[stylist] Blank verse poem

Tue Nov 22 00:26:32 UTC 2011

Dear Bridget,
I have read ahead on e-mails and coming back to your original.
I agree with the many comments that this is a beautiful poem,
self-revealing, with heart and perhaps tears. It is what a poem should be if
it is to express feelings that others can relate to and experience more
fully—  the regret and sorrow of another.
The only problem I have is not with your poetry, but that you call it Blank
verse. The definition of blank verse is "unrhymed iambic pentameter. This
means five iambs with the accent of each iamb on the second syllable. There
would be ten syllables in each line. I will include a more professional
description of the form. This is not to say that a few well-known poets
through the ages have not fudged the rules and written some lines that are
not truly iambic, but if you enter any Blank verse contest, (I have entered
three poems and have received two honorable mentions) and they strictly
stick to the traditional rules. Even one wrong accent will cause it to be
thrown out. 
I know that when you copy a word document into Outlook, sometimes the format
gets all screwed up. I tried some maneuvering with the lines, but I could
not get them to fit the iambic pentameter form. Is it possible that you
meant "Free Verse. If so, it is wonderful.

Blank verse is poetry written in unrhymed iambic pentameter.[1] It has been
described as "probably the most common and influential form that English
poetry has taken since the sixteenth century"[2] and Paul Fussell has
claimed that "about three-quarters of all English poetry is in blank
verse."[3]

The first documented use of blank verse in the English language was by Henry
Howard, Earl of Surrey in his translation of the Æneid (c. 1554). He was
possibly inspired by the Latin original, as classical Latin verse (as well
as Greek verse) did not use rhyme; or he may have been inspired by the
Italian verse form of Versi Sciolti , which also contained no rhyme. The
play, Arden of Faversham (circa 1590 by an unknown author) is a notable
example of end-stopped blank verse.

Christopher Marlowe was the first English author to make full use of the
potential of blank verse, and also established it as the dominant verse form
for English drama in the age of Elizabeth I and James I. The major
achievements in English blank verse were made by William Shakespeare, who
wrote much of the content of his plays in unrhymed iambic pentameter, and
Milton, whose Paradise Lost is written in blank verse. Miltonic blank verse
was widely imitated in the 18th century by such poets as James Thomson (in
The Seasons) and William Cowper (in The Task). Romantic English poets such
as William Wordsworth, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and John Keats used blank verse
as a major form. Shortly afterwards, Alfred, Lord Tennyson became
particularly devoted to blank verse, using it for example in his long
narrative poem "The Princess", as well as for one of his most famous poems:
"Ulysses". Among American poets, Hart Crane and Wallace Stevens are notable
for using blank verse in extended compositions at a time when many other
poets were turning to free verse. This is from Wikipedia.

>From a poet friend, an example of different accented feet:
Jeanne Resnick
Quatrains of Sample Feet and one Five-liner 

Iambic
The man who lives upstairs 
has twenty dining chairs
a hall rack ten feet tall
and that is all

Trochaic
Mary had a little lambkin
covered with a damask napkin 
carried safe in wicker basket
"Are you comfy?" she would ask it

Anapestic
In the dark of the night
when there's wind and there's rain 
I get high as a kite
on my vintage champagne

Dactylic
Natalie called to me
"Come to me, bed with me," 
Turned me quite roseate, 
caused me to explicate,
"Sorry, I'm celibate."

Iambic
I write iambic quatrain plain
with nothing much for me to gain 
except to make a smooth refrain 
My teacher then will not complain

Note that this last one is iambic quatrain which is eight syllables, or four
feet, as against iambic pentameter which is five feet, or ten syllables with
accent on the second syllable of each foot.
Clear as mud, right?
At any rate, I love the remarks of these who sure think it is a blank in
their minds.
The NFSPS just reiterated that a poem is unacceptable to submit if it has
been put on any electronic site. It is considered published. Since my Blank
verse poems got Honorable Mentions, that means they might have a good chance
if I submit them in that category again.  So for the moment I will not copy
and paste  one of mine. I will look for a good one to send you all if I see
the continuing interest.
I have been so happy at the interest shown in poetry so far.
Write more, Bridget

Jackie

Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
Behalf Of Bridgit Pollpeter
Sent: Wednesday, November 16, 2011 11:22 AM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: [stylist] Blank verse poem

Hey,

Here's a blank verse poem I wrote a couple of years ago. This is the
first time I've shared my poetry outside a classroom. It's not great,
but I like working, and experimenting, with words and structure.

Once you were my baby sister so full of life.  
A blessing at Christmas so we named you after joy.  
So pink and precious, Rachel suited you.  Tiny hands, 
chubby cheeks, bright blue eyes, I wondered who 
you would be.  I grew up, and forgot about you.  

My angst, my pain, my life wrapped me in its selfish folds.  
When I realized you again you were on the brink 
of womanhood.  A beautiful girl who seemed self possessed.  
I should have known better, but I played the game 

like everyone else.  Confidence stands in for fear 
and self-inflicted criticism.  Your heart 
was wound up in layers of armor.  
A fragile heart was splintered and torn.  Just like me 
you looked for identity in a boy.  
I should have seen, I should have guessed.  The same blood 

trickled through our veins.  No longer a baby, 
you faced the world with demons intact.  Solace 
was an escape.  I know the pattern all too well.  
The chance to love seeps in our pores.  No one told you 
to love yourself.  No one praised your independence.  
No one pushed you to capture dreams.  Least of all me.  

You tied yourself too soon.  You raced to a dream 
ten years too soon.  My baby sister now called mother 
now called Mrs.  I see you grow quiet, I see you 
shrink in.  I am sorry for leaving you behind.  
I am sorry your strength drained before you reached the end.  
Still precious, still pink, your legacy continues 
with the essence of the girl named after joy.

Sincerely,
Bridgit Kuenning-Pollpeter
Read my blog at:
http://blogs.livewellnebraska.com/author/bpollpeter/

"History is not what happened; history is what was written down."
The Expected One- Kathleen McGowan

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