Who Wrote it?

annaswirls

Pointy?
Joined
Dec 9, 2003
Posts
7,204
I have been looking up who wrote some of the poems used as examples in the Survivor Challenge.

I am going to look up those I do not know (or do) and post them here. PLEASE join me in the googlefest. Many of them are written by the person who invented them (makes sense!)



14. Sonnet (English or Spenserian)
Form of lyrical poetry, the sonnet consists of 14 lines, traditionally written in iambic pentameter. The English sonnet is structured as three quatrains and a couplet, following a scheme of abab cdcd efef gg. The third quatrain generally introduces an unexpected sharp thematic turn, called volta. The final couplet generally summarizes the theme of the poem or introduces a fresh new look at the theme.


15. Sonnet (Italian)
Form of lyrical poetry, the sonnet consists of 14 lines, traditionally written in iambic pentameter. The Italian sonnet is structured as two quatrains and two tercets, following a rhyme scheme of abba abba cde cde, abba abba cdc cdc, or abba abba cde dcd. The two quatrains, typically, describe a problem, which is resolved in the two tercets. The 9th line creates a turn (volta) that signals the move from proposition to resolution. The final line of the final tercet is called golden key, closing and giving meaning to the entire poem.

When I consider how my light is spent [a]
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent [a]

To serve therewith my Maker, and present [a]
My true account, lest he returning chide;
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?"
I fondly ask; but Patience to prevent [a]

That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need [c]
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best [d]
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state [e]

Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed [c]
And post o'er land and ocean without rest; [d]
They also serve who only stand and wait." [e]

16. Tanka
Short Japanese poetic form, it consists of 5 lines, usually with a mora pattern of 5-7-5 / 7-7. When written in English, this should translate into five lines, following a short-long-short-long-long pattern. Tanka uses formal and traditional language with no apparent rhyme, often containing a pivot linking the two ideas present in the poem. It tackles the theme in an emotional and subjective manner, but relating to the physical and objective, taking a human perspective, and often relating humanity to nature. It's imagistic and symbolic, often making use of metaphor and anthropomorphism, and tries to transmit aesthetic ideals and philosophical concepts such as mysteriousness and transience.

Soon my life will close
When I am beyond this world
And have forgotten it,
Let me remember only this:
One final meeting with you.
---------------------Izumi Shikibu

Even when the gods
Held sway in ancient days,
I have never heard
That water gleamed with autumn red
As it does in Tatta's stream.
-----------------------Ariwara no Narihira

17. Tritina
Poetry form similar to the sestina, but considerably simpler, as there are only three repeating words. It's a 10-line poem, consisting of three tercets and an ending line. The last words of each line in the first tercet are repeated as the last words of each line in the other tercets, in different orders: abc cab bca. All three words appear in the final line as well, in the original order. All lines should be of a common meter or length.

First, grant me this conceit: that your body
Lives as perfect metaphor, perfect blend
Of draftsmanship, of brushwork, pigment, paint

That even Botticelli couldn't paint
In Birth of Venus. True female body,
Idealized as Sex and Love in blend,

Fused to archetype of form. To that blend
Add charm, wit, cleverness—then try to paint.
No art, no skill, captures such a body.

That body blend with mine. Coat me like paint.

18. Triolet
Short French poem, with 8 lines in length, turning on only two rhymes and including two refrains: ABaAabAB. Every line has the same metrical length.

Around the house the flakes fly faster,
And all the berries now are gone
From holly and cotoneaster [a]
Around the house. The flakes fly! – faster
Shutting indoors the crumb-outcaster [a]
We used to see upon the lawn
Around the house. The Flakes fly faster
And all the berries now are gone!

19. Villanelle
French poetic form of five triplet stanzas and a concluding quatrain, turning on only two rhymes. The first and third lines of triplet 1 are refrains, the first of which reappears as lines 6, 12, and 18; the second reappears as lines 9, 15, and 19: A1bA2 abA1 abA2 abA1 abA2 abA1A2. Every line has the same metrical length.

