The sonnet is one of my favourite poetic forms, if you ever want to read a superlative essay on this most durable mode of poetic expression do have a look at the introductory essay to Dan Patterson's 101 Sonnets.
Dante and Petrarch are the best places to start, for the forms origins. I would seriously recommend learning the Italian language, but while you're at it you may want to consult some fluent translations/transversions. Mark Musa's Canzonniere published by Indiana University Press, 1999, would be a great place to start. Musa won the keys to the city of Florence for his translations of Dante, so there you go!
I think perhaps that a lot of younger poets today may feel intimidated by the form, and so perhaps stay away. The trick, like with anything, is to use your common sense. The way it is taught in schools does not help. Try to forget all about those ridiculous rhyming schemes, unless you're into that kind of thing.
Personally, I am only a fan of rhyme in Latin or Romance languages, such as Italian, French and Spanish. In English, rhyme sucks. Milton was a godsend, being one of the most vehemently opposed English poets to rhyme. His 'trick' was syntax, or prosody. Using slight alternating rhyme, combined with alliteration, and enjambment. Being a linguist, he was fluent in Latin, he loved manipulating word order. This is really the thing. The shock of unexpected, and so fresh linguistic collocations, and metaphor. This is what poetry for Milton was about. And look what he did!
Now, of course John Donne and William Shakespeare and Sir Philip Sidney are wonderful examples of good rhyme working in English. I have tried it too, I must admit. But that's a whole other story for another post.
Here is a sonnet, typical of mine, in which I use a basic iambic pentameter - that's a 5-5 syllable count, that's five stressed and five unstressed iambs to each line. Yes, I know. Counting iambs, not very exciting stuff. But, here's the thing. You need some kind of ruling, in meter, to confine the 'beast'. Freedom, after all, is a cage. Yes, I know, that sounds a little brutal, but such is life. What are you going to do!
I will be coming back to this topic, I'm sure. But in the meantime, here's a sonnet of mine, done in my own inimitable style ( study it) and which I dedicated to the Kerry based poet John Sexton who was kind enough to get me one of my first paid reading gigs down in my hometown of Cork when The Elm Tree first came out in 2014. The poem was first published in Abridged issue 29 (see link) and later appeared as part of The Trees of Ephesus section of More Micks than Dicks, published by Famous Seamus in 2017 -which sadly now is out of print.
In
the Fields of Ephesus
For
John Sexton
The illuminations uncovered at Ephesus, the way
The light unfolds each leaf set against the cloud
Formations of Bruegel and Callot, further reveal
That nature too has memory in aesthetic.
Here in Ephesus we are not in Eden, I am reminded
Too that the apples are all gone. Under the boughs,
The year’s delicious harvest is indeterminate;
Fresh shit mixed with all manner of pain today,
Followed, possibly, by more Tom Morrow. Or,
Perhaps strawberries! Take a punnet and mind
Where you place your feet. Oh and by the way,
Don’t ask why there is a bearded lady crucified
Against the sky, flailed ceaselessly by Dominatrix,
Nor why too Vico’s giants hail Prometheus.
If you are unfamiliar with John's work check out the following link, The Offspring of the Moon would be a great introduction. Not that he needs any...
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