16
Jun
08

Onegin stanza

I guess some people may have wondered,
“What is Brent’s weird poetic quirk?”
Truth is that recently I’ve plundered
A piece of Alex Pushkin’s work:
Eugene Onegin, tragic tale
Of boredom, friendship, then betrayal,
Whose sonnet form’s so crystal-clear,
I’ll teach you how to write one here:
First: fourteen lines (so nothing major),
Each line’s four lilting iambs long,
Rhymes alternate – first weak, then strong;
The rhyming scheme is clear, I’d wager.
So take your pen, and come upstage
My efforts on the comments page!


13 Responses to “Onegin stanza”


  1. 16 June, 2008 at 3:30 pm

    oh i wouldn’t dare upstage you. let the spotlight be on you!

  2. 17 June, 2008 at 2:26 am

    I don’t think I could upstage you!

  3. 3 brentusfirmus
    17 June, 2008 at 11:34 am

    Oh Richard, I’m flattered. But I’m sure you could if you tried!

  4. 4 kipstrik
    17 June, 2008 at 1:14 pm

    En dit schud je zomaar uit je mouw?!
    ik blijf onder de indruk!

    groetjes, jonna

  5. 5 pom
    18 June, 2008 at 12:59 pm

    Ik heb het altijd leuk gevonden
    het sinterklaasrijm; en werd nu
    De reageerbuis in gezonden
    om kunstjes te vertonen. U,
    u weet, u heeft mij uitgedaagd
    en krijgt verdorie wat u vraagt.
    Mijn mes gaat in de dichtersader
    mijn woorden vloeien in het kader
    van veertien regels (niet te lang)
    die in een schema rijmen moeten
    in metrum vol van huppelvoeten
    en zonder dat het lijkt op dwang.
    Nu goed! Mag ik u dan nu vragen
    zich aan het Nederlands te wagen?

  6. 6 brentusfirmus
    18 June, 2008 at 7:11 pm

    O waarde Pom, ik las recentelijk
    met vreugd’ uw versje – sterker nog,
    ik ben u duizendmaal erkentelijk
    voor uw bijdrage aan mijn blog.
    Helaas moet ik nu gaan vervelen
    en u ter plekke mededelen
    dat vanaf regel vijf tot aan
    de viertiende niet is voldaan
    aan ‘t aantal lettergrepen: binnen
    d’eerste rijm van elk kwatrijn
    heb je er twee (‘t moet vrouw’lijk zijn);
    de tweede heeft er één. Bezin en
    ontspan je, ‘k geef je nog een kans
    (in mijn steenkolen Nederlands).

  7. 7 pom
    19 June, 2008 at 2:27 pm

    O noes! Wat dom! Ik lijk wel blond! Ik
    heb uw instructies misgevat.
    In Wikipedia, daar vond ik
    hoe dit gedicht moet gaan en wat
    met welke lettergreep moet rijmen
    om woorden aan elkaar te lijmen
    al vindt u ongetwijfeld mij
    in mijn gebruik ervan te vrij.
    Maar daarmee moet u leren leven
    ‘t is onderdeel van wie ik ben
    en als ik u een beetje ken
    wilt u mij dat ook wel vergeven.
    Waarna nog één ding overblijft:
    dat viertien zich als veertien schrijft🙂

  8. 8 Phil
    21 June, 2008 at 1:35 am

    Here’s a rather more depressing one. (You asked for it :P)

    Today I broke up with a girl,
    Today I broke this lady’s heart,
    I’ve set my stomach all a’swirl,
    I’ve torn our happiness apart.

    I watched her stare in disbelief
    Into my childish downcast eyes.
    I watched the rising swells of grief
    Crash vainly ‘gainst these craggy lies.

    I plundered on: My path was set,
    I tore and burned this fertile dell.
    I shudder now, that I could yet,
    Condemn fragility to hell.

    It’s true, I am, I cannot lie,
    The most horrible thing that is alive.

  9. 9 Phil
    22 June, 2008 at 5:09 pm

    What about this?

    Today I broke up with a girl,
    Today I broke this lady’s heart,
    I’ve set my stomach all a’swirl,
    I’ve torn our happiness apart.

    I watched her stare in disbelief
    Into my childish downcast eyes.
    I watched the rising swells of grief
    Crash vainly ‘gainst these craggy lies.

    I plundered on: My path was set,
    I tore and burned this fertile dell.
    I shudder now, that I could yet,
    Condemn fragility to hell.

    And though my sin, it burns with force,
    I cannot feel but pale remorse.

  10. 10 brentusfirmus
    22 June, 2008 at 10:47 pm

    Oh Phil, don’t let your grief destroy you,
    Although it now consumes your mind.
    The old cliché’s not just a ploy: you
    Can oft act cruelly to be kind.
    We’ve all denied love’s disappointment,
    Ignored the flies inside the ointment,
    Then felt inadequate because
    Love wasn’t what we thought it was.
    Of course your self-respect will waver –
    Who wants to break another’s heart?
    But self-charading, for my part,
    Is worse. So do yourself a favour:
    Think of the good times that you’ve had –
    You’ve done her far more good than bad.

  11. 30 June, 2008 at 9:12 pm

    Okay, I’m usually not so outspoken about my nascent affections, but hey, I’ve been beatin’ around bushes so many times before. So this one is for you:

    “I love to love”, but though I love it,
    “my best is dressing old words new”.
    Shakespeare, Tina Charles and Ovid;
    I have to give them all their due.
    “Nothing in the world is single”,
    Shelley wrote, yet we don’t mingle?
    It’s true I don’t have rugby looks,
    but music, languages, and books
    do also have a certain aura.
    Wilde was right, my tone ’s too strong:
    “too stormy passions work me wrong”,
    but Petrarch, were he here with Laura,
    I’m sure his heart would just as well burn
    if she left to go to Melbourne.

  12. 13 brentusfirmus
    8 July, 2008 at 10:20 pm

    My dearest Wizard, your epistle
    Has caused my heart to heave a sigh;
    Not given to unvoiced dismissal,
    Here’s my attempt at a reply.
    It should be easy, one supposes,
    To love the things before our noses,
    Especially guys of your high grade
    (The musical, well-read brigade).
    But Cupid’s ways seem rather fickle:
    Try as I might, I just can’t bring
    His bow to make the arrow ‘zing’,
    Which leaves me here in quite a pickle:
    Where did love’s purpose go awry?
    Why don’t I love this lovely guy?


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