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  1. Explore the Craft of Writing Poetry Spanish Verse The Sonnet Sonnet Comparison Chart The Spanish Soneta or Spanish Sonnet, Spain's variation of the little song is written in hendecasyllabic lines. It was influenced by its Italian neighbors and uses Italian and Sicilian rhyme schemes. The Soneta is often used for monologues or exchanging vows of love. El Marqués de Santillana ( 1398-1458), was the first to write sonnets in the Spanish language. His unpublished works were in the Petrarchan form. By the 16th century, two Spanish "gentleman writers", Juan Boscán and Garcilaso de la Vega, popularized the form. But it was 17th century Francisco Quevedo who brought the sonnet to the forefront of Spanish literature. The elements of the Spanish Soneta are: a quatorzain made up of 2 Italian quatrains followed by a Sicilian sestet. syllabic, hendecasyllabic lines (11 syllables). In English often written in iambic pentameter. rhymed, rhyme scheme abba abba cdcdcd, pivot develops logically after the 2nd quatrain. Sonneto XX by Pablo Neruda Mi fea, eres una castaña despeinada, mi bella, eres hermosa como el viento, mi fea, de tu boca se pueden hacer dos, mi bella, son tus besos frescos como sandías Mi fea, ¿dónde están escondidos tus senos? Son mínimos como dos copas de trigo. Me gustaría verte dos lunas en el pecho: las gigantescas torres de tu soberanía. Mi fea, el mar no tiene tus uñas en su tienda, mi bella, flor a flor, estrella por estrella, ola por ola, amor, he contado tu cuerpo: mi fea, te amo por tu cintura de oro, mi bella, te amo por una arruga en tu frente, amor, te amo por clara y por oscura. My ugly, you're an uncombed chestnut, my belle, you're beautiful like the wind, my ugly, two mouths can be made out of yours, my belle, fresh like watermelons are your kisses. My ugly, where do your breasts hide? They're tiny like two cups of wheat. I'd like to see two moons in your chest: the gigantic towers of your sovereignty. My ugly, the sea hasn't got your nails in its store my belle, flower by flower, star by star, wave by wave, love, I've counted your body: my ugly, I love you because of your waist of gold, my belle, I love you because of a wrinkle in your forehead, love, I love you because you're clear and dark. To my Brothers by John Keats Small busy flames play through the fresh laid coals And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep Like whispers of the household gods that keep A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls. And while for rhymes, I search around the poles, Your eyes are fixed, as in poetic sleep, Upon the lore so voluble and deep That aye at fall of night our care condoles. This is your birthday Tom, and I rejoice That thus it passes smoothly, quietly. Many such eves of gently whisp'ring noise May we together pass and calmly try What are this worlds true joy, - ere the great voice From its fair face, shall bid our spirits fly.
  2. RHommel

    The Dream (Neruda)

    The Dream Walking on the sands I decided to leave you. I was treading a dark clay that trembled and I, sinking and coming out, decided that you should come out of me, that you were weighing me down like a cutting stone, and I worked out your loss step by step: to cut off your roots, to release you alone into the wind. Ah in that minute, my dear, a dream with its terrible wings was covering you. You felt yourself swallowed by the clay, and you called to me and I did not come, you were going, motionless, without defending yourself until you were smothered in the quicksand. Afterwards my decision encountered your dream, and from the rupture that was breaking our hearts we came forth clean again, naked, loving each other without dream, without sand, complete and radiant, sealed by fire. ~Pablo Neruda --------------------- This is one of my absolute favorites of his, so I thought I'd share it with you all. I have the Spanish version too, if anyone is interested... Peace and goodnight! ~Rachel
  3. Tinker

