The Weekly LitWit Challenge 4.6: Write us a sonnet.
The Yucch-meter has started to get a Groundhog Day feeling about these LitWit Challenges: Have we been reading the same story with slight revisions over and over again for several weeks? Therefore we have devised a plan to keep the Yucch-meter from taking a flying leap out the window only to wake up the next day, look at the readers’ submissions, and read the same story again. We shall require the contestants to write poetry.
Not free verse; we do not have enough napalm to deal with that. We have chosen a form with stringent rules: The Sonnet. Do read these rules before composing your entry. No, it’s not just the rhyme scheme and meter. (Too complicated? Try this how-to.)
Here’s Matthew Macfadyen (one of the more recent onscreen Mr Darcys) reading Shakespeare’s Sonnet 29. You may spare yourself the video and just listen to his voice.
Melty, isn’t it. Our favorite sonnet is number 130, in which love is expressed as a series of insults.
Your assignment is to compose a sonnet and post it in Comments by Friday, February 4, 2011 at 11.59 pm.
If you just asked “What’s the maximum word count?” please proceed to the nearest concrete wall and smash your head against it. Again.
The winner will receive two books about students: The Lord of the Flies by William Golding and The Rule of Four by Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason.
The Weekly LitWit Challenge is brought to you by our friends at National Bookstore. Start writing those sonnets.
Answers to questions you might be asking, unless you wandered onto this site purely by accident >>>
January 31st, 2011 at 08:28
Here’s something Marxist for you:
Are not these “nobles” worthy of our hate?
Why, all they do is loom above us poor!
They eat, they drink, they laugh and lord the state
And then to Venice, Rome they go and tour
They’re lazy, lewd, unchaste and full of air
And often do they bicker and complain
Much time they take in fixing their smooth hair
And to their face much care they give: how vain!
Unlike us proles they suffered not the heat
And thus their skins are now a hateful pale
And as we reek with pride the stench of streets
Their scents, imported, boast, they never fail!
With Wealth and Art they loom on us above
And thus we poor, to them will show no love
January 31st, 2011 at 11:52
I smashed my literal head against my figurative head. I don’t even know what that means but that’s me trying to be poetic. Yes, I suck at it, that’s why I’m going to spare the Yucch-meter the agony of reading my entry.
To all contestants, I wish you luck and may the god of poetry (Apollo?) bless you with brilliant metaphors, similes and whatever figures of speech you need.
January 31st, 2011 at 13:59
Entry #1 by lefthandedsnake: The structure is correct, the language awkward and stilted. Should be “lord over the state”. “Unlike us proles they suffer not the heat.” It is the streets that reek, not the one smelling them. And one looms over, not on.
January 31st, 2011 at 15:30
I will be joining dibee in sitting this one out and wishing everyone else the best of luck for this Challenge. Not just because I suck at poetry, but I especially suck at writing sonnets.
That said: Hot damn, Matthew Macfadyen! I remember watching him in an adaptation of Agatha Christie’s “A Pocketful of Rye” which aired under the (Miss) Marple series on the Beeb that aired on PBS a few years ago, and that voice totally sold me. Sigh.
January 31st, 2011 at 15:38
stellalehua: Did you know that Matthew Macfadyen does voice-overs for ads and that he did a Pizza Hut radio ad for BBDO Manila a few years ago?
Your LitWit prize will be delivered to National Bookstore in Power Plant Rockwell later this week. You can pick up any time next week, please ask Customer Service. Please send us your full name.
January 31st, 2011 at 15:47
Wait wait wait… Macfadyen did ads for PIZZA HUT?!?!?!! *sigh* I even located a link on YouTube of a voice-over he did for Haagen Dazs, which was the very definition of melt.
January 31st, 2011 at 21:28
I’d like to join this contest (if only because I enjoy some of Shakespeare’s sonnets) but I’ve never really understood the iambic pentameter. I’ve asked a lot of teachers about this, even a Palanca-winning poet, but they can’t seem to drill in my head the idea of syllables. Rhymes, I get — but stressed and unstressed syllables simply elude me. I mean, should one be able to speak British English to comprehend it?
I know it sounds stupid to people who just naturally get it, but I don’t, and it makes me feel really, really dumb. And I’m putting it out here because there might be someone who can explain it to me in simpler terms, like a technique perhaps to get it? I’d like that Archimedean “Eureka!” moment when I finally understand how it works, and shake off my fears that I have a genetic flaw that prevents me from understanding.
It’s kind of silly, I know, but then, even if I don’t make the deadline, I’d still appreciate being able to write in iambic pentameter. I’d rather look stupid now and be taught than shut up and be stupid forever.
January 31st, 2011 at 21:36
Iambic pentameter. Da DA da DA da DA da DA da DA.
January 31st, 2011 at 21:40
Jessica, thanks for the comments. Really appreciate them. Just some replies:
I actually considered “lord over the state” but “over” wasn’t Iambic, and seemed metrically off. Of course, I wrote this in youth, so Russian Formalism was not yet in my aesthetic vocabulary.
