Thursday, 3 August 2017

Sonnets in remembrance of mining

As part of the Poetry Business workshop on May 27th 2017 we were set the task of writing a sonnet - the subject was that of burying an old life and starting afresh.

The link to one of my themes - the end of mining - was obvious but I decided to start with something else and work towards it. I ended up with 3 sonnets, the final one being the one that addressed the challenge. Only 151 more to go to catch up with old Shakey.

At the bottom of the page is a description of what constitutes a sonnet - at least an English, or Shakesperean one.

Miner's Sonnet #1

The cage door slams and down the shaft we fall
The rope that holds our lives the first set trap
Of many heartless ways that death may call
To transport us in its eternal wrap 

The roof that hangs low o'er my lamp-lit head
May just decide to slip and down-ward drop
The work's too hard for me to dwell on dread
That comes from cracking sounds of failing prop

We hew and hack the black and shining seam
As with no warning firedamp slyly creeps
One fatal spark will light the gassy stream
A man is gone, his lonely widow weeps

Though peril tracks the collier's daily grind
We are within its thrall of pay entwined


Miner's Sonnet #2

With comrades brave to work each day I'd go
Joking as back and forth the wit and craic
We'd scarce be fear'd or cowed or weakness show
We knew our brothers always had our back

Communities were built on mines and coal
One whole and nourished, fed by that dark pit
The bond we had held tight within our soul
Strong as atoms no government could split

With pride we marched together as one kin
In war the ranks of blue against us stood
Knowing that should we either lose or win
We'd pay for our revolt in flesh and blood

Yet danger lurked and lives were harsh and tough
The death of coal did come not soon enough

Miner's Sonnet #3

The strike is lost; so back to work we go
The fire has gone; the will to fight is slain
The comradeship continues down below
But things will never be the same again 

There's coal down there and they all know the price
But no-one counts the cost of human pain
No jobs, no hope, a village slowly dies 
Our leaders arrogant in their disdain

A collier's spirit I will surely find
At school I failed; or was it failing me
I'll not allow despair to rule my mind
Can I learn a new trade at fifty-three?

Leave behind the only life I've ever known
My future I must plan and I must own

(c) Tim Fellows 2017

Sonnets

The Shakespearean, or English , sonnet has three quatrains (4 liners) and a couplet (2 liner) which follow the rhyme scheme: abab, cdcd, efef, gg. The couplet plays a key role, ideally forming a conclusion, confirmation, or even the opposite of the previous three verses. In Shakespeare's sonnet #130, the quatrains compare the mistress unfavourably with natural beauty. However the couplet refutes all that went before as the writer declares his love.

     My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
     Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
     If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
     If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
     I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
     But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
     And in some perfumes is there more delight
     Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
     I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
     That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
     I grant I never saw a goddess go;
     My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
     And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
     As any she belied with false compare.


Sonnets also use iambic pentameter - here's a quick explanation from Wikipedia

An iambic foot is an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable. The rhythm can be written as:

da DUM

The da-DUM of a human heartbeat is the most common example of this rhythm.

A standard line of iambic pentameter is five iambic feet in a row:

da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM

Straightforward examples of this rhythm can be heard in the opening line of Shakespeare's Sonnet #12:

When I do count the clock that tells the time

and in John Keats' To Autumn

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

 

No comments:

Post a Comment

The Colours of Her Skirt

Based on a memory, which may be unreliable, from some time in the 1960s.  With thanks to Sarah Wimbush and Ian Parks for editing and for the...