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Glosa-Rubaïyat Challenge

Lauren Hynde

Lauren Hynde

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At the request of BooMerengue, a two-part challenge:

(OK, the second part is mine, not Boo's ;))

A Glosa is a poetic composition (not formally strict, as you'll see) very popular in some romantic countries (Spain, Italy, Portugal,...) between the 14th and 17th centuries, but which kept many followers in these countries even today.

It is comprised of two parts.

1. The Mote (motto): a given introductory short stanza (can even be only a single line) usually authored by another poet;
2. The Glosa itself: a (series of) stanza(s) that expand on the theme presented by the mote.

There are many variations, but the most usual composition consists of stanzas that end with a verse from the mote, until all of them are used. If the mote has four verses, the subsequent glosa would be of four stanzas. See The Eagle: Glosa for an example of this.

***​

Your challenge is to take any one of Omar Khayyam's rubaïyat as translated by Edward J. Fitzgerald (click here for a complete listing) and use it as a Mote, expanding it while keeping faithful to its theme.

The Glosa should be also be in rubaïyat form, i.e. 4 stanzas of 4 lines each with a AABA rhyme scheme, each line with 10 syllables (extra points for iambic pentameter).

Each of the lines of the Mote should be the free line of a rubaï of the Glosa.

For example, if you choose rubaï #39 as a Mote:
Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,
Why fret about them if today be sweet!​
...your Glosa should fit this scheme:

A1
A2
Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat
A3

B1
B2
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
B3

C1
C2
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,
C3

D1
D2
Why fret about them if today be sweet!
D3

e.g.:

The tides of youth have washed off from the shore.
Like butterflies we flare. Retreat more. More.
Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat
what’s out of reach, whatever its allure?

The world stretches too far beyond our ken
of wild roses, lavender till then--
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
beating sparrow winged questions: How? When?

For like Narcissus, anyone can fall
into the deeps of self in woe this small:
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,
drowning in somewhere, lost in not at all.

Seeing the face of love is knowing God
Peonies and the tree line, paths we trod
Why fret about them if today be sweet?
Kiss time in moments, disdain your facade.

(Angeline - 07-11-2004)

***​

Post your Glosa here on this thread - we can workshop it, even. :cool:
 
Last edited:
Lauren Hynde said:
At the request of BooMerengue, a two-part challenge:

(OK, the second part is mine, not Boo's ;))

A Glosa is a poetic composition (not formally strict, as you'll see) very popular in some romantic countries (Spain, Italy, Portugal,...) between the 14th and 17th centuries, but which kept many followers in these countries even today.

It is comprised of two parts.

1. The Mote (motto): a given introductory short stanza (can even be only a single line) usually authored by another poet;
2. The Glosa itself: a (series of) stanza(s) that expand on the theme presented by the mote.

There are many variations, but the most usual composition consists of stanzas that end with a verse from the mote, until all of them are used. If the mote has four verses, the subsequent glosa would be of four stanzas. See The Eagle: Glosa for an example of this.

***​

Your challenge is to take any one of Omar Khayyam's rubaïyat as translated by Edward J. Fitzgerald (click here for a complete listing) and use it as a Mote, expanding it while keeping faithful to its theme.

The Glosa should be also be in rubaïyat form, i.e. 4 stanzas of 4 lines each with a AABA rhyme scheme, each line with 10 syllables (extra points for iambic pentameter).

Each of the lines of the Mote should be the free line of a rubaï of the Glosa.

For example, if you choose rubaï #39 as a Mote:
Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,
Why fret about them if today be sweet!​
...your Glosa should fit this scheme:

A1
A2
Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat
A3

B1
B2
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
B3

C1
C2
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,
C3

D1
D2
Why fret about them if today be sweet!
D3

e.g.:

The tides of youth have washed off from the shore.
Like butterflies we flare. Retreat more. More.
Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat
what’s out of reach, whatever its allure?

The world stretches too far beyond our ken
of wild roses, lavender till then--
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
beating sparrow winged questions: How? When?

For like Narcissus, anyone can fall
into the deeps of self in woe this small:
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,
drowning in somewhere, lost in not at all.

Seeing the face of love is knowing God
Peonies and the tree line, paths we trod
Why fret about them if today be sweet?
Kiss time in moments, disdain your facade.

(Angeline - 07-11-2004)

***​

Post your Glosa here on this thread - we can workshop it, even. :cool:
Click to expand...
Oh, my head hurts.

Alright, Boo/Lauren, I'll try it. But I'm not going to like it.
 
