Wednesday, August 23, 2006
My colleague, the critic [sonnet]
Not willing to suffer fools gladly
he's keen to protect the tradition
at times our exchanges go badly
thank god that he's not my physician!
my heart he would willingly jettison
for a new (far-superior) model
my liver'd go the way of all venison
and when he'd encountered the muddle
I'm pleased to describe as my brain
I'm sure he would weep at the sight
one look would convey all the pain
of agronomists faced with a blight
but our literary chat doesn't scar
just as long as he's safely afar
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2 comments:
Nicely done, David. Sonnets are so hard. And it's good to see you on the page.
thanks En --
I'd say: sonnets are hard only till one (if so inclined) takes time & makes effort to get into 'em. Making an omlette is hard (till one's done it a few times); or doing a folkdance. The sonnet resembles the latter in its mix of formality, manners, and some looseness (or idiosyncrasy possible) amid the fixed design.
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