But They Can't Forget the Noise
Listening to loud noises
building the buildings, we build the actual buildings
like a foggy night in a car
I would walk anywhere, given the light
throughout an opportunity
She’s a maneater, yes, you know this: She is selfish
Walking alone, enjoying my favorite music on my iPod, completelyoblivious to the world surrounding me. Is this selfish?They give birth to noisebut how can I explain this opportunity?See the buildingOh, so many blinding bright lights!I drank water in the car
In the name of pollution, lies a carHe stole her candy, selfishlybut as bright as the lightThese are my noisesOn top of the tallest buildinghe is growing the hearts of opportunity
Running into an opportunityI can’t smoke because the lighter is missing from the carlike the dimmest of buildingsThe woman kept walking until the sun became selfishand she was out of noiseAction! Camera! Lights!
The glare of the sun -- the red, blue, and green lightsWe live in an alley of opportunitybut they can’t forget the noisethe passing carsthese people not caring, so selfishShe and I drank vodka in the building
Big windows decorate the big buildingShe hid in the shadows away from the lightlonely and trapped in her selfishnessThis annoying opportunitymoving though traffic in a carAnd in the resonating stairwells, the sudden absence of noise
We continue to build, and given the opportunityuse headlights at night when driving a carthough he sees this as selfish, and all she sees is noise
The sestina, and its revolving order of end words, has its roots, some say, in numerology -- though the precise reason behind the order has been lost. Still, as you can tell, there's some magic in it. Regardless of our blind method of composition and the feeling that there were definitely too many chefs in the kitchen, our poem conjures up its own sort of sense. (Note: I did make a few changes, but these were only to the end words -- to make sure that we were adhering to the form.)
For this option, let's get the rest of the chefs out and give you some elbow room.
Write Your Own Sestina:
To recap (and I'll detail the order of the lines below), a sestina is comprised of six sestets (six line stanzas), each stanza sharing the same end words albeit in a different order.
Start with a subject. In our poem, we chose the city. In Ashbery's "The Painter" (which you can find in the Ashbery blog post), he chose painting. From this subject, choose six words that you think are essential to it. Try to vary these words. Pick three objects that are associated with your subject, two actions, and a feeling. Or three adjectives, an action, and two feelings. Just try to mix it up a bit. In our poem, we chose noises, building, car, light, opportunity, and selfish. Ashbery uses building, portrait, prayer, subject, brush, and canvas. The words that you choose will end each line. They cannot just be in the line but must end each line -- this is a particular restriction of the form. They don't have to rhyme or anything like that, only end the line.
Next, imagine that each end word has a corresponding number 1-6, and they are organized and appear in this order in each stanza:
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
6, 1, 5, 4, 2, 3
3, 6, 4, 1, 2, 5
5, 3, 2, 6, 1, 4
4, 5, 1, 3, 6, 2
2, 4, 6, 5, 3, 1
This seems far more complex than it really is. To make it easier on yourself, keep your words and their order recorded on a piece of paper while you write and just go top to bottom, letting the words that you've chosen lead the way and inspire the line that you are writing. Sometimes, the best way to go about writing sestinas is to write quickly as possible so your intelligence doesn't get in the way. Who knows what you might say if you don't give yourself enough time to think about it? It might be brilliant!
Due: 5/20
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