Spin Class: A Rondeau Redoublé

Tags

banishing the unwanted, Elaine Stirling, fixed verse, form poetry, French medieval verse, inviting what you want, one woman's meaning of life, rondeau, the power of grace

A muse, a maze, there is a mystery
of complicated steps dancing us around
a pole we called the jubilation tree
until we bored our senses to the ground.

Garlands of happiness cannot be found
when blame and fear o’ertake me
at the roots, entangled by what sounds
a muse, a maze, there is a mystery.

If I could be amazed and let the fury
fall to stillness, be amused, unbound
by webs of politics, I’d re-examine history
of complicated steps dancing us around.

Niccoló knew it’s easy to astound
a stunnéd prince who shuns simplicity,
while Henry drew from Walden’s ground
a pole we called the jubilation tree.

The wondrous mind embraces symmetry;
resentment blinds and clubs us down
to sizes never meant to be. This we could see
until we bored our senses to the ground.

I am now freedom bound,
unique, an axis mundi, mystery
of stillpoint rising, a revolving mound
of song and laughter, poetry,
a muse, a maze.

~~~

Author’s Note: Long before there were dust busters, leaf blowers, and other noisy banishers of the unwanted, we had fixed form poetry. Energy-efficient and quiet, fixed verse like the rondeau had—still has—the effect of rousing desiccated thought systems and blowing them the heck out, if we choose. We are what we think. We are also what we allow ourselves to believe. As kids, we didn’t have much choice over what we took in, and much of what we defend as adults, especially when it’s noisy, knee-jerk, and name-calling in nature, sources from those creepy old dust bunnies. Niccoló refers to Machiavelli, a highly misunderstood soul, while Henry’s identity, I’m sure, is self-evident.

© Elaine Stirling, 2013
Image of Yggdrasil, the World Ash, from Wikipedia

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Man of Magic, Woman of Wit

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cobla exchange, Elaine Stirling, for the love of Mexico, French medieval verse, fun and silly rhyming verse, humour, Law of Attraction, nagual, narrative poetry, Oaxaca, Occitan form poetry, partimen, poetic dialogue, rancheros, Tehuantepec, tenso

A Partimen with mature content: reader discretion advised

I met you on the streets of Oaxaca
at night, staggering home from a party
or fight, you were singing rancheros
with all of your might, and I feared
my chihuahua would die of sheer—

Frightened you were, my love, that
I agree, I affirm uncontestedly, but we
met on a boat in Tehuantepec. You
admired my muscles, the curve
of my peck—

No, no, no! A lady of virtue that
I surely am would never engage
in ogling a man, though as I recall
I was waving a fan in the heat
of the boat and your hand—

Two threes and a king
wouldn’t buy me a taco, but
you had this thing that you did
with your eyes, and my courage
she rose, and a thought came to
life in the crook of my thighs…

Go on, I’m listening.

…and I looked at the guys
who were looking at you—

And I knew when you won
with the crappiest hand I had
found me the one, a magical man
who could hold up his own in the
face of my wit on the boat,
the canal of Tehuantepec—

No, no, no! They never did
build the canal, I was wrong.
We met in Oaxaca, the streets
were quite empty, and your little
hua-hua despised my guitarra,
but I kept on singing ‘cause you
gave me power, and now we are—

Masterful, magic and wit, forever
inseparable, though I submit we
should quit this partimen and
find a cantina. It’s your turn to pay.

~~~

Walking the streets of Oaxaca
at night is not recommended,
but if you should find yourself
craving tamales, garnachas,
a nice chimichanga with no
other signs of a Mexican
hunger, then do check your
pockets and heart—not for
money, but things you believe
in. If love is not there or you’ve
squashed it with reason, look
around in the dark, in the shadows
you’ll find a handsome señor and
his foxy señora, their yappy
chihuahua who hates the
laments of ranchero guitarra.

They’ve come not to harm you
but show you a way to chase
the unwanted diablitos away
like this, sing with me…

Ay, ay, ay, ay, canta y no llores!

© Elaine Stirling, 2013
Image: streets of Oaxaca, Mexico,
from Wikipedia

The Search: A Rondeau Redoublé

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Elaine Stirling, expansion, form poetry, French medieval verse, Law of Attraction, past lives, reincarnation, rejuvenation, release of karma, rondeau redouble, St. James, the Road to Compostela, time/space reality, Transfiguration, vibrational reality

At the age of fifteen, on the path of St. James,
she sets out in search of lovers she has lost
and the children she mourns who have no names
but she has no money & she doesn’t know the cost.

In a California mission where firs are tipped with frost
an acolyte remembers playing cruel parlour games
and abandoning a woman in a place called Vladivost…
at the age of fifteen, on the path of St. James.

The mother of the searching girl repudiates her claims
that we have all loved here before. She’s crossed
affection off her list, and though the girl’s disdained
she sets out in search of lovers she has lost.

