Prologue
Spokane’s the place where water falling
From Idaho runs through with thoughts
Unconsciously unwinding, reeling
The poets in from inland squats
To take their places at the river’s
Bedraggled edges. Poets’ livers
Can’t filter all that they abuse
Themselves with for the lovely ruse
That lines of words can make unhappy
Inhabitants of Coeur d’Alene
Cease for a moment feeling pain
Or leastwise help them feel less crappy
When turning towards the Cascade heights
With thoughts of oceanic nights.
No it’s not.
Just kidding. Very nice poem.
Let’s rumble.
I messed up the rhyme scheme.
‘Stanzas’? ‘Prologue’? So you’re saying there’s more where this came from? Hot dog!
This is a fine sonnet in itself: It combines a few of the resonant themes, images, and concerns of House of Words, and fixes them to a specific geographic place. And it compresses great range into its small space: It’s high/low, earthy/elegant, clever/haunting, clear yet not prosaic. And it wears its Pushkinian form like a simple but well-cut suit, rather than a straitjacket or — worse! — a costume.
Bravo, sir.
Thanks, Angelico. There’s not more yet, but I have in mind to write a bunch of these praising all the Spokane writers I know. I can’t seem to write anything but Pushkin stanzas anymore.
Vachel Lindsay!
Potter,
I know what you mean about seeing Pushkin sonnets everywhere.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S5OQMoSCrqw
JOB
SO much love for rhyming “happy” with “crappy.”