I don’t get your remark on the “stench of streets,” but what the word “reek” meant (from the author’s perspective, that is) was a deliberate act of exuding stench, not smelling but making smell. Of course, that you read differently is entirely my fault.
I completely agree with “over,” and I don’t understand how I could have missed the chance to use “o’er” with a grammatical error. I ought to stop writing!
January 31st, 2011 at 21:54
lefthandedsnake: Thank you for exhuming this from your files. In our opinion it should stay buried.
January 31st, 2011 at 22:09
I will echo Stella and Dibee’s commitments; I suck at measurement. But I can handle the other kind of measurement, and do it with pluck and enthusiasm, if somebody can pass me that plastic ruler already. But I will do my share and try find you some entries, Madame.
Muahness from Pasig Citehh!
January 31st, 2011 at 22:13
Hi Momelia, we need a favor from Your Muahness. Sending you an email.
February 1st, 2011 at 10:26
May this be posted instead of the earlier post? Apologies.
To Miss Piggy
Thou smileth with such glamour and panache
Thy beauty held us captive on TV
Thou has a penchant for brie and ganache
A better paragon we’ll never see
Thou trashed stupid idea females can’t
Be popular as males. I really dig
Thy confidence, allure. It made me want
To be desired while glad to be a pig!
But brilliance sometimes doth display its quirks
Why focus thy attentions on a frog?
Hadst thou foreseen genetic splicing works
For trifling matters (Piglet? Polywog?)?
And Kermit must be worth it, I see how
Thou must be Yoda; splicing’s common now.
February 1st, 2011 at 14:10
Writer’s Digest blogger Robert Lee Brewer is also into this same poetic challenge, although he said he won’t be scanning lines. Will you be doing the scanning thing, too, Miss JayZ? Thanks. Here’s the link: http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/
February 1st, 2011 at 17:24
Sonnet 69
And so you open not your eyes
To see how the heart sighs
With a feeling that deeply lies
Beneath the shade of sunlit smiles
You see not what is hidden
Deep inside man that is laden
For what these feelings hearken
Are but temptations that are forbidden
And if Adam bit what Eve gave
The fruit which led man to his grave
Is now what mortal men do crave
Which eventually made him a lowly slave
Forever this might be the case
The answer lies in man’s embrace
February 2nd, 2011 at 02:12
I drown myself at night in walls of sound
repeated endlessly to hypnotize
this hopeless slave to music so profound
it doth exceed the wisdom of the wise
A euphony outlandish and absurd
A harmony abrasive in design
A melody that often goes unheard
The perfect drug to numb a frantic mind
Yet once the soundless dawn has shown its face
and I return unkempt from my escape
Reality, I forcibly embrace
as walls I’ve built have gravely been reshaped
The gloom shall hide my twisted thoughts and deeds
while in the light I give the world its needs
February 2nd, 2011 at 15:17
ADAM’s LAMENTS
Wandering alone without aim or goal
Gloomy mood despite the oft smiling sun
Drilling emptiness in this mortal soul
Deafening silence as the curse of one
Beauty I beheld when I woke one day
Brighter than the brightest afternoon sky
My heart races as fast as it might may
My blissful soul gave an enamoured sigh
Desolation then became nevermore
I’ll abide, believe whatever she told
Dainty feelings that my laden heart bore
Prelude to a man that’s easily gulled
I now long for more, I now yearn for truth
Heavens forgive me, for we ate the fruit…
February 2nd, 2011 at 19:50
An Impossible Puzzle
Within that tomb of glass I see my face
And wonder if I too might fit inside,
Above that prow, within that modest space,
Faring far from foam, salt-air and tide.
I mark: what long, painful efforts wrought you!
Yet, seems it now these labours stand betrayed:
The out-poked tongue and creaséd brow; in lieu,
A ship, haughty and tall, although mislaid.
Stranger, you must not think I do not know
That cheating way to seal a ship in glass.
Like an idea cut to meter and flow –
Craft first; fit it in; seal the bottom last.
But, if in bottle it be from the start,
Of what value, then, is the maker’s art?
February 3rd, 2011 at 10:35
I’ve already submitted an entry, but it just occurred to me to ask: Are sonnets an exclusively English form of poetry? Can one be written in Tagalog (or any other language for that matter) and be submitted for this challenge?
February 3rd, 2011 at 14:20
I know you want me but you would not tell.
I saw it in your eyes staring at me.
That insufferable feeling you quell
Appears in forms as clear as glass I see.
Like how you tease without losing respect
Or when you hug me in clandestine ways;
Cautious you are for them not to detect,
Fearing love fades and ostracism stays.
But why should something so true be held back?
Why should a bird choose to stay in its nest
When God has given the heavens its track?
Of all confusions this one shines brightest.
I hate you not for love unrequited;
I hate your fear unadulterated.
February 3rd, 2011 at 21:40
Side of Left Thumb
He doesn’t know how the fungi
Started reddening his left thumb
Or if it is at all fungi
That left his thumb a dry white crumb
He scratches it like super rough
And it begins to open up
And there drop some white powdered stuff
Like dandruff that just doesn’t stop
Then he scratches it with some will
And a small hole begins to swell
It doesn’t smell but hell he’ll feel
But not the kind the bible tell
And it’s not like what bible says
Not that he knows what bible says.
