Finally! A Sonnet!

I began my serious (but definitely desultory) "work" as a poet my senior year in high school by writing some sonnets. I have won two awards (around forty years apart) for my sonnet writing.

But since Will entered Hospice, or actually, since I left the Skyhooks,  I've barely been able to write free verse, much less anything more formal. But I'm taking a poetry class through Sarah Lawrence Writing Center and our teacher, Elaine Sexton, is providing some great prompts as we look at and become inspired by the work of other poets.

Last week we were to be inspired by the poem "Waving Goodbye" by Gerald Stern.

Below find what I wrote. We don't have much time in class for in depth feedback. So people's quick first thoughts were mostly 👍 on high heels and either questioning or 👎 on the accent mark over the past tense in "embalmed". Some folks appreciated my use of the term "toxic positivity" -- not often seen in poems. And a couple liked the ending couplet with its punning finale. Most of the feedback in class comes from the professor, who generally liked my poem and its rhyme scheme. The reason for the quick feedback is is that everyone has a poem and the professor also has information to share and she wants to give time to visiting poets.

Things people didn't say:  

• The meter in this poem is rough .. some iambic feet, some spondee clusters, some lively dactyls ... that don't always mix nicely but sometimes work perfectly.
  
•  Wow! It has a Shakespearean/Elizabethan sonnet rhyme scheme! But the use of the long sentence and its enjambment makes some of the pure rhyme less noticeable, making the sonnet appear more modern and less annoying!
  
• I notice you use the word "chiefly" when you talk about lack of compassion. Is that because there remain a few dear, dear friends who are able to sit with you still during the waves of grieving and wilderness?  "YES, " I would reply, "Yes, Thank God."
• The poem could have had a better, more specific title.
  

THE AMERICAN WAY  

"YOU NEED TO MOVE ON"

 

from a show at The Frick

 

I wanted to know what grief was like before

toxic positivity, before friends shied

away, uncomfortable with the chore

of comforting, before our long, slow slide

into consumerism demanded happiness

from everyone who dares to suffer, lose,

or fail in their pursuit of blissful success

at work and home, so I tried my best to choose

an older way, showing sorrow, wearing black,

putting your cold, embalme´d body in the ground

while my spike heels sank in mud I brought back

to our, now my, old house. And where are they found,

the friends who countenance long grief? At last

I found compassion chiefly in the passed.

 

 

 

© Kake Huck