ceramic object on display

Wabi-Sabi

Yours portly is brainstorming some book ideas. Right now, there are two in the hopper: the long-anticipated poetry collection Offensive Poems: With Pictures, which will include a collection of haiku with hot takes on the dystopian nightmare of modernity; and a collection of my writings about fast food.

Somewhere amid all the boxes rests my sketchbook, full of detailed doodles that will make it into Offensive Poems. Much of the poetry is written on the backs of those pictures. Once I find that bad boy, I’m firing up the scanner and getting those pictures uploaded.

In the meantime, I’ve been tinkering with some haiku here and there. I’m drawn to the form because, in my midwittery, it’s the easiest poetic form to remember: three lines in a five-seven-five syllabic pattern. No keeping track of iambic pentameter or the like (I was never good with the stress-unstressed thing, even though as a musician I possess a good sense of rhythm) or the like.

Of course, haiku, like all poetic forms of any quality, is more than just following a syllabic pattern. The form in its purest sense also calls for subject matter that reflects its naturalistic feel. The haiku in Offensive Poems won’t really follow the spirit of the form, but today’s little poem hopefully will.

The poem, “Wabi-Sabi,” is based on the Japanese concept of the same name. The concept broadly refers to an imperfect beauty; imperfections are, like a beauty spot on a woman, what paradoxically make something beautiful even more so.

In the poem below, I frame the concept of wabi-sabi in contrast to the Platonic theory of Forms, in which Plato proposed that all things aspire to be the ideal “Form” of what they are. A tree, for example, strives to be like the Platonic Form of a “tree,” which only exists on a higher plane of existence (or, for Christians or Neo-Platonists [not the same thing], exists only in Heaven and/or God’s Mind). Another way to think of Forms is the inability of the artist to capture perfectly what is in his mind’s eye (which, as an unskilled, untrained doodler, I experience frequently.

I’m also fascinated by the Japanese process in ceramics of kintsugi, in which cracks or breaks are repaired with gold, creating a (very wabi-sabi) piece that is even more beautiful because it’s been broken and repaired. There is something beautiful and even profoundly Christian about that concept: God Fills our cracks and Heals our brokenness through the Blood of His Son and the indwelling of the Holy Spirit; an idea to develop further, perhaps, another time.

Well, I’ve done what bad artists always do: written an essay to explain a work that should be able to speak for itself. So, with that, here is “Wabi-Sabi”:

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Remember, Remember, the Fifth of November

Today is Guy Fawkes Day (or Night) in merry old England, a holiday that is unapologetically nationalist, monarchist (in the best English tradition of that form of government) and Protestant Christian.  There’s something fun and refreshingly patriotic about a holiday dedicated to burning a treacherous Papist in effigy.  Not to make everything about America, but it smacks of the Fourth of July, albeit without the anti-monarchist undertones.

Most Americans will be familiar with Guy Fawkes Day and the iconic mask from the film V for Vendetta (2005), in which the meaning of Guy Fawkes focuses on the man’s role as a would-be freedom fighter for English Catholics against an oppressive Protestant regime.  In the context of the film, the titular V dons the mask in the context of a freedom fighter against a fascistic, quasi-religious British government.

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Myersvision: “Ode to the PB&J”

On my post about my new song “1001 Arabian Nights,” regular reader, contributor, commenter, and controversialist 39 Pontiac Dream/Always a Kid for Today—or “Ponty” around here—commented that he could not understand the appeal of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  He even expressed disgust that such a sandwich exists.

It seems that the British Empire really has collapsed.  But what can you expect from the English, the people whose greatest culinary triumph is boiled beef?  No wonder they conquered the world—they needed to find better cuisine!  Chewing on boiled shoe leather would motivate anyone to go out and subjugate a foreign land.

Having thrown the gauntlet, I threw my own, and challenged Audre Myers to write a pro-PB&J piece, and for Ponty to write one against.  Ponty demurred—how very French of you, m’boy!—stating that he’d never eaten one, so he couldn’t comment.  Sounds like a cowardly excuse to me!

All joking aside, Audre rose to the occasion, but instead of submitting a wild-eyed, pro-PB&J polemic, she wrote a stirring, poetic ode to America’s Lunch.

With that, here is Audre Myers’s “Ode to the PB&J”:

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Son of Sonnet: The Ballad of Forgotten Dreams

Son of Sonnet is back with a mildly post-apocalyptic poem.

The premise is intriguing; Son tells me the request was for “a poem about being a feminist in a world where you’re the only female human left. Every other human is a male.”  That sounds like the premise of a 1970s sci-fi flick!

Naturally, it’s not a great existence, but the feminist seems to realize the error of her ways.  These lines were particularly poignant:  “I learned a lesson through romance/That man may build for woman’s sake.”  How very true—I’ve accomplished a great deal in my life simply because I wanted to impress women.  I think that’s probably true for most men.