February 4th, 2011 at 15:58
For a win in this challenge to indite,
One must fall forts that guard the feat’s laurels.
Pillars of sense, thoughts, mem’ries that ignite
What must one do to beat such parallels?
Fortified with armaments born of wit
Add humor to genius, mere posts no more!
Impenetrable walls frighten: Retreat!
Too strong to force entry, flee with your lore.
Perhaps my work, a lone edgeless arrow,
accounts for all the loss, attempts in vain.
Chipped skills, dull swords. Their minds must I borrow?
To rival high towers, vict’ry to gain.
It too is considered, one’s last resort:
Decapitate. Transplant. Their own would retort.
February 4th, 2011 at 16:55
Cowardly Mayweather’s Sonnet Number One
Yes, when I come back, I’ll kick Poochiao’s ass
Three losses, two draws, and been knocked out twice
No, he can’t match the pure Mayweather class
After the whupping, chump will cook me rice
The motherfucker’s name is Emmanuel
Cant speak no English, his name is fake
L’il ass chump can’t beat me, no chance in hell
I’ll stomp the midget, easy as cake
Motherfucker signed with two companies
How stupid can a motherfucker be?
Reebok gave me one million dollar G’s
Poochiao got only 10 g’s from Nike
[I watch his punching, my ball’s retreating]
[will just run my mouth than take a beating]
***
pardon. had the sudden urge to force mayweather’s own pronouncements into a sonnet. i know the required rhythm was not followed on several stanzas, but better to submit this anyway, just to add one “light” entry to the pool. :-)
this could be the hardest litwit challenge so far.
im looking forward to seeing how the yucch-meter critiques poetry. :-)
February 4th, 2011 at 18:53
Oh God, the effort. I gave birth to twins:
Nectars and Necklaces
I
No other creature than the blithesome bee
Exploits the word for soldiers, saints, and knights.
A martyr proving internecine might:
Her bullet ricochets in symmetry.
And Nature said her fear’s her weaponry
when out of fear the bee shoots fire on wight;
while Fortune said should she decide to smite,
late Wisdom–causeless, dawning–she would see:
The spear does pierce both the slayer and slain.
Her goddess, blinded Justice, grasps a sword–
of double edge–and weighing scales that bear
no heart, no feather, but two bullets aim
at eye and eye, at tooth and tooth. What lord
did warn revenge was waste when War won’t care?
II
No other creature than the tranquil clam
Gives birth to beauty from unwanted grit.
She weeps an orison or none of it:
An iridescence to charm eyes of man,
The beauty she produces fetches clams
at auctions; praises sure to be surfeit.
To tell the truth about a pearl, ask wit
to rub it on its teeth: if rough–elan!
To tell the truth about the world of pearls:
It’s hardened shell-snot, the core at a glance.
Clam’s goddess is of oaths aft storm and breeze
The rainbow past tempests, after seas whirl.
Are grace and tribulation twins, perchance–
Do I admit and add they’re Siamese?
February 4th, 2011 at 20:59
February
Finally, you are here with your breeze hugging me
when I already declared I can’t feel and see,
Nor can embrace the softness of your shoulders you have offered.
to carry me to the wilderness of our love affair and be wooed.
I deny the sweetness of your winds,
but keep swaying me towards your cradle and at the end
beg for my heart to celebrate
during the days of your presence.
I want to leave you, before you finally leave me.
Your days will soon be over and I have no time to betray,
even with a longing heart which I am bearing
will be left counting another year of your coming.
How can I stop the calendar from going,
please stay, my heart is bouncing.
February 4th, 2011 at 21:20
Rip
Hear me before my plunge in steep madness
Before humanity escapes my wit
Should I slaughter you by my hands senseless
I shall awaken in brutal anguish
Judge me not by my acts, but by my traits
I know foolish it is to hear such things
Believe, dearest, I killed out of sheer craze
Your end begins my end, my own killing
Run now, I feel the chilling rush of blood
Berserk I shall become any minute
Hold on I will to the last of all good
All memory of you I fight to keep
ME NOW ANGRY, ME NOW MONSTER SO MAD!
ME WANT CRUSH THINGS, PUNY WOMAN, HULK SMASH!
February 5th, 2011 at 04:46
bubble religion
It’s sunday, another day of ritual.
Armed with soap I go to the Laundromat.
Multiplying bubbles for arsenal,
Washing drama and issues that squat.
Drowning regrets in the whirlpool of will,
Breaking down the haunting sweat, tears and cum,
Erasing traces of past that was ill,
Draining negatives down to where they come.
Although dirtier past tends to cling long,
There are ways to remove them forever.
So send them to a void where they belong,
Diffuse in the air, free from the dryer.
At the end of day I wear myself clean
To start the week with positive scenes.
*Sana pwedeng humabol. Sana pwedneghumabol* :D
(today is feb 4, friday 12:30pm PST here. nagpalusot?)