Sestina Ditty

FinsburyParkCarrots

Two taps, then three more. I thought that tap mine,
unique to me. The knocking taps again.
That's Freudian uncanniness, the strange
in what's familar or what's home
in what is strange. That knock again. I'll go
and get the door, see who the knocker is.

"How are you doing, fella? Well this is
a mighty place ye have! Your door's like mine:
Art deco glass. Edwardian. You go
and make a pot of tea. Yes, back at home
I have a coat rack just like that. Again,
I have a mirror like that too." This strange

old man who's in my hallway's not so strange
to me; I feel I'm known to him. "What is
your name, sir? Make yourself at home,
please do. Come through. So far you're quite a mine
of revelations." There's that tap again:
He taps my kitchen table. "What would go

with tea? I have these biscuits here, they go
with anything. Well, do you know, that's strange
that you don't know know me. Ah well, then again
I've been away. I guess what happens is
a long lost cousin's like a buried mine
that gets forgotten, and a brand new home

gets built above it. But one day the home
begins to throb and tick, and it will GO!!!
I'm Joe, your cousin; unexploded mine."
(The way he drags his similes is strange:
that's just what I would do. Perhaps this is
a cousin, not a chancer.) "Thanks again

For this good cup of tea. I'll call again,
I'm only passing. Please call at my home
number. here's my card." This stranger is
just like me here, to come and then to go
through people's lives, not stopping, always home
to strangers, and to those at home so strange.

"I'll call again." I watch him turn and go
out through my door. The homebomb blasts, hits home.
I'm someone born again. And nothing's mine.

FinsburyParkCarrots

I ballsed up the envoi. Here it is again.

Two taps, then three more. I thought that tap mine,
unique to me. The knocking taps again.
That's Freudian uncanniness, the strange
in what's familar or what's home
in what is strange. That knock again. I'll go
and get the door, see who the knocker is.

"How are you doing, fella? Well this is
a mighty place you have! Your door's like mine:
Art deco glass. Edwardian. You go
and make a pot of tea. Yes, back at home
I have a coat rack just like that. Again,
I have a mirror like that too." This strange

old man who's in my hallway's not so strange;
I feel he knows me. So, I speak: "What is
your name, sir? Make yourself at home,
please do. Come through. So far you're quite a mine
of revelations." There's that tap again:
He taps my kitchen table. "What would go

with tea? I have these biscuits here, they go
with anything. Well, do you know, that's strange
that you don't know know me. Ah well, then again
I've been away. I guess what happens is
a long lost cousin's like a buried mine
that gets forgotten, and a brand new home

gets built above it. But one day the home
begins to throb and tick, and it will GO!!!
I'm Joe, your cousin; unexploded mine."
(The way he drags his similes is strange:
that's just what I would do. Perhaps this is
a cousin, not a chancer.) "Thanks again

For this good cup of tea. I'll call again,
I'm only passing. Please call at my home
number. here's my card." This stranger is
just like me here, to come and then to go
through people's lives, not stopping, always home
to strangers. And to those at home, so strange.

"I'll call again." I watch him turn and go
out through my door. The homebomb blasts, hits home.
I'm all this stranger is. And nothing's mine.

FinsburyParkCarrots

The invention of the sestina form of poetry is often attributed to the twelfth century mathematician and troubadour Arnault Daniel. The sestina comprises 39 lines of unrhymed verse separated into six stanzas of six lines (sestets) each followed by a concluding stanza of three lines known as an "envoi". What is striking about its form is that it makes use of repetition.

Have a look at the form of "Sestina" by the American poet Elizabeth Bishop. I have indicated where end-of-line words repeat throughout the poem:

September rain falls on the house. (A)
In the failing light, the old grandmother (B)
sits in the kitchen with the child (C)
beside the Little Marvel Stove, (D)
reading the jokes from the almanac, (E)
laughing and talking to hide her tears. (F)

She thinks that her equinoctial tears (F)
and the rain that beats on the roof of the house (A)
were both foretold by the almanac, (E)
but only known to a grandmother. (B)
The iron kettle sings on the stove. (D)
She cuts some bread and says to the child, (C)

It's time for tea now; but the child (C)
is watching the teakettle's small hard tears (F)
dance like mad on the hot black stove, (D)
the way the rain must dance on the house. (A)
Tidying up, the old grandmother (B)
hangs up the clever almanac (E)

on its string. Birdlike, the almanac (E)
hovers half open above the child, (C)
hovers above the old grandmother (B)
and her teacup full of dark brown tears. (F)
She shivers and says she thinks the house (A)
feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove. (D)

It was to be, says the Marvel Stove. (D)
I know what I know, says the almanac. (E)
With crayons the child draws a rigid house (A)
and a winding pathway. Then the child (C)
puts in a man with buttons like tears (F)
and shows it proudly to the grandmother. (B)

But secretly, while the grandmother (B)
busies herself about the stove, (D)
the little moons fall down like tears (F)
from between the pages of the almanac (E)
into the flower bed the child (C)
has carefully placed in the front of the house. (A)

Time to plant tears, says the almanac. (E)
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove (D)
and the child draws another inscrutable house. (A)


The last triplet is unrhymed but, if you notice, all six line endings from the previous stanzas are repeated: three embedded in the middle of lines, three featured as line endings.
Here's a typical Sestina formation using a different triplet structure:


A
B
C
D
E
F

F
A
E
B
D
C

C
F
D
A
B
E


E
C
B
F
A
D

D
E
A
C
F
B

B
D
F
E
C
A

B E
D C envoi
F A

Anyone want to try a proper one? I was just clowning around for a couple of minutes with the one above.

tsopotelba

FinsburyParkCarrots wrote:

The invention of the sestina form of poetry is often attributed to the twelfth century mathematician and troubadour Arnault Daniel. The sestina comprises 39 lines of unrhymed verse separated into six stanzas of six lines (sestets) each followed by a concluding stanza of three lines known as an "envoi". What is striking about its form is that it makes use of repetition.
....

Wow, cool, I've never heard of sestina before. Thank you for the literary enlightenment.

FinsburyParkCarrots

It's good. Google it and see some some sestinas.

justam

I like this one of yours FinsburyParkCarrots.