With that, here is Son of Sonnet’s “The Ballad of Forgotten Dreams”:

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Poem: The PACs

My call for submissions continues to yield fruit—KC, a regular contributor to and participant in the Dragon Common Room Telegram chat and its various projects—reached out with this poem, which she says is “a satirical take on Dr. Seuss’s poem ‘The Zax‘….”

When I asked KC if she had any biographical information she’d like to share, she said, “I don’t! Sorry!  I’m literally just a bored housewife who writes for fun.”  Then she sent along something a bit more indicative of her talents:  she “is one of the writers of Rachel Fulton Brown’s Dragon Common Room Books; a contributing author to Centrism Games, Aurora Bearialis, and the upcoming Draco Alchemicus.  But mostly she is a wife and mother who writes for the she[e]r fun of it.”

As we head into the election season, this little poem is a fun reminder of the perils of Uniparty politics.

With that, here is KC’s “The PACs”:

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Son of Sonnet: Summer Nights

We’re in the waning days of summer—at least, of glorious summer vacation—and I wanted to commemorate these fading, waning days with some poetry.

Ergo, I commissioned Son of Sonnet to twenty-three-skidoo up some summertime poetry.  Of the two themes I requested, the second was “The Hazy Nostalgia of Late Summer” (the first was “Back to School”).

There’s something about intense humidity and sunlight at 9 PM that conjure up heady memories of better times.  Son captured that beautifully in this poem.

With that, here is Son of Sonnet’s “Summer Nights”:

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Son of Sonnet: The Mountain

A couple of weekends ago I visited the mountains of southwestern Virginia to attend a memorial service for my great-aunt, who passed away November 2021 at the age of ninety-three.  She was a feisty, fun-loving lady, and the memorial service was a moving celebration of her life.  We also ate KFC and barbecue, which is the kind of send-off I want.

So the mountains were on my mind last week when Son of Sonnet reached out to me, asking me what theme I’d like a poem about.  Naturally, I asked him to write about the mountains, specifically the sweet smell of clover that serves as a sensory touchstone for my youngest memories.  To this day, whenever I smell clover, it takes me to my Mamaw’s house in Flat Gap, Virginia (outside of Pound, Virginia, in Wise County).  That scent is synonymous with her and her home.

I did not tell Son of Sonnet about that sensory relationship before he wrote the poem.  That makes the eighth and ninth lines all the more poignant and serendipitous.

So I am very pleased to present a very special poem from SoS, “The Mountain”:

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Son of Sonnet: The Sins of Middle Age

My good buddy and regular poetry contributor Son of Sonnet launched his new Locals page last week at https://sonofsonnet.locals.com/.  It’s $10 a month for all sorts of goodies—poems, poetry readings, etc.  And the price per month drops as more users sign up.

As one of the chosen subscribers, I recommended a topic for a poem:  my hilarious little release Péchés d’âge moyen, a short collection of twelve original piano miniatures.  Son—as always—delivered the goods.

To be clear, this wasn’t an easy assignment:  he had to write a poem based on twelve very short piano pieces that were largely written (initially) as part of an inside joke on the Internet.  He consulted me on a few elements of the poem, including the cover art, an original painting of mine called “Apple Picking.”

With that, I give you—reprinted with permission from the poet—“The Sins of Middle Age” (originally published at https://sonofsonnet.locals.com/ on Wednesday, 16 March 2022):

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Lazy Sunday CLVI: More Son of Sonnet

With Son of Sonnet launching his Locals page tomorrow, I thought it’d be a great time to look back at some of his recent poetry in this edition of Lazy Sunday:

There you have it!  A bit more lighthearted fare from my favorite current poet.

Happy Sunday!

—TPP

Other Lazy Sunday Installments:

Son of Sonnet: Reflection

Son of Sonnet offered up a little Mardi Gras gift:  this poem, “Reflection.”

It’s a bit of free verse, which is a bit unusual for Son, but I like it.  He and I both (I think) are of the mind that structure enhances poetry, rather than limits it, so it’s fun seeing him experiment free verse.  Even so, he has exactly ten syllables per line—that’s the Son I know!

Also, The Gemini Sonnets are complete; I recommend you read them if you haven’t already:  #1#2#3#4#5, and #6.

Every artist as dedicated to his craft as Son deserves both recognition and support.  I would encourage you to consider a subscription to Son of Sonnet’s SubscribeStar page as a way to encourage the growth and development of an eloquent voice on our side of this long culture war.  Conservatives often complain about not holding any ground culturally; now is the time to support the culture that is being created.

You can read Son of Sonnet’s poetry on his Telegram channel, on Gab, and on Minds.

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