[Julie Steiner]

DRAFT FOUR

Negative Capability

No one wants to hear
the ugly things I say.
Not even I, I fear.
No. One wants to hear
of beauty, love, and cheer.
But gruesome wound-display,
no one wants to hear.
The ugly. Things I say.

Apollo is the one
behind this lunacy.
We all know how much fun
Apollo is. (The one
with sickness-arrows? Run
when he sends poetry!)
Apollo is the one
behind this lunacy.

I know this won’t end well.
Still, cursed, I can’t believe
when it’s myself I tell
“Ai! No! This won’t end well.
You’ll long to enter Hell —
the one goal you’ll achieve.”
I? No!      “This won’t end well!”
Still cursed? I can’t be!       “LEAVE!”

I’ve learned. I can’t escape
before these dreams come true
and crush me like a grape.
I’ve learned: I can’t.       “ESCAPE!”
has no persuasive shape,
since I’m who told me to.
I’ve learned I can’t escape,
before. These dreams come true.

I need an audience.
To tell the truth to me
makes me mistrust its sense.
I need an audience.
For any confidence
in what I’ve said I see,
I need an audience
to tell the truth to me.

To know that it’s too late
the moment I’m believed
means hope can operate.
(To know? That — it’s too late.)
You’re not convinced? That’s great!
There’s time left. I’m relieved
to know that. It’s too late,
the moment I’m believed.

I’m doomed to live in hope,
then watch it drown. In spite
of truth’s bleak horoscope,
I’m doomed to live in hope.
Like all of Troy, I cope
by doubting I was right.
I’m doomed, too: live in hope,
then watch it drown in spite.

One hope won’t die, perhaps:
My words — all vain — still mattered.
Despite my world’s collapse;
one hope won’t die. Perhaps
when poets’ psyche snaps,
what’s left is ego, flattered.
One hope won’t die: “Perhaps
my words all” — Vain, still! — “mattered.”


DRAFT THREE (eight-triolet version; blue & green & brown revisions)

Negative Capability

My power: To contain
the boundless depths of pain.
My curse: I can’t explain
my power. “To contain
the boundless” sounds insane.
I’ll verbalize in vain
my power to contain
the boundless: depths of pain.

Apollo is the one
behind this lunacy.
We all know how much fun
Apollo is. (The one
with sickness-arrows? Run
when he sends poetry!)
Apollo is the one
behind this lunacy.

I know this won’t end well.
Still, cursed, I can’t believe
when it’s myself I tell
“Ai! No! This won’t end well.
You’ll long to enter Hell —
the one goal you’ll achieve.”
I? No!      “This won’t end well!”
Still cursed? I can’t be!      “LEAVE!”

I’ve learned. I can’t escape
before these dreams come true
and crush me like a grape.
I’ve learned: I can’t.      “ESCAPE!”
has no persuasive shape,
since I’m who told me to.
I’ve learned I can’t escape,
before. These dreams come true.

I need an audience:
to tell the truth to me
makes me mistrust its sense.
I need an audience.
For any confidence
in what I’ve said I see,
I need an audience
to tell the truth to me.

To know that it’s too late
the moment I’m believed
means hope can operate.
(To know? That — it’s too late.)
You’re not convinced? That’s great!
I’m honestly relieved
to know that. It’s too late,
the moment I’m believed.

I’m doomed to live in hope,
then watch it drown. In spite
of truth’s bleak horoscope,
I’m doomed to live in hope.
Like all of Troy, I cope
by doubting I was right.
I’m doomed, too: live in hope,
then watch it drown in spite.

One hope won’t die, perhaps:
My words — all vain! — still mattered.
Despite my world’s collapse;
one hope won’t die. Perhaps
when poets’ psyche snaps,
what’s left is ego, flattered
one hope won’t die: “Perhaps
my words all” — Vain, still! — “mattered.”


S1 was:

My power: To contain
the boundlessness of pain.
My curse: I must explain
my power. To contain
the boundless sounds insane.
This fits inside my brain?
My power to contain
the boundlessness of pain?

S3 was:

I know this won’t end well.
Still, cursed, I can’t believe
when it’s myself I tell
“Ai! No! This won’t end well.
You’ll long to enter Hell —
the one goal you’ll achieve.”
I? No.      “This won’t end well!”
Still cursed? I can’t be.      “LEAVE!”

S6L4 was:
(To know — that — it’s too late.)