Do not go gentle into that good night, [a]
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. [a]

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, [a]
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night. [a]

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright [a]
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. [a]

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, [a]
And learned, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night. [a]

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. [a]

And you, my father, there on the sad height, [a]
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night. [a]
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. [a]

20. Ballad (5 stanzas or more)
Ballad measure is a four-line stanza form with an abcb rhyme scheme, used in longish poems that narrate a story, and consists of alternating tetrameter and trimeter lines: 4 beats on lines 1 and 3, and 3 beats on lines 2 and 4. They can be iambic, or they can be podic, with variable numbers of unaccented syllables.

It is an ancient Mariner, [4 beats]
And he stoppeth one of three. [3 beats]
"By thy long beard and glittering eye, [4 beats]
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? [3 beats]

The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, [a]
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set: [c]
May'st hear the merry din."

He holds him with his skinny hand,
"There was a ship," quoth he.
"Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!"
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

...

21. Blank Verse (20 lines or more)
Any unrhymed accentual-syllabic verse. By far, the most common blank verse in English language is in iambic pentameter, but can be done in iambic tetrameter, trochaic dimeter, dactylic hexameter, spondaic septameter, etc. As long as you maintain consistency throughout the poem.

But, soft! | what light | through yon|der win|dow breaks? [5 iambs]
It is| the east, | and Ju|liet is | the sun. [5 iambs]
Arise, | fair sun, | and kill | the en|vious moon, [5 iambs]
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady, O, it is my love!
O, that she knew she were!

22. Heroic Couplet (20 lines or more)
A unit of verse consisting of two lines of iambic pentameter rhyming aa. There may be enjambment within each couplet, but there shouldn't be any in between different couplets.

O could | I flow | like thee, | and make | thy stream
My great | exam|ple, as | it is | my theme!
Though deep, yet clear, though gentle, yet not dull, [a]
Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full. [a]
...

23. Ottava Rima (3 stanzas or more)
Italian stanza form consisting of 8 lines written in iambic pentameter and a rhyme scheme of abababcc.

I want | a he|ro: an | uncom|mon want, [a]
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant, [a]
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt, [a]
I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan—
We all have seen him, in the pantomime, [c]
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time. [c]

24. Rubaiyat Quatrain (5 stanzas or more)
Arabic form that consists of 4-line stanzas (rubai) rhyming aaba. The third line of each stanza becomes the main rhyme of the following stanza. The last stanza sometimes uses in its third line the main rhyme of the first stanza of the sequence. There should be no enjambment between stanzas.

Whose woods these are I think I know, [a]
His house is in the village though. [a]
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow. [a]

My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near,
Between the woods and frozen lake, [c]
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake, [c]
To ask if there is some mistake. [c]
The only other sound's the sweep, [d]
Of easy wind and downy flake. [c]

...

25. Terza Rima (4 stanzas or more + finale)
Interlocked-rhyme stanza form invented by Dante. It's an accentual-syllabic (usually iambic pentameter) form consisting of any number of interlocked, enclosed triplet stanzas. The first and third lines of each triplet rhyme; the second line rhyme of each triplet becomes the rhyme for the following stanza: aba bcb cdc ded... The traditional ending (finale) of a terza rima poem consists of a couplet rhymed from the second line of the last triplet.

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being [a]
Thou from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, [a]

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes! O thou [c]
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low, [c]
Each like a corpse within its grave, until [d]
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow [c]

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill [d]
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) [e]
With living hues and odours plain and hill; [d]

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; [e]
Destroyer and preserver; hear, O hear! [e]
 
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Cinquain (Crapsey's)

Adelaide Crapsey.

Triad

These be
Three silent things:
The falling snow... the hour
Before the dawn ... The mouth of one
Just dead.




2. Clerihew
Edmund Clerihew Bentley.

Carl Gustav Jung
was very well hung,
a fact which annoyed
Sigmund Freud.

3. Curtal Sonnet
Gerald Manley Hopkins,
Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things—
...For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
......For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
...Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
......And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
...Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
......With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
...............Praise him. [c]



4. Double Dactyl


Small Problem


Theodore L. Drachman

Higgamus hoggamus
"Anton Von Leewenhoek
Has a small problem," con-
Fided his wife.

"Microbiology
Doesn't disturb me; his
Microanatomy's
Blighting my life!"
 
