The man beside the ocean cannot see,
So she describes the scene: the sinking hints
Of off-hue gold and startling pink, their tints
Reflecting off the white-lined waves, and sea-
Foam growing brighter while the blue-greens flee
Before advancing bands of black. He squints
As if to sight some distant ship, where glints
Of starlight mirror ship-borne lights, and she
Keeps talking, unaware of him beyond
His smile. He listens: idle birds, like him,
Bear witness to the tides; his golden-blond
Retriever pants; some children, scared to swim
At night, splash through the surf. The sounds respond
In 3D, a trisagion-haunted hymn.
3 comments:
A woman I met told me this story: she described the sun set over the Pacific to a blind man "watching" it go down. As with any sonnet with an idea deeper than the first line, this one was difficult to write, but I am satisfied with it overall. Now that I read it a little more, the first line might be the worst... in any case, that's four sonnets inspired by the Pacific so far. Maybe it's time to turn to other themes? We'll see.
Awesome! A true Petrarchan! Beautifully executed as well, with quite the modern twist in the wording of the final line. Wow. I am delighted with it!
Ya, these sonnets where we begin as if dictating the thought to play out a certain way, it rebels against, wishing mayhap to follow its own undefined path. Yet we are its masters, not it ours. Hence, the ensuing struggle to write out the intended story, yet excellently too! (That is not often the case when we dare to "force" the idea.)
The imagery wonderfully paints the entire scene playing out before the reader as if silently watching just out of sight of the players, quietly assessing its unfolding. Sweet! I am totally pleased with this! Way cool!
Happily her tale birthed a wonderful tribute to reality, for this can also be a metaphor for life. Ah, I am impressed.
Only four sonnets from a week in CA? Come, my tendency is to insist it ought to have conceived at least a week's worth anyway.
Now, if I have left any typos in this, reckless carelessness, though responsible for my blushes, yet blusters that it may do as it jolly well pleases, and I must be the ultimate loser.
Fantastic, I am thrilled.
Petrarchans are compelling. Like with the rest of the sonnet, I seldom know what it'll be until line three, and then it leans one way or the other. My woes here were in the sestet, where I really wanted to shift from what she saw to what he heard, and make his scene the richer. I do not believe I succeeded, but I am pleased with the way it ends in any case. I'm glad you dug it - it was fun to write, even if I do not like the way it starts. It seems too matter-of-fact, too convenient.
Post a Comment