    Thematic Odes

    Explore the Craft of Writing Poetry The Ode Often Odes are named for the theme or subject of the poem. Here are a few: Elegy, Obsequy, Threnody Ode Elemental Ode is a poem that glorifies everyday things. Chilean poet Pablo Neruda is associated with this genre and is a master at venerating the most common things, the sock, salt, and/or tomato. The frame is at the discretion of the poet. Ode to the Onion by Pablo Neruda Ode to My Left Hand by Judi Van Gorder Oh, neglected left hand, I know I have not favored you in the past, the right seems to have had all of the talent. She could write better, she could accomplish all of the mundane tasks I asked of her without your awkwardness. I never appreciated or recognized your part in her successes. Now that you have been sidelined by brutally broken bones, I see how much you contributed to every aspect of my life. How helpless the right is without assistance from you. From small tasks, squeezing toothpaste onto a brush or slicing tomatoes to larger tasks, hooking a bra, opening a bottle of V8, or typing this poem, you are sorely missed. Your loveliness is now hidden beneath ugly wrapped gauze over a torturous, stiff splint with surgery looming, then plaster cast. How I long to see your fingers wiggle and grasp again. Never more will I dismiss your beauty. You are the yang to my yin. Genethliacum Ode, is a poem written in honor of the birth of a child. Usually, these lofty odes were reserved for the birth of nobility. However, technically any poem written in honor of the birth of a child would qualify as a Genethliacum. Morning Song by Sylvia Plath Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements. Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue. In a drafty museum, your nakedness Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls. I'm no more your mother Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow Effacement at the wind's hand. All night your moth-breath Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen: A far sea moves in my ear. One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral In my Victorian nightgown. Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try Your handful of notes; The clear vowels rise like balloons. Encomium or Coronation Ode is a Greek choral lyric celebrating a person's achievements. This can be expanded to the length and formality of an ode as in honor of the coronation of a king, but most often is a simple poem as would be spoken at a banquet in an introduction in the category of occasional poetry. It specifically celebrates a man rather than a god. This genre of verse usually has 5 elements, prologue, birth and development, accomplishments, comparisons with which to praise, and an epilogue. Just a Man Wedding Odes: Epithalamion or Epithalamium Protholathiumis Palinode Ode is an apologetic ode, that retracts or recants something said in a previous poem by the same poet. It is usually written as a retraction of an invective statement or offensive remark made in satire. Geoffrey Chaucer wrote a palinode at the end of the Canterbury Tales, recanting and apologizing for any bawdy or offensive statements previously made. It is really unclear if this palinode was part of the original Tales or if it was tacked on later as either an advertisement of his works or as a death bed confessional. Wherfore I biseke yow mekely, for the mercy Of God, that ye preye for me that crist have Mercy on me and foryeve me my giltes; and Namely of my translacions and enditynges of Worldly vanitees, the whiche I revoke in My retracciouns:as is the book of Troilus; the book also of Fame; the book of The xxv. Ladies; the ; The book of seint valentynes day of the parlement of briddes; the tales of counterbury, Thilke that sownen into synne; the book of the Leoun; and many another book. This was found at Wikipedia. Panegyric or Paean is an ode that celebrates something from its inception or the life of a person, not just the accomplishments. It is usually written about someone still alive and celebrates the who rather than the what of the person. "Paean" should not be confused with the metric foot "paeon". Cassini Spacecraft by David Parsley Standing Tall by Jamie McKenzie In Honor of Martin Luther King Jr. Triumphal Ode, is an ode to celebrate a victory. Also called an Epinicia when specifically celebrating a sports victory. The Epinician Ode said to be created by Simonides of Ceos, Greek lyrical poet, 556BC to 468BC though the most prolific user of the theme was Pindar of Pindaric Ode fame. Originally written to honor a victor the Hellenic games and sung in a procession for the winner and connecting him with a great hero of the past. The frame at the discretion of the poet. Victory by S.J. Duncan-Clark The Chicago Evening Post, November 11, 1918 Great Poems about the World War OUT of the night it leaped the seas-- ---The four long years of night! "The foe is beaten to his knees, ---And triumph crowns the fight!" It sweeps the world from shore to shore, ---By wave and wind 'tis flung, It grows into a mighty roar ---Of siren, bell and tongue. Where little peoples knelt in fear, ---They stand in joy today; The hour of their redemption here, ---Their feet on Freedom's way. The kings and kaisers flee their doom, ---Fall bloody crown and throne! Room for the people! Room! Make room! ---They march to claim their own! Now God be praised we lived to see ---His Sun of Justice rise, His Sun of Righteous Liberty, ---To gladden all our skies! And God be praised for those who died, ---Whate'er their clime or breed, Who, fighting bravely side by side, ---A world from thraldom freed! And God be praised for those who, spite ---Of woundings sore and deep, Survive to see the Cause of Right ---O'er all its barriers sweep! God and the people--This our cry! ---O, God, thy peace we sing! The peace that comes through victory, ---And dwells where Thou art King. Occasional Verse
  4. Aleksandra