Thank you, Lauren! Thank you!

This, to me, is what learning to write poetry is all about. I have no doubt my offering will be weak, but it'll be better than the last one, and not as good as the next one, and so on, and so forth!

Uhhh... Is there a Due Date? Like August??? (just kidding...!)

C'mon, y'all!! You can do this!!
 
I this this ranks right up there with sonnets.....


On my shit list.....


:rolleyes:
 
*re reading The Rubaiyat...

See y'all in a month!

Shoo!

Go, kids!

Go! Read, already!
 
Okay, just cuz Ange has done one......


Now leave me alone..... :p

Luv ya Boo.....

Luv ya Lauren....

:D

Based on Rubia VIII

Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,
Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,
The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.

When kindred souls seek out their heart’s desire,
And span the world in search of money’s fire
Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,
To know of wealth is that which they aspire.

In passing from one place onto the next,
The task of seeking out that sacred text,
Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,
A mention of just living leaves them vexed.

The golden chalice, that for which they pine
Stands dusty, empty purpose just to shine.
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,
Upon a table at which no one dines.

Pursuing fortune just to make it grow
Does not offer that which one should know,
The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.
And dim the light of a life’s inner glow.
 
Mote
Omar Khayyam's rubaï XXIII

And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend--ourselves to make a Couch--for whom?​

Glosa

The mournful keening voice of her unconsolèd child
Screeching, squealing ulations of grieving youth gone wild
And we, that now make merry in the Room
Did drink a cup at Gaia's wake and to sleep the girl, beguiled.

Upon a bier of blossomed wreaths did the Mother's body rest
Her work worn hands and loving arms folded o'er her breast
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom
Too soon forgot, that without her, their lives would ne'er been blest.

To put her to rest in that dark tomb
A lonely corpse down in the gloom
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Look down and see her fate and know our doom.

So reckon carefully each moment's worth
You've spent living to now, from birth
Descend--ourselves to make a Couch--for whom?
If not we, then celebrate our blessèd lives with mirth.
 
:eek: Well fuck me!

I can barely comprehend the directions and some have already written and posted examples!

Thanks, just thanks so much for making me feel blonde.

Syn :confused:
 
Syndra Lynn said:
:eek: Well fuck me!

I can barely comprehend the directions and some have already written and posted examples!

Thanks, just thanks so much for making me feel blonde.

Syn :confused:
Click to expand...


Sorry Babydoll....I'm just an asshole..... :kiss:
 
The_Fool said:
Okay, just cuz Ange has done one......


Now leave me alone..... :p

Luv ya Boo.....

Luv ya Lauren....

:D

Based on Rubia VIII

Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,
Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,
The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.

When kindred souls seek out their heart’s desire,
And span the world in search of money’s fire
Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,
To know of wealth is that which they aspire.

In passing from one place onto the next,
The task of seeking out that sacred text,
Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,
A mention of just living leaves them vexed.

The golden chalice, that for which they pine
Stands dusty, empty purpose just to shine.
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,
Upon a table at which no one dines.

Pursuing fortune just to make it grow
Does not offer that which one should know,
The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.
And dim the light of a life’s inner glow.
Click to expand...


Pretty good Fooly... but you might want to read up on the rules for iambic pentameter. (Really only doin this so WSO won't give up so easy!) How do you pronounce 'whether'? Whe ther or whe ther?
 
BooMerengue said:
Pretty good Fooly... but you might want to read up on the rules for iambic pentameter. (Really only doin this so WSO won't give up so easy!) How do you pronounce 'whether'? Whe ther or whe ther?
Click to expand...

Good question. Hey Lauren, do I play with the original Mote to make it work for Iambic Pentameter?
 
The_Fool said:
Good question. Hey Lauren, do I play with the original Mote to make it work for Iambic Pentameter?
Click to expand...


Another good question, Fooly. I C & P'd the whole thing last night and then for whatever reason deleted verses that I thought wouldn't work. One of the reasons was because Omar's iambic pentameter was a bit off, which is ok for a Maestro like him, but not for a peon like me who could never pull it off.

Due date? August? Christmas? lol
 
BooMerengue said:
Another good question, Fooly. I C & P'd the whole thing last night and then for whatever reason deleted verses that I thought wouldn't work. One of the reasons was because Omar's iambic pentameter was a bit off, which is ok for a Maestro like him, but not for a peon like me who could never pull it off.

Due date? August? Christmas? lol
Click to expand...


