gmf@uvacs.UUCP (04/09/84)
Are there any people on the net besides me who are addicted to sonnets? Here's one by John Ciardi (published by him in 1979): For Instance A boy came up the street and there was a girl. "Hello," they said in passing, then didn't pass. They began to imagine. They imagined all night and woke imagining what the other imagined. Later they woke with no need to imagine. They were together. They kept waking together. Once they woke a daughter who got up and went looking for something without looking back. But they had one another. Then one of them died. It makes no difference which. Either. The other tried to imagine dying, and couldn't really, but died later, maybe to find out, though probably not. Not everything that happens is a learning experience. Maybe nothing is. -- John Ciardi Admittedly gloomy. Here's a more traditional one (rhymed, strict iambic pentameter), not so gloomy, which I wrote about 3 years ago: when we were young remember love when we were young and where insistent to each other we would be incorporate in gritty ecstasy on fields of moon and we were lovelike there and inside when we lay we could outwear the night and listen to the strategy of banging freight cars being joined while we set voyages of which we weren't aware no greater mystery excepting death will penetrate our days and make fulfill the monuments of flesh in which we care until the day we break our beating breath and time must discontain us waiting still remember love when we were young and where Gordon Fisher (...!uvacs!gmf)