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Author Topic: Quatern  (Read 2858 times)
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Sad Poet
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« on: 09 December 2006, 11:55:00 »

A Quatern is a sixteen line French form composed of four quatrains. It is similar to the Kyrielle and the Retourne. It has a refrain that is in a different place in each quatrain. The first line of stanza one is the second line of stanza two, third line of stanza three, and fouth line of stanza four. A quatern has eight syllables per line. It does not have to be iambic or follow a set rhyme scheme.


Quatern

I did not know it hurts this much
to see that dreams can break away ,
to notice that bright symphathy
has turned to ithild apathy.

When I once stepped into the Dream
I did not know it hurts this much
to leave although my love still burns
and will so in eternity .

It seems the time has come to go,
my soul is weeping  silently. 
I did not know it hurts this much
to turn away from what is just

a dream. So I resign myself
to live my life without the Dream,
without  its woe or joy. Oh friends,
I did not know it hurts this much!






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Bard Judith
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« Reply #1 on: 09 December 2006, 12:26:23 »


I reach my hand out to a friend -
whose face is masked, alas - and call,
Wait!  Do not leave us so, without
a reason, answer, e'en a name!

This world's a dream within a dream.
I reach my hand out to a friend
in love, in hurt, to ask, to answer,
to proffer shendarsilks to wear,

to offer bardic wine to drink.
Can meals remembered fill your heart?
I reach my hand out to a friend;
A candle scented with the Alinfa

Reminds you of the many nights
we spent in study, writing scrolls,
and dreaming dreams together. Now
I reach my hand out to a friend...








PM Bard Judith
email masterbard at poetic dot com



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"Give me a land of boughs in leaf /  a land of trees that stand; / where trees are fallen there is grief; /  I love no leafless land."   --A.E. Housman
 
Mirmec Rethindor
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« Reply #2 on: 09 December 2006, 13:30:16 »

we worked on villanelles last time i was at zoetrope a year and a half ago, but i never heard of a Quatern, that migh be fun to try some time?

***rest of text deleted at Bard Judith's request**
« Last Edit: 10 December 2006, 04:45:48 by Landre » Logged

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« Reply #3 on: 09 December 2006, 14:03:15 »

Landre, please remove your post above, or move it to the Out-of-Topic Forum.   No offense to your poem, but this thread is not just about poetic forms, as you might have realized with a bit more thought and sensitivity.
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"Give me a land of boughs in leaf /  a land of trees that stand; / where trees are fallen there is grief; /  I love no leafless land."   --A.E. Housman
 
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« Reply #4 on: 10 December 2006, 04:44:55 »

ok its gone.

i thought this was a thread about various poem forms, cause those two poems you folk have dont excatly relate to the Santharian dream either...

but ok its gone. and it wasnt off topic. villanelles, sestinas and quaternas are all poem forms.

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« Reply #5 on: 10 December 2006, 11:36:20 »

(rolls eyes)  Really?  Thank you for informing me of that last fact.  The masterbard of Santharia might just have missed it.     

Let me be equally blunt: an anonymous poster is pouring out his or her soul in regret - someone who has been with the Dream for a long time - and I, as a long-term member who probably knows this person, am responding in kind.  Your blithe literalism was a misreading of the situation.  Again, no offense is intended to your poem or your poetic ability; rather, I question your sensitivity and 'feel' for the atmosphere of the Dream if you are able to overlook those undertones.
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"Give me a land of boughs in leaf /  a land of trees that stand; / where trees are fallen there is grief; /  I love no leafless land."   --A.E. Housman
 
Sad Poet
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« Reply #6 on: 17 December 2006, 09:48:37 »

Rondeau




It‘s just a dream

It‘s just a dream, I will not weep!
I can‘t complain, that would be cheap
for I have most one could desire,
so many friends that I  admire.
Dolour denied - it starts to seep

through all my guards. I try to keep
my  daughter close to me and sweep
all feelings off, resign my ire.
It‘s just a dream!

But in my dreams I try to reach
the hand that offers help to each
who needs a reassuring word.
I wished my helpless plea is heard
but then who marks an old hag‘s speech?
It‘s just a dream!