That might be because because this is a translation.
 
flyguy69 said:
I last heard that in Biophysical Chemistry.
Click to expand...

but Flyguy, I heard that in my microbiology clas s and it was easy, but the demand for structure, given on my own part is what inhibits me from actually trying. My mind will not do form poetry, I bombed with only half a sestina, I gave up :( I will read what you talents produce, thanks for entertaining me :D
 
The_Fool said:
Good question. Hey Lauren, do I play with the original Mote to make it work for Iambic Pentameter?
Click to expand...
No. That just shows that Fitzgerald wasn't afraid to occasionally bend the rules (and the iambs), if it better served poetry. ;)

That's not a carte blanche for us all, though. We must know the rules before we can justify breaking them.
 
Alrighty then...I think I'm going to take this workshopping a step or three at a time....here's what I've managed to mangle together so far...


MOTE:
XXXII
There was the Door to which I found no Key;
There was the Veil through which I might not see:
Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
There was--and then no more of Thee and Me

GLOSA:
Once I was lost, bereft of friend and foe,
Walking a Road whose end I did not know,
There was the Door to which I found no Key,
Through which, it seemed, I would be forced to go;

A land undiscover'd, yet not for lack
Of explorers, with or without a pack,
There was the Veil through which I might not see:
From which, once pierced, there was no turning back;
 
Remmie Baby! That's beautiful. Truly. Way better than what I've got.

It's your 2nd stanza thats the stumbler. (IMHO from here on in).

A few of the words you've chosen are awkward.

"A land undiscover'd, yet not for lack
Of explorers, with or without a pack,
There was the Veil through which I might not see:
From which, once pierced, there was no turning back;"

Could you try
"A land lay hidden, off the well worn track"

then the 2nd line doesn't meld w/ your 3rd.

"that called to me, The Seeker; pulled me back."

Does this help?

*scurrying back to my own, invigorated now.
 
Interesting challenge, so I thought I'd take one of my all-time favourite stanzas and have a go. It's very much a first attempt, but I sneaked it in between bouts of getting my latest assignment done!

Mote - Omar Khayyam's rubaï LXXI

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.​
​

Glosa[size=+1]

The fingers of the hand hold not the key
Instead, the lock is broken, and we see
The moving finger writes; and having writ
Those lines, those words, will serve to set us free.

But freedom comes with burdens and advice
Heeded in time, then leads us, and precise,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Can alter that, again fate throws the dice.

But fate's not written yet, so sieze the pen
In test to see if your best meant intent
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line
Or send it further yet beyond our ken

But let those words ring true, don't change your mind
Don't let your hand erase a single line
Nor all your Tears wash out a word of it
But yell to those false gods, this fate is mine!​
[/size]


Quite enjoyable, but then, I like working in pentameter and sometimes it's even iambic!

Alex
 
I've decided what to do.

I'll post mine here and ask

Please workshop. I think I've got the form correct, let me know if I haven't. :)





Mote
I

Wake! For the Sun, who scatter’d into flight
The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
Drives Night along with them from Heav’n, and strikes
The Sultan’s Turret with a Shaft of Light.



Glosa

Sleep through the night as dark unfurls the day
Whilst evening whispers, gems and white pearls stray
Wake! For the Sun, who scatter’d into flight
All diamond dreams so we could come to play.

Scattered afar with evening sounds retained
Night owls call through the hours that now remain
The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
Dim as the day breaks, leaving dawn tear-stained.

Each night the moon wades through a blackened sky
Devouring dreams, a rampant rape denied
Drives Night along with them from Heav’n and strikes
The Wrath of God that none dare to deny.

As thunder pounds and chaos turns to ploy
Amidst the storm a soldier would destroy
The Sultan’s Turret with a shaft of Light
That glimpse of flame, a golden rod of joy.
 
Why has no one commented on this??? I think it's lovely, WSO! I really do! My own attempt is so meager compared to this; see? I told you you could do it!

Did we ever get a due date?

Lauren?? Lauren??????
 
BooMerengue said:
Why has no one commented on this??? I think it's lovely, WSO! I really do! My own attempt is so meager compared to this; see? I told you you could do it!

Did we ever get a due date?

Lauren?? Lauren??????
Click to expand...


Why has nobody commented?


Oh gee, I just thought mine was as perfect as Alex's and everyone was spellbound and stunned into silence.

:D

Besides, you didn't just tell me I could do it, you beat me into submission until I really did do it! I think there's a subtle difference honey. ;) And I bet yours is everything except meagre. Post it! I want to see. :)

:rose:
 
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