There are times when, even on our own blogs or when performing on our own stage, we should step back and give another credit for the work that goes on behind the scenes or in the dark recesses of literature that not many delve. Let another master of craft step forward to take a bow. Beauty is scattered in every corner of the world and comes in many different forms – and they are waiting out there with baited breath to be discovered. I particularly feel drawn to those arts that I myself find nigh impossible to master; to process in awe that which I cannot reproduce on any level.
This is why today, instead of writing my own piece, I wish to share with you a short poem, entitled ‘Sonnet’ by Billy Collins. Not exactly conventional in its content, I think it wonderfully portrays the love of modern day. He doesn’t dwell on the clichéd imagery that is often associated with the sonnet, but instead revels in the strict rules and regulations before giving the impression that he surrenders to the simplicity of love at the end. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did – this art, though perhaps different from your own, may inspire something magnificent.
* * *
All we need is fourteen lines, well, thirteen now,
and after this one just a dozen
to launch a little ship on love’s storm-tossed seas,
then only ten more left like rows of beans.
How easily it goes unless you get Elizabethan
and insist the iambic bongos must be played
and rhymes positioned at the ends of lines,
one for every station of the cross.
But hang on here wile we make the turn
into the final six where all will be resolved,
where longing and heartache will find an end,
where Laura will tell Petrarch to put down his pen,
take off those crazy medieval tights,
blow out the lights, and come at last to bed.