    Pablo Neruda's poems

    I love this poet - definitely is one of the best ever. From – Twenty Poems of Love I can write the saddest lines tonight. Write for example: 'The night is fractured and they shiver, blue, those stars, in the distance' The night wind turns in the sky and sings. I can write the saddest lines tonight. I loved her, sometimes she loved me too. On nights like these I held her in my arms. I kissed her greatly under the infinite sky. She loved me, sometimes I loved her too. How could I not have loved her huge, still eyes. I can write the saddest lines tonight. To think I don't have her, to feel I have lost her. Hear the vast night, vaster without her. Lines fall on the soul like dew on the grass. What does it matter that I couldn't keep her. The night is fractured and she is not with me. That is all. Someone sings far off. Far off, my soul is not content to have lost her. As though to reach her, my sight looks for her. My heart looks for her: she is not with me The same night whitens, in the same branches. We, from that time, we are not the same. I don't love her, that's certain, but how I loved her. My voice tried to find the breeze to reach her. Another's kisses on her, like my kisses. Her voice, her bright body, infinite eyes. I don't love her, that's certain, but perhaps I love her. Love is brief: forgetting lasts so long. Since, on these nights, I held her in my arms, my soul is not content to have lost her. Though this is the last pain she will make me suffer, and these are the last lines I will write for her. Poetry And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where it came from, from winter or a river. I don't know how or when, no they were not voices, they were not words, nor silence, but from a street I was summoned, from the branches of night, abruptly from the others, among violent fires or returning alone, there I was without a face and it touched me. I did not know what to say, my mouth had no way with names, my eyes were blind, and something started in my soul, fever or forgotten wings, and I made my own way, deciphering that fire, and I wrote the first faint line, faint, without substance, pure nonsense, pure wisdom of someone who knows nothing, and suddenly I saw the heavens unfastened and open, planets, palpitating plantations, shadow perforated, riddled with arrows, fire and flowers, the winding night, the universe. And I, infinitesimal being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, felt myself a pure part of the abyss, I wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on the wind. Pablo Neruda
  5. Aleksandra

    XXIX Sonnet (Pablo Neruda)

    ......You come from poverty, from the houses of the South, from the rugged landscapes of cold and of earthquake that offered us - after those gods had tumbled to their deaths - the lesson of life, shaped in clay. You are a little horse of black clay, a kiss of dark mud, my love, a clay poppy, dove of the twilight that flew along the roads, piggy bank of tears from our poor childhood. Little one, you've kept the heart of poverty in you, your feet used to sharp rocks, your mouth that didn't always have bread, or sweets. You come from the poor South, where my soul began; in that high sky your mother is still washing clothes with my mother. That's why I choose you, compañera By Pablo Neruda * from the book " 100 Love Sonnets " / " Cien sonetos de amor " - translated by Stephan Tapscott
  6. Leaning into the afternoons, I cast my sad nets towards your oceanic eyes. There in the highest blaze my solitutde lengthens and flames, its arms turning like a drowning man's. I send out red signals across your absent eyes that move like the sea near a lighthouse. You keep only darkness, my distant female, from your regard sometimes the coast of dread emerges. Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets to that sea that beats on your marine eyes. The birds of night pack at the first stars that flash like my soul when I love you. The night gallops on its shadowy mare shedding blue tassels over the land. ~Pablo Neruda
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