Part one was simple: A free form monster reaching upwards of some six-hundred lines; a train of thought piece. But now comes the hard work; revising and rewriting to a specific structure of specific iambic foot, and rhyming scheme - and this is just part one. There are two more large parts of six to eight hundred lines each. And between each part is a transitional piece of about 49-52 lines which leads into the next greater piece. And at the end will be the same 49-52 lines in summation; an epilogue as succinct as I can manage, without over-doing it, or making it all seems cheated. All in all the whole piece should come out to about 28 or 29 hundred lines. And yet, only the very first part will make it into the novel.
The novel itself follows the meeting and chaperoned engagement of Angelina Marni and Etienne Vernay. The setting is Venice, Italy... but not the Venice you know; the canals are filled with gardens, and the gondolas float on air. It sounds a bit far-fetched, but the story works. I'm about a fifth of the way through the writing.
The fabric of the smaller poems will be unique, in that I'm incorporating the styles of two different forms: the Anaphora, and the Villanelle. Three modified Villanelles totaling fifty-two lines per transitional poem (though the villanelle is difficult to detect as I've changed it drastically). Three stanzas of fifteen lines each and a seven line summation. The hard part is the Anaphora (it's tricky), it's proving difficult to make it seem like normal language - not contrived. Here is what I have so far:
If the grande hall never stood, never danced, never could
If lovers never kissed, never danced, never should
If starlit rhythms never moved, never danced
If lovers never touched, never moved, nor romanced
If they met not each other at the edge of dance
If they danced not each other in shared romance
If they held not each other at the heart of dance
at the center of dance
If hands never clasped, never felt, never knew
If hearts never lit, never felt, never grew
If breath never stilled, never stirred, never filled
If lips never brushed, never stirred, never willed
If loves never flowered, never bloomed in dance
If loves warm embraced never sought romance
If loves chaste kiss never longed to dance
to the center of dance
But they did these and more and danced on the shore
Their love rose and fell on every trough and swell
They danced, and kissed, and loved, and more
Till chance bade them dance t'wards another shore
122015.115930.1 - lines 1 - 19
122815.034628.6 - lines 11 - 20
I've a ways to still.
Dec 28 ~
I've had some time to work on the poem and thought I'd add them above... lines eleven to twenty. So I'm about a third of the way finished.
Line eleven carries with it a lot of meaning for me: "If breath never stilled," is that catching of ones breath, when we see someone or something that makes us draw in/hold our breath in awe. Then there's "never stirred..." Have you ever seen a thing that stirred you? aroused or woke something inside you? And did it ever "will" you to want more, learn more, seek more? That's how I think romance works on us... how we come to fall in love.
Dec 30 ~
The rereading of the last four lines... ouch. I hated it. It was too much of a departure from the preceding 16, I just had to rewrite.
How then did we meet and dance from the shore?
How then did we sweep, and dip, dance and more?
How could we dance through trough and swell?
How we loved, kissed, and more I can't tell
Yet here we are at the center of dance
122915.052218.6 - lines 17 - 21
This fits much more nicely, as it follows the pattern I used for the preceding lines. Before, when read aloud, it tended to stumble... loose it step, it's rhythm, but with these changes it transitions well.
Part one of the poem (the larger work) tells the story of how Angelina sees Etienne on the outer shore; the edge of dance within the Grande Hall. How she approaches him and how they begin to dance - how she teaches him to dance, and what it all means. She points out the mistakes other couples make despite the apparent perfection of their dance - it isn't perfect, every dance is flawed by design (a flaw everyone is powerless to overcome). In time they dance to what seems the center of the hall where a great fountain rises; where great marble Orsels (a kind of mermaid) pour out a wine (ambrosia) from great urns. From this they drink, and rest.
A steward of the Dance approaches and tells them the Lord of Dance, the Lord of the Great Hall, has invited them to dance "deeper," on the next level. It is then they notice a great stair case leading upward. Whereon the first level they had already danced was filled with thousands of couples, this upper level boasts but hundreds. This is where the deep waters are, where commitment, compromise, perseverance and sacrifice come into play. Without these no relationship can flourish. It is to this level are come; to learn more of dance (there is a third level to which they eventually come, only to discover there is yet another level from which none ever return).
The second level is in rough draft. I've thought about the third, put some thoughts down on paper but as of yet it lies unwritten. The fourth and last part will be but a poem; short and sweet; the grand summation.
The whole work is a metaphor for life, love, and relationships; the ones that end quickly or over time, and the ones that endure, even beyond death. I've been working on it for about fourteen years now - the novel and it's many parts and pieces. I've never heard of a story that even remotely parallels this.
I hope to finish the work by the end of next year, and then we'll see if anyone else find this tale worth a read. The first part of the poem can be read here: The Dance
And the first three chapters of the book can be read here: In the Gardens of Love Play
It is my hope that you have had a wonderful Christmas, full of love and joy, and that the months ahead give you more of the same, and blessings from God. The Lord knows I have been in love with the nineteen year old girl for as long as I can remember; a chaste love, for sure; with a memory, an ideal. It's like the poem I wrote for you..."A snapshot within my memory, never fading, never changing." And I honestly don't know how to stop.
Until next time,
Ciao
E
