A Consolation of Poetry
Companionship in words may suffice when crowds around us say nothing we want to hear
Free Rick James wrote a beautiful poem, “Fortitude Derived From Solitude” as a hendecasyllabic terza rima.
Some Greek and Latin poets favored “hendecasyllabic” meter, which involves 11-syllable lines, but our friends at the Poetry Foundation suggest it is uncommon in English, save for Algernon Charles Swinburne. Swinburne was a late Victorian poet who also coined terms like ‘lesbian,’ and whom I suspect to have inspired/challenged T.S. Elliot to write “Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats” (better known for Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Broadway musical).
Kudos to Free Rick James for deploying such a tricky metrical structure, then adapting it into terza rima (three line poems following an A-B-A, B-C-B, rhyme scheme).
Here are some of Swinburne’s lines. Notice that he didn’t even bother to try to contrive rhymes:
“Lo, the summer is dead, the sun is faded,
Even like as a leaf the year is withered,
All the fruits of the day from all her branches
Gathered, neither is any left to gather.
All the flowers are dead, the tender blossoms,
All are taken away; the season wasted,
Like an ember among the fallen ashes.
…
All whose flowers are tears, and round his temples
Iron blossom of frost is bound for ever.”
Algernon Charles Swinburne, “Hendecasyllabics” (from Project Gutenberg)
Free Rick James addresses a similar despair braced by a stoic resolve: pick up a pen and fight with sadness.
Themes of sorrow and depression proliferate in literature, and on Medium as well. Many a pen has been raised for precisely this purpose, but each poet captures that their own way. Personal flare.
Swinburne might offer one form of companionship, but Australian wonder, Nick Cave, may have a better one. For me, a line like, “son, let me tell you what that hell bitch can raze” from Free Rick James conjures Nick Cave’s “The Weeping Song.”
Different theme than Free Rick James’, but ever so catchy, a sly danceable ballad, grim sonic texture. Cave uses irony to decant all the heaviness of despair, turning it into a bitter, drunken joke. With a catchy hook.
Yet the heartfelt duet also hints af a possibility: two (or more) exquisite musicians may face the loneliness by uniting in craft. We can share a flimsy rowboat, oars and boards contrived in word, song, and our own unique voice.
Alone, one man grappling with numbing cranial swarms and ashen ghost flames could prevail. But together, among those contriving to craft music — or meaning? We can hone and support one another even if we cannot really offer durable solace.
Swinburne sought solace from fragments of Sappho of Lesbos, antiquated forms, eccentric experimentation. Others find it elsewhere. The words persist across time, etched into ether and human stuff of meaning.
Consider this an invitation. If we must weep, may we do it skillfully.
That said, while normally I’d try to copy a poet’s style and practice their tricks to see if they work for me, I’ll demur from hendecasyllable structures for now. The effort to pull it off takes time. For once, I’ll just smile at what I read and leave it at that.
