I've been reading Terza Rima, a poetic form borrowed from the 13 c. Italian poets and made famous by Dante's The Divine Comedy and Shelley's Ode to the West Wind. Some of my poetry blogging pals and I have all been working on writing this form for the past six months, and I am lagging behind in my homework. I decided to spend more time reading it in order to wrap my mind around the pattern and flow.
Here is a delightful example written by Jacqueline Osherow, in which poets speak from books in the library stacks about the nature of God, the glory of changing seasons, and the use of language. It starts out:
A full year passed (the seasons keep me honest)
since I last noticed this same commotion.
Who knew God was an abstract expressionist?
I’m asking myself—the very question
I asked last year, staring out at this array
of racing colors, then set in motion
by the chance invasion of a Steller’s jay.
Is this what people mean by speed of light?
My usually levelheaded mulberry tree
hurling arrows everywhere in sight—
its bow: the out-of-control Virginia creeper
my friends say I should do something about,
read the rest here at the Poetry Foundation.
Don't miss Glatstein asking Wang Wei how to conjure magic in so few words as they converse across the aisle of the university library stacks...
Friday Poetry is being rounded up Jennie at Biblio File. Enjoy!