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5. Ghazal

Agha Shahid Ali

Listen (to Shahid Ali’s brother read)

Where are you now? Who lies beneath your spell tonight?
Whom else from rapture’s road will you expel tonight?

Those “Fabrics of Cashmere–“ ”to make Me beautiful–“
“Trinket”– to gem– “Me to adorn– How– tell”– tonight?

I beg for haven: Prisons, let open your gates–
A refugee from Belief seeks a cell tonight.

God’s vintage loneliness has turned to vinegar–
All the archangels– their wings frozen– fell tonight.

Lord, cried out the idols, Don’t let us be broken
Only we can convert the infidel tonight.

Mughal ceilings, let your mirrored convexities
multiply me at once under your spell tonight.

He’s freed some fire from ice in pity for Heaven.
He’s left open– for God– the doors of Hell tonight.

In the heart’s veined temple, all statues have been smashed
No priest in saffron’s left to toll its knell tonight

God, limit these punishments, there’s still Judgment Day–
I’m a mere sinner, I’m no infidel tonight.

Executioners near the woman at the window.
Damn you, Elijah, I’ll bless Jezebel tonight.

The hunt is over, and I hear the Call to Prayer
fade into that of the wounded gazelle tonight.

My rivals for your love– you’ve invited them all?
This is mere insult, this is no farewell tonight.

And I, Shahid, only am escaped to tell thee–
God sobs in my arms. Call me Ishmael tonight.
 
6. Glosa

Angeline (07-11-2004) As in this challenge thread on Glosas posed by Lauren a while back. :)

mote:
Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat [a]
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday, [c]
Why fret about them if today be sweet! [d]
Omar Khayyam, rubaï #39

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 façade.


*Couldn't find this one?!
 
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These were already cited:


7. Haiku

An old pond
A frog jumps in—
the sound of water.
~Basho

Senryu

The robber,
when I catch,
my own son.

~Senryu Karai

Zappai

Cook it in the can
SPAM, block of cheese, brown sugar
I can't get it out
~-Phil and Amy Timberlake
 
I finally found this one in Tzara's thread! I miss that guy!



9. Onegin Stanza

Vikram Seth's novel The Golden Gate is also written in Onegin Stanzas. Here's a brief excerpt, by way of providing another example. In these stanzas, the novel's protagonist, John, reads a letter received in response to a personals advertisement he has posted:

2.26

He reads it through twice, somewhat chary
Of yet one more time being had.
It goes: Dear Yuppie, I am wary
Of answering a personal ad.
This is the first time, I should mention,
That I have broken my convention
Of reticence. But, well, here goes:
I rather liked your literate prose.
As an attorney, the clear crafting
Of words (our stock-in-trade) excites
My admiration. Nothing blights
A document like sloppy drafting.
Your ad, if I may be allowed
To matronize you, does you proud.


2.27

I'm friendly, female, 27,
Well-rounded too, and somewhat square.
I've not yet known romantic heaven,
But harbor hopes of getting there.
I'm fit—at least, I'm not convulsive;
And fun, I hope, though not impulsive.
To match the handsomeness you flaunt
(I do not mean this as a taunt;
I find immodesty disarming),
I have heard several people say
I am good-looking, in my way.
So if you'd like to meet, Prince Charming,
That shows discernment. If you flout
My charms, you are a tasteless lout.


2.28

With all good wishes. Yours sincerely,
Elizabeth Dorati (Liz).
John reads, but sees no image clearly.
At times it seems as if she is
Nervous and stern, at others hearty.
Who is Elizabeth Dorati:
A cool manipulating minx
Or a wise imperturbable sphinx?
The hand's italic, warm and vigorous,
Crossed out, at times, with a clean line.
The paper's cream, of plain design
(No scent or frill), the ink's a rigorous
Black, and the pen, though narrow-tipped,
Maintains the strength of the clear script.
 
found this one in a literotica archive with posts from FLYGUY, Bogusbrig, Boomerengue, whoa, memory lane!!!!!

