Last week, we worked with one-sentence poems. This week, we
continue the one-sentence “theme” through an even more specific idea that
involves writing one-sentence sonnets.
The word sonnet derives from the Italian sonetto. Typically, a sonnet is comprised of 14 lines, often presented in iambic pentameter and often with each line containing ten syllables. There is usually a specific rhyme scheme.
This prompt will free you from many of the traditional rules while extending last week’s prompt in a challenging but, hopefully, enjoyable way devised by our guest prompter—poet, musician, performer, publisher, and professor Joe Weil. (Some of you have “met” Joe here on the blog in past posts.)
The word sonnet derives from the Italian sonetto. Typically, a sonnet is comprised of 14 lines, often presented in iambic pentameter and often with each line containing ten syllables. There is usually a specific rhyme scheme.
This prompt will free you from many of the traditional rules while extending last week’s prompt in a challenging but, hopefully, enjoyable way devised by our guest prompter—poet, musician, performer, publisher, and professor Joe Weil. (Some of you have “met” Joe here on the blog in past posts.)
Click Here to Watch a Video of Joe Weil (poem at 7:34)
On the Sentence Sonnet by Joe Weil
I developed my own form of a sentence sonnet (and I
am sure 100 poets will rise up to tell me they invented the same or some big
shot did) to teach my students how to counterpoint sentences against the line.
This teaches enjambment, but also how poetry can isolate subsidiary
clauses, even individual words and give them an emphasis or spin in meaning that
prose cannot always give. Many poems, including “By the Road to The
Contagious Hospital” by William Carlos Williams suspend the pay off of a
sentence over many lines. My sentence sonnet rules are simple:
1. The sonnet must be one single simple, compound or
compound/complex sentence moving over 14 lines.
2. Like a traditional sonnet, a sentence sonnet must have a volta (a turn) somewhere between the seventh and tenth lines (that’s a little more leeway). (In a traditional sonnet, a turn is called a volta. A vital part of virtually all sonnets, the volta is most frequently encountered at the end of the octave (first eight lines in Petrarchan or Spenserian sonnets), or the end of the twelfth line in Shakespearean sonnets, but can occur anywhere in the sonnet.)
3. There should never be less than three words per line (unless you want to be cheeky and make each line a single word—like “The Locust Tree in Flower” by William Carlos Williams).
If nothing else, sentence sonnets teach my students the parts of the sentence, and what a sentence can be (not always well known to poets) in relation to lines. For experienced writers, the test is to try this spin on a form that Shakespeare mastered.
Here’s an example:
Mercy (A Sentence Sonnet)
The world is full of high quality coffee beans,
but
mercy is as rare as A Siberian tiger,
though
I often imagine her stalking the taiga
of
our infamy—stealthy, moving
strobe-like
through the thin birch saplings,
becoming
the striped ghost that haunts
our
deepest sorrows until, brought halt and lame
before
the covenant, we are devoured
by
such loving recompense, by that grace, that mighty
stillness
that says to each” sanctuary, “to each
“reprieve,”
until the loneliness of being
unforgiven
and of not forgiving is consumed
and
we stand as ourselves again, not singular
but
joined, tethered to the full meaning of amen.
The volta comes in this example at line ten’s “until.” You could do one of these in iambic pentameter if you wanted to wrestle with it, and I have. I used both end stopped and enjambed lines in this sentence sonnet because the unit of meaning is not the unit of the sentence. So in this sense, the poet has to think in counterpoint: unit of meaning against sentence against line, how each impacts and mitigates, and informs the other. As I said, it’s a teaching tool and a challenge.
Here’s one written by a student of mine Emily Faso:
Sonnet
by Emily Faso
Your gentle hands
showed me how
to lift the needle,
onto the record
then draw away
as scratchy sound began
to take the shape
of a melody
flooding the room,
and held mine
as we swirled
across the basement
on days when rain fell
across the roof in turrets.
Many thanks to Joe Weil for this wonderful prompt
and to Emily Faso for letting us post her fantastic sentence sonnet!