INFORM POETS – ANACREONTIC VERSE
Sorry for the very late start to the INFORM POETS prompt today. My mother-in-law lost her battle with leukemia last night and the day had gotten away from me. I sincerely apologize. Walt.
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Sara has picked up the gauntlet and has provided an insightful explanation of Anacreontic Verse. We feature it as this week’s poetic form offering!
Says Sara:
Anacreontic verse is an Ancient Greek lyrical form, consisting of 20- to 30-line poems with three to five syllables per line.
Developed by 6th century B.C. poet Anacreon, Anacreontic verse is one of many Ancient Greek forms that emerged during the height of the dramatic, musical, artistic, and poetic culture. The poems revolved around themes of love, infatuation, revelry, festivals, and observations of everyday life.
Rhyme:
None specific
Structure:
20 to 30 lines, three to five syllables per line
Measure/Beat:
Dimeter
Common Themes:
Love, infatuation, revelry, festivals (Dionysian), and observations of everyday life
Other Notes:
- Familiar, mostly enjoyable subjects
- Popular as spoken word entertainment
- Short and energetic lines
Cultural inspiration.
Anacreontic verse was inspired by a variety of cultural and occasional supernatural undertones, often paying homage to Dionysus, the Greek God of Wine. Also known for other lyric poetry forms, Anacreon found a structure to match his quick, high-impact delivery.
From Prometheus Bound
~Aeschylus (c. 535-450 BC)
Spasm! Again
what manias
beat my brain
hot i’m hot
where’s the fire?
here’s horsefly
His Arrowhead
not fire forged
but sticks: heart
stuck with fear
kicks at my ribs
eye balls whirl
spirally wheeled
by madness, madness
stormblasted I’m
blown off course
my tongue my tiller
it’s unhinged, flappy
words words thrash
dashed O! at doom
mud churning up
breaking in waves
Modern interpretations.
A more modern example of Anacreontic verse shows that, no matter the century in which it’s written, classic subjects with Dionysian undertones cleave best to the form:
Spirit Mischief
~Robert Yehling (1959- )
Two spirits danced
on mountaintops
adorned with snow,
flower patches
and robes of stars
covering their
naked bodies
while the moonlight
cast her glory,
donning their madness,
dancing slowly
across the sky
releasing scents
of evergreen.
Crag rock, a mouse
spooked by shadow
of a white goat
that hoofed upward
when the spirits
called out his name
and offered food
only dancers,
stars, moonlight and
the cold fever
of the goat’s eyes
would recognize.
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MORE NOTES: (Yes, I found it necessary to post more notes! 😉 )
Apollonian and Dionysian
The Apollonian and Dionysian is a philosophical and literary concept, or dichotomy, based on certain features of ancient Greek mythology. Many Western philosophical and literary figures have invoked this dichotomy in critical and creative works.
In Greek mythology, Apollo and Dionysus are both sons of Zeus. Apollo is the god of reason and the rational, while Dionysus is the god of the irrational and chaos. The Greeks did not consider the two gods to be opposites or rivals, although often the two deities were interlacing by nature.
The Apollonian is based on reason and logical thinking. By contrast, the Dionysian is based on chaos and appeals to the emotions and instincts. The content of all great tragedy is based on the tension created by the interplay between these two.
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SARA’S VERSE:
Starlight, Star Bright
Rose Festival
Starlight Parade
Saturday night
Theme of parade-
be something
other than yourself
Holding hands
Marching bands
Ain’t it grand!
Flood-lit costumes
Trolley car floats
Homemade boats
FrightTown wins–
A zombie
apocalypse
From chairs lined up,
people cheer,
warm beer,
ninety-eight
degrees
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WALTER’S VERSE:
WHERE PASSIONS LAND
The sun-baked sand
where our feet stand
offers the perfect
point of view
for you and I
to witness the sun-
set in the distance.
I chance a kiss,
the sip of bliss
from your soft lips.
Our silhouette
unseen by eyes
sneaking a peek
of our tryst.
In the evening mist
I breathe through you
and you breathe through me,
in this moment
Heaven sent.
Whispered words of love
and the crash of waves
are the sounds we hear,
along with heartbeats,
strong and clear
with one conjoined sound.
We have found treasure
in pleasures we bring,
it makes our hearts sing
On the sun-baked sand,
where passions land.
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016
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Walt, so sorry to hear of your loss. We’re praying for you, my friend.
Thank you, Earl. From being diagnosed a month ago and losing the fight yesterday, it has been a struggle. I appreciate your words of comfort!
Walt, Sorry to hear that your loved one has passed on. Praying for comfort for you and the family.