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Kalína Dalá'isyrás
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« Reply #7 on: 20 December 2006, 14:34:43 »

*hugs Sad Poet*

Do not fret, the impression left in her absense lives on
Carried in the hearts of many, yet few truly understand

 cry
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« Reply #8 on: 25 January 2007, 19:19:19 »

Free form, maybe a bit too prosaic. No title.




I  had hoped
for a word or two, not more
to dispel my doubts
to south my sorrows
to chase away all things which tore
my heart apart.

I had hoped
when speaking out my sorrow
that problems could be solved,
differences cleared and 
maybe tomorrow
would bring us together
again.

I had hoped
the hands a few friends offered
would hold me tight.
But the darkwinds blew,
my grip lost its power
and Injèrá ceased to shine .



I waited endlessly
for a word or two, not more,
telling me that my cry was heard.
Words arrived, at last, but not
the word or two
I had hoped for.


I  waited
for this word or two,
till dolour turned to languidness.
Once I lived inside a dream
as it lived inside me
and I believed it would be so forever.
Not anymore.
Every day without that word I waited for
pushed me away.
I blamed the darkwinds homing our souls
but now I know that even though they stopped to blow:
The void inside ourselves kills dreams.



***************************************


I am not longer drifting away
from what I once had called my home,
where my soul had settled.
I am not longer sailing the unforgiving void
far past Injèrá‘s paths.
But nothing has changed to the better.

Now I walk the lands which I once owned
as guest, I try to help, but my hands and fingers
tremble.

Standing  in darkness, hidden by high trees,
I look at a house, a castle,  with windows lit so brightly
- but the door is closed.

Inside  people are laughing,
old faces celebrating with new ones;
and I cry.
Once I belonged to them,
now the key of lacking understanding and the irons
of  disregard lock the door from the inside.
I am longing to be there, staring.
A side door - there,  small and hidden.
Too small though for my heart, which, while I slip in, stays back
between the dark trees.


********************************************


I still hope,
for a word or two, not more
which could open the locked door
and let me in
again.

Avá, don‘t open your eyes.
Dream me back
before it is too late
for the ties, they weaken
and I feel I‘m fading into the naught,
the nothingness.
What is left from me is not more
than a tiny spark which is prone to die
in the deadness of the void.




Avá, dream me back...
















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Coren FrozenZephyr
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« Reply #9 on: 27 January 2007, 06:33:28 »

 hug

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« Reply #10 on: 01 February 2007, 18:07:39 »

A last quatern




Acquaintance


It‘s hard to lose a trusted friend
no matter if he only goes
to live at new found, alien shores
or if you have to say your last

good-bye, your eyes will fill with tears:
it‘s hard to lose a trusted friend.
But I believe it‘s harder still
to realise that those you thought

were friends turn out to be just mere
acquaintance; sadness fills your heart.
It‘s hard to lose a trusted friend,
for if a friend has left, you still

have pleasant memories to soothe
your grief, whereas you‘re left alone
when friendship was just business - then
it‘s hard to lose a trusted friend.

                                                 Sad Poet











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Gean Firefeet
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« Reply #11 on: 02 February 2007, 09:54:31 »

Dear Sad Poet,

There is a time...

for throwing stones
and gathering stones,
embracing and parting.
There is a time
for finding and losing,
keeping and giving...


Ode to the Desert

O'er Rahaz Dath, the fields of golden
sands the North Wind blows
Until it breaks on Strata's walls
and round the city flows

with all its might and on its wings
it carries from the sands
the scent of all contained in these
both beauteous, dangerous lands.

And all who dare to turn their face
towards the blowing wind
will find that in the Rahaz Dath
the many odours hint

at all that life can offer us:
a painful death by snakes;
but also hospitality
which one meal simply makes

into a feast remembered long
by each one who was there;
the unforgiving heat, the calm
of each oasis fair.

And any who let wind embrace
his soul, was found in thought,
of memories of the lands beyond
the Yar'Dangs to the North.

 hug
« Last Edit: 02 February 2007, 10:02:02 by Gean Firefeet » Logged

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"If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it..."
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