Saturday, 29 August 2020

WISHFUL THINKING: A SONNET

It's hard to explain exactly why I seem to be writing more in traditional verse forms. I think it had something to do with writing the obituary, and re-reading, my college professor Richard Wilbur, though I can't claim what I do is anything like his work. It seems I sometimes try to stick to the forms, and play with rhymes, while trying to keep the verse in the breath and rhythms of speech, rather than strict meter, something of the continuing influence of Charles Olson and his Projective Verse theories which have influenced me since the late Sixties. Or, as Robert Creeley put it, 'form is never more than an extension of content' which I took to mean the poem takes its own form, and you just try to keep up with what it is doing. I could be very self-analytical and point out how the rhyme scheme changes after the first verse, just as the position of the two people in the poem does, but that might ruin some MA thesis.

Anyway, this poem (and another, currently lurking as Wishful Thinking II, but searching for its own title) was structured from pages of notes I found in a notebook from 2001. I gathered a number of putative stanzas, unfinished quatrains, couplets, and even some single lines, and then put them together into two sonnets. This one came from notes all done at the same time and place, and seems to have more structure as a result, but it fell together when I found a couple of lines from 2013 which
fit eerily into those that were heard 12 years earlier.

The song by Ralph Towner I was listening to as I wrote the current poem, but I am sure I was playing it in 2001 as well....



WISHFUL THINKING
                                         (after a tune by Ralph Towner)


As you or I might try to say,
This empty night does not require
That we express even slight desire.
A breeze might blow us either way,

Together, apart, it's all the same,
Though you proceed as if they were
Distinct, thus called by different names.
And we still linked, not sliding further

Away. Confusion's just a slight delay
Til things are supposed to work out well.
You pay no notice to what I say.
What you say, well, I’ve no way to tell

What a single word means; your eyes are blanks.
You insist someday I'll tell you thanks.

July 2001, St Jean de Luz/2013 Haslemere

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