Minds Akimbo

A while ago there was this thread. Unfortunately it dried up and died a thousand deaths...having reread it several times - I now believe I know why: strict thematics and over reaching, forced entries.

I want to revive the idea but tweak it to make it workable...

Refer to the linked thread to get a small amount of information on what Masnavi is. In Western terms such poetry is often called Multiple Melded Verse - but not exclusively, there are other names and form references.

Multiple melded verse is a poetry spectrum. A series or group of poems written by multiple persons and covering a span of concepts and styles/voices. Although you'll not find much modern use or academic reference to this individual form there are many derivatives scattered throughout history, especially within the body of sacred texts and religious writings across all major and most minor faiths. Insert here particularly the medieval Abbey or Convent as penned by monks and nuns.

Traditionally a single scribe would be chosen, or anointed, and appointed the task of chartering and/or cataloging the happenings, experiences, loves, deaths, religious sentiment, ideals and all else of a family or community during the entirety of the selected scribe's lifetime. The unfinished piece would then be passed onto the next generation's chosen scribe after the former scribe's death and would continue on throughout each following generation. It would be added to on a day to day basis and incorporate all manner of concepts as previously stated. The general construct would be couplets of 10 syllables and no stanza breaks - a couplet is a pair of lines that conform to the same syllable count and that feature the same rhyme scheme (in this case end-rhyme). The fascinating thing about these poems is that they are living poetry that change and grow with those that write them and as they are passed on.

I thought we could approach this as a smelting of minds and each add a section as and when the fancy takes us - we won't stick to strict theme or recurring concept but treat it as a blog or journal entry and basically work from observation or whatever is on our minds at the time.

The easiest and most suitable structure to work to is 8 syllables per verse. A minimum of a single couplet per entry and no maximum so everyone can feel free to go as deep or as far as they like to realize what it is they want to write.

I think this could be a really interesting experiment and one that could yield some fascinating results.

I'll start us off in the next post.

--- a few extra informational snippets for those unfamiliar with specific terminology ---

--- Broken down into a visual aide formula (each x = 1s, letter = rhyme):

x x x x x x x x - A
x x x x x x x x - A
x x x x x x x x - B
x x x x x x x x - B

and so on...

--- Example of a couplet based constructed poem by me (each line per couplet = 10s):

The letter

Stood here for a time, watching the willow
as its snakes of green catch wind and billow
soft spoken words in precedents of love
enveloped in fingerless obscured gloves,
feeling, touching, caressing my own hand,
whispering echoes of her on the bank
from time long ago forgotten, released
with pain staked breathing and aches of old peace.
I unfold the note held tight in my grasp,
the words she wrote bleed my heart in cold rasps
as I succumb to faint falling steel tears
unleashing my anger, hatred and fears.
I wander for a while, stepping to pools,
ripples of memory and days of fools;
my muddled mind confused and polluted
by my beliefs and troubles refuted.
Her words on paper slice, sharp razor blades,
deep wounds in my sorry, and constrained face.
Harrowing recall of sensual arms,
bodies as one, souls forever embalmed.

Of all the things that I have seen
I've never wondered more or been
as vocally distraught within
surrounds of a world breathing in -
aghast and shocked, silenced by views
twisted in tumbling subterfuge.
How could a minute's atrophy
be so devoid of empathy?
No parent should release their child
when such tamed savages go wild.

Constant complaint about his drink
and how astute it lets him think:
life is mostly froth and bubble,
an acerbic taste the trouble -
shaken and stirred by swinging hips,
a sweeter promise of red lips
astray in wayward falsehood passed
each new flavour, never the last.

At times life is experiment
and even worth the detriment -
when truths are hidden in decry.
The facts of victory recline
in revealing the bones of bane
for the truest promise will wane.
We learn far more from failure's test
than when the answer's bland at best.