Thanks Damon. We carry on!
Hey Walt. So sorry to hear about this. Prayers are with you friend.
Greatly appreciated, my friend!
I need to pop by more often with some muse old friend!
I wish you would. Your voice is much needed!
Sorry for your loss, Walt.
Thank you, Connie.
Thought I’d do an everyday life one.
A Day
Cars zip by
Hurrying on
Wherever
Trees in full dress
Birds nesting
Sun beating down
Weeds growing high
Yard’s a mess
Worked today
Achy muscles
Now relaxing
Soft music lilts
Family
One in bed
One watches TV
One plays solitaire
Lights are dim
Paperwork
So behind
Play catch up
Go to bed
Rascal cricket
Sings inside
Wow. A kaleidoscope of vignettes.
Sounds like a nice day of comfort, except for paperwork.
Like. the way the pace of everyday life is so represented by
the short lines-glances throughout the day at moments…great work Connie.
Nicely done, Connie! The rapid-fire delivery is what it’s all about.
We Are
Created
In His image
We are destined to
Become His child
If we accept
His plan for us
If we accept
His perfect plan
If we accept
The unexpected
Then we can fly
Like an eagle
Through any storm
Over any
Obstacle
Thrown in our path
By the Evil One
For with God
On our side
We cannot be
Defeated
For we are His
© Earl Parsons
A psalm that seems to ring like bells chiming. Nice, Earl.
Very nice, Earl!
Walt, I’m so sorry for your loss. There is absolutely no need to apologise for being late. You have a good team for holding the fort.
I like the look of this form, and will have a play with it later.
Thank you greatly, Vivienne! I do have that for sure!
Walt, I hope you and your family are filled with happy memories of her today.
M.
A Town Like Ours
This town’s worthy
of hate, its valley
cloud-soaked, flowed
with rain and smoke,
and dingy as old
grey sheets, a bed
unloved, a corner
where the sun
never shines bright
enough, where bells
plead and peal plain
expectation off-key,
off the back
of war that emptied
our town of hope
but filled it
with bunting glory,
glory to God and
to Generals and
bullets flying
thick as insects —
a bird’s dinner.
The wires overhead
still hum with rasp
conversation,
here in this
rain-water soaked
town, here where
I was born,
a town too easy
to forget.
This is impressive work, in my opinion. The sher weight of the place comes through, to me anyway.
Pardon: “sheer” weight.
‘Glory to God, and bullets flying.’ A line that really stands out to me, as does the ending. (Sara)
Yes, Misky, the weight of the tradeoff of terrible war comes through clearly here.
Thank you, Marilyn. She was a fun lady. We have been reveling in that for days.
A harrowing place indeed, and the form – so well handled – accentuates it.
Thanks, Viv. xx
When I saw the name, Anacreon, my first thought was the song, “To Anacreon in Heaven,” which, I think, is the musical basis for the U.S. national anthem. I couldn’t resist the following, although I don;t think it obeys then rules very well.
THE ONCE-A-YEAR BAND PLAYS ON THE FOURTH
Oh, say, can you hear
the harmonica
among flutes and horns
as they march along?
It pipes high and clear
in near harmony
but cannot suborn
the crux of the song.
So onward they march,
their pants stiff with starch,
eventually nearing
the triumphal arch
where great kegs of beer
and a great repast
will bring great good cheer
and end this at last.
So let us cheer them
as their banners wave,
they’re doing their best,
this band of the brave.
You did a wonderful job on this, William. Do we really care that much about rules? No. Glad you liked the prompt, and the memories it brought back.
Adding my awe to Sara’s comment! Well done, Will!
A wonderful tribute to the tribut-ers, Bill. And what’s a few extra syllables among poet-friends?among poet-friends? .
I could hear the music in this. Lovely.
Walt, I’d like to add my thoughts of sympathy. it sounds like the course was quick; I hope her suffering was minimal.
I appreciate that William! Thank you.
Sara, thanks for the information on this form. Till I read it, I thought Anacreon was a lush. Your poem also brought memories: when I was young, nearby Newark, New York had a rose festival at the Jackson and Perkins nursery. The company still exists, but moved, 50 years ago I think, to somewhere in California or Oregon.
Walt, you know my heart and prayers are with you and your family. Absolutely no apology needed. Hugs …
Sara, thanks for stepping in so nicely! I’ll return to read and hopefully post one of my own. 🙂
I know and I know… Hugs back.
So sorry for your loss, Walt.
I’m grateful for that Salvatore. Belated birthday wishes to you, my friend!
ALL THE WORLD’S A ZOO
Monkey see;
monkey do.
