Post by Eurydice on Jun 7, 2007 23:25:06 GMT -5
((First things first: full credit goes to Sharky for the title and for the inspiration.
This is, I think, my third attempt ever at writing a sestina, and I'm not sure it's a form of poetry that I'll ever get quite right. Will hopefully remember to edit later, and will almost definitely re-write the closing triplet. Still, I'm satisfied with this as a start.
Towards the end of writing this, was much amused by the chaos-to-order nature of writing a sestina; you start off with (if my math is correct) over a hundred possible word orders, and by the time you've started working on the last two or three stanzas, you have to start planning so carefully and triple-checking to make sure that you're not repeating a pattern and that each end-word gets distributed evenly. Reminds me of the grid logic puzzles we used to do in Enriched Math.
/dork.))
With movements quick and footsteps quite assured,
They spar: the witch and wand'rer from afar,
And, dancing underneath the moon and star,
The one delicately probes the other's scar
So curious as to how it may be cured
And how he came to choose to wield the sword.
The witch, more strong than graceful with her sword,
Is by her own uncertainty assured.
This teacher, student still, hails from afar--
A flick'ring candle, not a constant star,
Well taught by father's skill and curse and scar
And knowing well that he will ne'er be cured
The wand'rer, recent wounds still not yet cured,
Is apt apprentice to his mistress' sword
Tho' under those wounds sits a deeper scar
Which leaves his thinking far less than assured
And sends him walking hills and roads afar
To join the witch beneath the moon and star.
And so they train; their blades flash steel and star.
The witch knows simple words have often cured
Harsh wounds. So, thrusting with her voice and sword,
She queries of his origins afar
(Her confidence, she tells him, is assured)
And how he came to choose to wear that scar.
He, with mouth pale and thin, set like a scar,
Recounts his days beneath a distant star,
Remembers faith and how he was assured
That diseased minds were easier killed than cured,
Recalls the night that made him stay his sword
And drove him from his chosen path afar
His thoughts distracted, wandering afar,
She nearly cuts him, nearly leaves a scar.
He's silent now, won't share, and won't be cured.
The witch relents; she bows and sheathes her sword.
For now, her pupil's still a frozen star
But that he'll warm to her, she is assured.
The wand'rer lifts his sword. The morning star's
Assured path will chase the moon afar.
He wonders if some scars are ever cured.
This is, I think, my third attempt ever at writing a sestina, and I'm not sure it's a form of poetry that I'll ever get quite right. Will hopefully remember to edit later, and will almost definitely re-write the closing triplet. Still, I'm satisfied with this as a start.
Towards the end of writing this, was much amused by the chaos-to-order nature of writing a sestina; you start off with (if my math is correct) over a hundred possible word orders, and by the time you've started working on the last two or three stanzas, you have to start planning so carefully and triple-checking to make sure that you're not repeating a pattern and that each end-word gets distributed evenly. Reminds me of the grid logic puzzles we used to do in Enriched Math.
/dork.))
With movements quick and footsteps quite assured,
They spar: the witch and wand'rer from afar,
And, dancing underneath the moon and star,
The one delicately probes the other's scar
So curious as to how it may be cured
And how he came to choose to wield the sword.
The witch, more strong than graceful with her sword,
Is by her own uncertainty assured.
This teacher, student still, hails from afar--
A flick'ring candle, not a constant star,
Well taught by father's skill and curse and scar
And knowing well that he will ne'er be cured
The wand'rer, recent wounds still not yet cured,
Is apt apprentice to his mistress' sword
Tho' under those wounds sits a deeper scar
Which leaves his thinking far less than assured
And sends him walking hills and roads afar
To join the witch beneath the moon and star.
And so they train; their blades flash steel and star.
The witch knows simple words have often cured
Harsh wounds. So, thrusting with her voice and sword,
She queries of his origins afar
(Her confidence, she tells him, is assured)
And how he came to choose to wear that scar.
He, with mouth pale and thin, set like a scar,
Recounts his days beneath a distant star,
Remembers faith and how he was assured
That diseased minds were easier killed than cured,
Recalls the night that made him stay his sword
And drove him from his chosen path afar
His thoughts distracted, wandering afar,
She nearly cuts him, nearly leaves a scar.
He's silent now, won't share, and won't be cured.
The witch relents; she bows and sheathes her sword.
For now, her pupil's still a frozen star
But that he'll warm to her, she is assured.
The wand'rer lifts his sword. The morning star's
Assured path will chase the moon afar.
He wonders if some scars are ever cured.