The man turned priest, his dreams are tempest-tossed;
to Compostela he is sent, in hopes his soul reclaims
a calling, there she finds him weeping near a cross
and the children she mourns who have no names

surround him in the company of Peter, John and James.
Transfigured, he looks around at robes embossed
and sees her midst the faces innocent of shame,
but she has no money & she doesn’t know the cost—

nor he, of recovering & managing the lover he has lost.
They’ve grown too much to wear their former chains,
and so the saints with sweet affection blow exhaust
from both their hearts, restoring youth that reigns
at the age of fifteen.

~~~

Here is a link to the Rondeau Redoublé.

© Elaine Stirling, 2013
Image: pre-poetess on the road
to Nido de Aguilas, Lo Barnechea,
Santiago, Chile

From the Silence: A Chant Royal

Tags

Chant Royal, Elaine Stirling, form poetry, French medieval verse, inner silence, Law of Attraction

Christine de Pizan presenting The Book of the City of Ladies to Queen Isabeau

In my continuing exploration (between fits of free verse madness) of old poetry forms, I offer here the Chant Royal, five 11-line stanzas and a concluding envoi that takes the medieval ballade, my previous post, even further.

This super-fun challenge was introduced to the 14th century French courts by a well-respected author and poet who was also a woman. Christine de Pizan had the courage to challenge misogyny and the stereotypes of her era, no small feat considering these were the times of the Inquisition, of witch hunts, and crusades against the Cathars and other heretics.

I’ll save the rhyme scheme details for the end of the poem and the die-hard poets. (I know some of you, and I appreciate you to the stars!) What I will say here is this. We have been led to believe that the so-called Dark Ages contributed little to humanity beyond castle ruins, the Black Plague, and the aforementioned terrors. But I believe that deep within those years of butchery were genuine Minds on Fire. Troubadours, jongleurs, poets, and jesters (the royal fools) challenged each other’s wits for three to four hundred years with tremendous feats of language and rhyme, and may thereby have set the neuronal cornerstones for the geniuses of the Renaissance who would follow them. That’s my theory anyhow, and I like the feel of it.

I hope you enjoy “From the Silence”.

~~~

I

In the days of Egypt old there lived an
aristocracy whose lives revolved round
plucking, tweezing, averting summer tan;
‘twas only slaves while heeding every sound
from Pharaoh and his concubines enjoyed
the drench of sun on hairy skin. Less buoyed
they were by foremen of the pyramids
who viewed them as dispensable, a grid
whose lines could be replaced, a human gyre
spinning revolt, while inner voices bid:
please refrain from snapping like a tripwire.

II

In times of sooty England when the span
of industry drove youth into the ground,
when coolies and imported lesser man—
dirt cheap—drove spikes of railway iron down
through swampland, clay & stone, could not avoid
the shaming and starvation, they employed
a reddish antidote by which to rid
themselves of all the cruel bosses did.
In whispered ranks they counseled & inspired
how best to send the oligarchs askid.
Please refrain from snapping like a tripwire.

III

Today in grayish cubicles we’re crammed,
to screens of mindless data locked and bound
as viewers and consumers, Idol fans.
Through tainted quests for liberty we’ve found
our problems well described by Jung and Freud,
but none of the solutions that we’ve toyed
with wakes us from the drowsy carotid
that pulses in our craniated lid.
Ask anyone, they’ll tell you, I am tired.
I want to say, as if to spoiled kids,
please refrain from snapping like a tripwire.

IV

And then the day arrived when all my plans
to not unsnap blew up and flew around
like bits of Styrofoam. I ran my hand
through empty air, walked lonely through the town,
my iPod tuned to favourites from Pink Floyd.
I turned them off. What was this, now destroyed?
Beneath a bush, I heard a katydid
sweet-singing, clear and uninhibited.
She was not moaning, Katy should, her fire
held no judgment—the knowing came rapid:
please refrain from snapping like a tripwire.

V

I write these final stanzas from the Cannes
Film Festival where movie stars and hounds
hope movies that they love will not be panned.
The story that I thought had run aground
now stars my favourite actors who’ve deployed
the subtlest of my plot lines from the void
where all that matters must begin. Madrid
is next, and after that, who knows? Amid
the fun of now exists the all, no higher.
I’ve been reminded by a stellerid,
please refrain from snapping like a tripwire.

VI

It’s true, my friends, we’ve all inherited
capacities for joy unlimited;
by seeing what we want in full attire,
Creation’s law attracts the best of it.
Please refrain from snapping like a tripwire.

© Elaine Stirling, 2013

The rhyme scheme for Chant Royal is ababccddedE with the end line repeated in each of the five 11-line stanzas and the final envoi. The envoi can be either five or seven lines, rhymed as ddedE or ccddedE. Christine added the final mind-pretzeling rule: Apart from line E, no repetition of end words!