Dear Insect,
I am a dreadful syllable counter at the best of times and sit tapping out a
line and counting fingers many a grey day. I am content to get ten
syllables at first go, don't really mind if there's twelve and I have to
crop but hate getting eight and having to pad which seems untrue to the
dictates of the poem sometimes. To ring true on the iambs is too much to ask
of me. And I am sure you don't mind having the odd spondee dropped on you
*smiles* . Glad you liked it.Arthur.
----- Original Message -----
From: "grasshopper" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Tuesday, January 21, 2003 12:51 AM
Subject: Re: New Sub: Death of a Falstaff
Dear Arthur,
This is great fun. If my ears don't deceive me, you've taken a few
liberties with the stresses, but that's perfectly acceptable in a modern
sonnet. Authors sometimes slip in an alexandrine (line with 6 iambs) for
variation to emphasize a line. I once got praised for my cleverness in
putting an alexandrine at a paticular point, and had to admit it was a
mistake- I just hadn't noticed the extra iamb.
Kind regards,
grasshopper
----- Original Message -----
From: "arthur seeley" <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Sunday, January 19, 2003 7:13 PM
Subject: [THE-WORKS] New Sub: Death of a Falstaff
An earlier poem reworked as a sonnet:
Death of a Falstaff. 2002
At flicking beer mats I am an adept
as street-wise as the world is wide, I’ve set
echoing streets aloud with bawdy song
and swilled and sang as midnight’s come and gone,
while through the reeling darkness of the night
I’ve waltzed the shadow of my late delight,
smoothly she moved and swayed like meadow grass
under a summer breeze, my slender lass.
This tutorial of tubes, clean sheets and drip
confounds me now, they have me on the hip.
Some Mistress Quickly comes and goes all day,
collects my body's wastes while I decay.
A lard-arsed lump, I slowly fail and chill.
I refuse to obey and die - yet will.
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