S8 was:

One hope won’t die, perhaps:
My words, though vain, still mattered.
Despite my world’s collapse;
one hope won’t die. Perhaps
when poets’ psyche snaps,
what’s left is ego, flattered
one hope won’t die: Perhaps
my words, though — Vain, still! — mattered.

Final line was:
my words, though vain, still mattered.


DRAFT TWO

Denial

I know this won’t end well.
Still, cursed, I can’t believe,
since it’s myself I tell.
"Ai! No! This won’t end well!
You're striding straight for Hell.
Turn back, or else you'll grieve."
I? No. "This won’t end well!"
Still cursed? I can’t be. "LEAVE!!!"


LL2-3 were:
Still, cursed, I can’t believe
when it’s myself I tell,
L6 was:
Before too long, you'll grieve."


DRAFT ONE

Cassandra

I know this won’t end well.
Still, cursed, I can’t believe
the horrors I foretell:
“I know! This won't end well!
Turn back! You're bound for Hell!
You'll make each other grieve!”
“I know.” “This won't end well!”
“Still cursed? I can’t be.” “LEAVE!!!”

[Susan McLean]

I love a good triolet, but I think yours throws in so many twists that it is hard to follow who is talking and comes off as being a bit too clever. Maybe you could dial back the number of times you change speakers. The last line is particularly hard to parse. Maybe if you just had Cassandra say "Still cursed?" and had the reply "I can't believe." In L6 I might suggest "your loved ones" in place of "each other," which seems too general.

Susan

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Julie—

Nice use of the triolet, a notoriously restrictive and challenging verse form. I like how you use punctuation to modulate the tone and meaning of the repeated lines. “I can’t believe” and “ ‘I can’t be.’ ‘LEAVE!!!’” was especially clever.

I confess to wondering whom Cassandra is addressing in Line 6. Clytemnestra and Aegisthus was my first guess, but it could also be Paris and Helen, Priam and Hecuba, or even Apollo and Athena.

Nice job!

Glenn

[RCL]

Do I hear Cassy getting sassy, frustrated, or both at the end? That is, at the couple seeking her advice? She can’t be cursed because she’s already cursed. And then there’s that snake that always reminds me of Eve and her future.

[David Elliot Eisenstat]

+1 Susan. Maybe Cassandra could speak in italics?

[Julie Steiner]

Thanks very much for your helpful responses, Susan, Glenn, Ralph, and David (welcome!). Draft Two posted above. I hope it's at least somewhat less confusing now. I'm thinking I probably don't need to mention Cassandra, although the cat's sort of irretrievably out of the bag now.

There's a sonnet that I want to put this right after, but I'm hoping it's strong enough to be enjoyed without that context.

[David Elliot Eisenstat]

Truly the driest of the refrain forms, the triolet. I enjoy the variations of this one, which squeeze out a surprising amount of juice, but I'm looking at L5 and L6 and wondering if they couldn't foretell something more concrete. Separately, the speaker striding straight for Hell and then being the one to grieve seems a little odd, though I suppose that happened with Orpheus going after Eurydice.

[Julie Steiner]

I knew the lack of context wouldn't end well, but I wouldn't listen to my gut....

I guess I'll stop being coy and just post the damn sonnet, too.

Nah, I'll just say that the original context is very, very slight: The very modern speaker signed up for an unpleasant experience against her better judgement, and is now trying to exonerate herself a bit for sticking with it anyway. That's it.

[Susan McLean]

It works better if readers don't literally think you are writing about the myth. It opens up more possibilities. Though if you did put the poem in a particular context, that might give the reader even more to go on.

Susan

[Jim Moonan]

.
I like this very much. I love its sharp turns and bursts and sudden stops.

I must confess, when I come to this board and comment, it's sometimes akin to commenting in spite of not knowing the language but still comprehending the meaning through the sheer force of the rhythms and rhymes. I feel oblivious yet enlightened at the same time. I'm beginning to realize that formal metrical poetry is elixir-like and free verse is more like a walk in the woods. (though I'm constantly changing my opinion on the difference between the two.)

I've heard of triolets before but never bothered to explore them to find out what their structure is best used to convey. Is there some index/catalog/reference material that identifies various poetic forms and what they are most conducive at expressing? For example, I know the sonnet form provides the poet with a second chance to re-examine what they've said in the first part and continue on in a different direction to say something more probing on the subject. What would a triolet form be best used to express? Never mind: I googled it : )

Btw, I feel like I've read an earlier poem of yours with the title, "Cassandra". I like the new title.
.