Pantoum


by Lauren Hynde ©


Möbius Strip


Teasing from afar, I seductively undress.
Thin linen mist conceals my true desires,
As jagged breathing cries for your caress,
Wet pulsing figure, expert touch requires--

Thin linen mist conceals my true desires,
Hands roam beneath a white unbuttoned shirt.
Wet pulsing figure, expert touch requires.
I play with myself, the embodiment of flirt--

Hands roam beneath a white unbuttoned shirt.
Amid two heartbeats, a nipple comes to view.
I play with myself, the embodiment of flirt,
Tantalizingly slow, I strip naked for you--

Amid two heartbeats, a nipple comes to view
As jagged breathing cries for your caress.
Tantalizingly slow, I strip naked for you,
Teasing from afar, I seductively undress--
 
11. Rondeau

By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army



In Flanders Fields


In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.




12. Roundelay

John Dryden (1631-1700)

Chloe found Amyntas lying


Chloe found Amyntas lying
All in tears upon the plain;
Sighing to himself and crying,
Wretched I, to love in vain!
Kiss me, dear, before my dying;
Kiss me once, and ease my pain!
Sighing to himself and crying,
Wretched I, to love in vain:
Ever scorning and denying
To reward your faithful swain:
Kiss me, dear, before my dying:
Kiss me once, and ease my pain!
Ever scorning and denying
To reward your faithful swain.

Chloe, laughing at his crying,
Told him that he lov'd in vain.
Kiss me, dear, before my dying:
Kiss me once, and ease my pain!
Chloe, laughing at his crying,
Told him that he loved in vain:
But repenting, and complying,
When he kiss'd, she kiss'd again:
Kiss'd him up, before his dying;
Kiss'd him up, and eas'd his pain
 
6. Glosa

mote:
Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat [a]
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday, [c]
Why fret about them if today be sweet! [d]
Omar Khayyam, rubaï #39

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 façade.


*Couldn't find this one?!

Angeline (07-11-2004) As in this challenge thread on Glosas posed by Lauren a while back. :)
 
Angeline (07-11-2004) As in this challenge thread on Glosas posed by Lauren a while back. :)

Lord, but you have a fine memory!

When I first read the sample poems in Lauren's thread, I thought now that glosa looks so familiar. Who wrote it? Then I remembered. Me. Duh. :eek:

PS. I never liked the ending, it was a cop-out of an endng because I couldn't think of anything else that rhymed with "trod."
 
I remembered the glosa challenge and figured if I could find the thread then I'd find the writer. :)
 
Sestina

Elizabeth Bishop -

September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
reading the jokes from the almanac,
laughing and talking to hide her tears.

She thinks that her equinoctial tears
and the rain that beats on the roof of the house
were both foretold by the almanac,
but only known to a grandmother.
The iron kettle sings on the stove.
She cuts some bread and says to the child,

It's time for tea now; but the child
is watching the teakettle's small hard tears
dance like mad on the hot black stove,
the way the rain must dance on the house.
Tidying up, the old grandmother
hangs up the clever almanac

on its string. Birdlike, the almanac
hovers half open above the child,
hovers above the old grandmother
and her teacup full of dark brown tears.
She shivers and says she thinks the house
feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove.

It was to be, says the Marvel Stove.
I know what I know, says the almanac.
With crayons the child draws a rigid house
and a winding pathway. Then the child
puts in a man with buttons like tears
and shows it proudly to the grandmother.

But secretly, while the grandmother
busies herself about the stove,
the little moons fall down like tears
from between the pages of the almanac
into the flower bed the child
has carefully placed in the front of the house.

Time to plant tears, says the almanac.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove
and the child draws another inscrutable house.
 
English Sonnet

-- William Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds (Sonnet CXVI)


Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.





The Spenserian sonnet

by Edmund Spenser


Amoretti I: Happy ye leaves when as those lilly hands



Happy ye leaves when as those lilly hands,
Which hold my life in their dead doing might
Shall handle you and hold in loves soft bands,
Lyke captives trembling at the victors sight.
And happy lines, on which with starry light,
Those lamping eyes will deigne sometimes to look
And reade the sorrowes of my dying spright,
Written with teares in harts close bleeding book.
And happy rymes bath’d in the sacred brooke,
Of Helicon whence she derived is,
When ye behold that Angels bless'd looke,
My soules long lacked foode, my heavens blis,
Leaves, lines, and rymes, seeke her to please alone,
Whom if ye please, I care for other none.
 
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