
I’d recommend Louisa’s to a friend
Seattle needs Louisa’s ’til the end!

Intensity of feelings can be sweet
Like honey, in a cup of ginger tea
But ginger by itself is hard to eat
And honey can be sweet hyperbole
So drink it slowly if you want the joy
Of something warm, fulfilling, and select
And share it with your lover, but employ
The wisdom you’ve been given, to protect
The joy of she-who’s-given-you-her-heart
She likes the sweetness of the tea you make
And trusts your judgment, even if it’s tart!
She’ll always drink it, for your passion’s sake
But if your tea or feelings are intense
You might as well commit some grave offense.

I’m still a sonnet, but I guess I’m new
I follow the same scheme, with different words
Perhaps I am a sequence, overdue
Perhaps I come in halves, or maybe thirds
Three quatrains make the sonnet I become
The past, the present, future, but there’s more
A final couplet that’s ignored by some
Like drunks that walk right past an easy whore
But love I want to make is more than rhyme
It’s more than just the rhythmic words I use
This second life is certainly sublime
I live within sonnettic lines I choose
I’m more than just some fucking, little song
But like my words need music, I belong.

This ecstasy of words is something new
I never knew the passion they could bring
When shared with someone who’s impassioned too
And loves to hear sonnettic words I sing
I guess iambic rhythm turns her on
Or else she feels my words are warm, like skin
But either way, the French would call it “bon’
“La petite mort” is started deep within
I need to make a lover of my friend
Our words compel our friendship to remain
Our words of love will never have an end
And wordless sounds will not be sung in vain
I want to make her scream in ecstacy
with passion that my lover feels for me.

It’s true; I want to make her feel complete
With words I choose for each sonnettic line
I like the supposition that she’s sweet
Compared to any white or noble wine
Her fermentation brings my passioned verse
I’m not quite drunk, but couplets fill my head
I want to drink her deeply and converse
With words that seem like grapes that should be bled
By pressing them beneath my naked weight
To turn them into passion’s fervent juice
I’ll make her come too soon or else too late
But only if she lets me let her loose
Her metaphoric grapes are hers to share
My poetry is more than just a dare.

The word “supine” entices me to write
Of how I want you, lying by my side
Romantically, I feel the word invite
My heart to let my feelings be my guide
I only want to choose the words you want
For comfort in your posture, and your mind
It’s more than just a rule I’d never flaunt!
It tops the list of all that I’ve defined
Regardless of the rules, I want your heart
It feels as if it beats in synch with mine
I’ll take it slow while we are still apart
But girl, I want you near me, and supine
It isn’t crass; it’s more than how I feel
With you it’s not a word, it’s something real.

Your laughter makes me horny, even though
You laugh because I’m such an easy mark
I’m hungry for your skin; I think you know
Your teasing lights emotions like a spark
Emotions from my hunger for your flesh
Escape from me as if I’ve lost control
I never knew your laughter could refresh
Emotions set ablaze within my soul!
I love it when you tell me: “bring it on!”
Although I’m miles away, you know I’m hot
Don’t think that you can tease until it’s gone
The shower may be cold, but girl, I’m not!
So laugh away!  A few more days, you’ll see
Just what your sexy laughter does to me!