What’s up with that?
Can’t human beings
think for themselves,
use their intellect
to make good choices?
Why follow a troop
of hyper monkeys
scratching the surface
of hairy bellies
instead of temples,
behind which ideas
brew in human heads?
Whatever nonsense
the times call “correct,”
they ape the monkeys
and follow the crowd.
What a waste of
human potential!
Spot on!
We have a winner here, Sal. I loved reading this. Where has individualism gone?
Okay Sal…you have just coined a phrase I will repeat often, at least until November:
“…scratching the surface
of hairy bellies
instead of temples,
behind which ideas
brew in human heads?”
Help us all think Lord, not scratch.
Great work and use of this form.
Walt – I am so sorry for your loss. I know how painful and how sad this must be for you. My heart is with you and your family.
We can always use more heart, Randi. Thank you!
Rooftop Party, 1923
“Well-lit streets discourage sin, but don’t overdo it.” ― William Kennedy, Roscoe
Gin and whiskey flowed
like the string of pearls
cascading down Clara’s
gracefully curved back.
Handsome young men
wearing white gloves
balanced silver trays
of elegant canapés,
while jazzy upbeat tunes
filled the pretentious rooms.
We toasted sin and self
and marveled at our
own personal beauty,
and we swore
we were bulletproof
because we were Youth
with a capital Y.
We deserved it all.
And if an hors d’oeuvre
casually, or carelessly,
went over the balcony wall
we’d just cheer
at the spectacle of it
as it landed in the
well-lit street below.
Did we overdo it?
Those of us
who survived
might just say yes.
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Sorry – I misread the directions and thought it said 3 – 5 words instead of syllables. Guess I’ll have to redo this.
Nonetheless, I love this paean to Flaming Youth. I suspect that, somewhere, F. Scott Fitzgerald is nodding in agreement.
And…I’m tripping over my “feet” — not sure how to follow the “dimeter” beat. We’ll see if I can come up with something…I’ve never been much of a dancer!
The only errors here are in not writing it in the first place, RJ. Still a wonderful piece.
Blow the form: it’s the poem that counts!
I love this look at society. Don’t change a word.
RJ, a gem [or a pearl] came out of this effort…I wouldn’t change a thing either. A perfect visual of youthful invincibility.
Intent
I seek a
non-anxious presence
in an anxious world,
trying to remove
the trying, with
effortless effort.
I can read the
invisible ink.
Clearly, love and light
and good are real
in the world,
tangible enough
to do battle
with evil.
Like the ink,
invisible,
but present
nonetheless,
reaching inside,
warming and shaping,
even healing.
Anyone afraid
can doubt this.
It takes courage
to drop the safety
that we think
we created,
to put away
the armor
and become soft
and vulnerable.
Daniel, that calm and confident purposeful intent is so Needed now. You used the form well to say so.
I seek along with you, Daniel. Times are sad indeed.
Not Everyday to Me
A man and his
buzzing courage,
steel teeth on his feet,
straps on his waist,
hangs in the sky,
at the end of my
jaw-dropped gaze…
hangs at the top
of a tall dead pine,
leans into air,
hangs saw in one hand
wipes sweat from
his eyes with
the other. . .
turns his head,
bends his neck,
looks and thinks
and lifts the saw,
sets the whirring bar
against the lifeless
limbless trunk…
and out of the
screaming buzzing sky
makes wooden
yellow snow.
(c) Damon Dean, 2016
Okay, broke a few topic rules for this form … sadly, here on this sad day, familiar, but not pleasant, though lyrical, and lines and meter fit. Just had to write something about this tragic refusal of God’s grace and arrogant siege on God’s authority. I am so sad.
June Twelve
Revisiting tears,
in all of my years
none died like they died
today, today.
An unrighteous man,
by ungodly plan
in judgment decried
“Today, today,
they’ll pay for their ways
these lesbians, gays,
my god not defied,
today, today!”
By murdering, he
usurped what would be
a throne faith implied,
today, today.
And who will judge me,
for sins they might see,
the ones I can’t hide,
today, today?
And my sins unseen,
from which I am clean,
for those sins who died,
today, today?
Tomorrow, I fear,
my faith won’t be clear,
unless I’ve denied today,
today.
© Damon Dean, 2016
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I’ve done my best to follow the instructions, but it doesn’t seem like poetry to me. However, I didn’t know (other than straight prose) how to tell this true story.
https://vivinfrance.wordpress.com/2016/06/13/a-true-love-story/
Beautiful imagery painted on an everyday canvas, and I love the contrast of a daring public kiss by a woman in sensible shoes.
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