19 Lines

The other day I wrote a villanelle.

This is a damned odd thing for me to do. I don’t write much poetry, and I do not normally read a lot of poetry (though every so often I will go on a poetry binge).

But I was trapped. The protagonist of my current enterprise is a kind of Confucian gentleman, the kind of person who can program a computer, fight a battle, refute Sartre, explore strange new worlds, perform flawless sword kata, and every so often toss off a verse or two as a comment on the action.

This habit of poetry was useful to me as a writer. As the character is over 1500 years old (it takes a few centuries to acquire all those accomplishments), his emotional states are complex and sophisticated to the point (some readers have complained) of opacity. The poetry lets you know what the old guy is actually feeling.

And I was able to keep it short. I am capable of writing competent haiku-like verse and not embarrassing myself. But suddenly, after a few surprising and shocking plot twists, I realized: “Oh shit, the guy’s going to write a villanelle, and because he’s fictional I’ve got to write it for him.”

Next time I’ll make the hero a painter or a cook.

Anyway, here are my 19 lines. (And let me state for the record that in general villanelles would be better if they were, say, 16 lines instead.)

Copyright 2007 by me, etc. Don’t fuck with it without permission.

The forms of love will not suffice
The soul a scatter of dry bone
The sad fact is I killed her twice

The wind burns cold as polar ice
Past the worn and tumbled stone
The forms of love will not suffice

From death’s cold hand now falls the dice
The heart’s wild wager overthrown
The sad fact is I killed her twice

How desolate the final price
Our history all overgrown
The forms of love will not suffice

Our certainties, now imprecise
Our melody a grating tone
The sad fact is I killed her twice

The scent of flesh was sweet and spice
The sweetness caught and torn and flown
The forms of love will not suffice
The sad fact is I killed her twice