François Villon Contest

[Jean]

Legend says that around 1458, Charles d'Orleans (duke, and prominent poet of his time) held a poetic contest, where everyone was to compose a ballade starting with the line

Je meurs de soif auprès de la fontaine
I die of thirst at the fountain side

Many beautiful things were created, but it was François Villon who, having composed the brilliant, deep, eternal Ballad of Contradictions, came out winner. Thus, our contest is named after him.

A new opening line will be given every Thursday, or, if the things go slower than expected, on the 17th of every month. It is offered by the one who was the first to post in the previous round; thus, s/he plays Charles d'Orleans in this very round. If s/he has already been Charles d'Orleans, the next one to post plays this part in this round, and so on, till everybody has been the duke once, - and then we restart.

If the round is over, but your inspiration prompts you to start with a line already used in one of the previous rounds, feel free to do so! The list of all lines will be at the bottom of this post.

And Nikolett must post a poem in every round.

Current opening line:

Where do I go from here? (Odetta)

Previous opening lines:

His king is dead. His army is defeated. (Jean)

[Odetta]

His king is dead. His enemy is defeated.
There is nothing left.
The throws of revenge have conquered his soul
The fires of hell await him.

His king is dead. His enemy is defeated.
The sweat falls from his brow.
Impending death is drawing nigh
A whisper in the wind.

His king is dead. His enemy is defeated.
The assassin draws his sword.
No prayers, no pleas, no cries for peace
His final breath is drawn.



(my first poem I've ever written)

[Matt]

That was great Odetta. I don't know poetry but I really enjoyed reading it and that's probably all that matters.

[Odetta]

yeah, I don't know much about it either... I think poetry can be pretty free form, if one wants it to be.

[John Blaze]

The Rise of Phoenix

His king is dead. His army is defeated.
and yet, there is no retreat.
Surrender is a word not in his lexicon
and he shall remain cold to this heat
he orders his men to bring his horse
and gallantly takes his seat.
"Men, today some of you become heroes;
making our legend complete;
for knowing you that today you die,
you wont leave this war incomplete.
So I challenge you, today, this hour,
to help me destiny cheat,
and we shall overcome our foes,
and tread them with our feet"
So saying he rose, and heard a cheer
that gods in hell did greet.
And while he thrust his sword into the air
prayed goodbye, to golden Marguerite.


Ok, there you go. Not much, but I tried to take it in a different direction.

nice job with your own, Odetta.

[Odetta]

thanks, John... I enjoyed yours as well.

[Nerak]

The king is dead, his army defeated
He hangs his head in woe.
His turrets crumble
His home destroyed
He has nowhere to go.

The king leads the last
remaining men
to the strong-hold
by the river

There he finds
in the nick of time
His conqueror fast asleep

And with his blade
The king ends his days
Of woe no longer defeated.

[John Blaze]

nice, Nerak!

[Jean]

the three poems are great - I will comment in details later when my server comes to its senses, but already now I can say it's amazing to see what different turns poetic mind takes

thank you friends! A new opening line will be offered every Thursday (that's our day), by the one who was the first to post a poem in the previous round (this time it should be Odetta, but no earlier than Thursday). I'll elaborate on the rules later.

[Odetta]

the three poems are great - I will comment in details later when my server comes to its senses, but already now I can say it's amazing to see what different turns poetic mind takes

thank you friends! A new opening line will be offered every Thursday (that's our day), by the one who was the first to post a poem in the previous round (this time it should be Odetta, but no earlier than Thursday). I'll elaborate on the rules later.

OK... I'll post a new line on Thursday.

[Jean]

Ronin

My king is dead. My army is defeated.
My men are where the rivers flow with milk.
The drum is mute with nobody to beat it.
The banner is a piece of colored silk.

Now I am free. - All foundations shaken -
My honor gone, my pledge no more my doom -
Free like a seed the soil refused to take in,
Free like a bride deserted by the groom.

The cause was just, deals fair and dealers honest,
Until the righteous choked on their own right.
The summer scorned all that the spring had promised.
The die was cast. It rolled way out of sight.

[John Blaze]

nice poem, Jean, I like it.

[Jean]

thank you John... yes, it surely shows that the author read Kipling - and is, generally speaking, very well read. That's all. It is not real poetry, unlike some other stuff posted around here, including yours.

[John Blaze]

shut up, you know you're talented, stop fishing for compliments.

[Jean]

shut up, you know you're talented, stop fishing for compliments.

I never said I wasn't talented. I did say I wasn't a poet, though: for a number of reasons, which I am going to list because they might help us understand (by the rule of contraries) what poetry is. First, I don't have to write poems. I do it just for the fun of the game, is all. I've written maybe three or four in my entire life, and would never have thought of doing it again if not for these threads.

Poets write because they can't contain these new universes within themselves, don't they? They write because they have to - see Nikolett's thread where they give their reasons.

Next. Poetry is not about ideas: not to be confounded with essays. It's about soul and inspiration and language. Mine is all composed rationally: those who have ever argued with me about freedom will understand that the whole poem was built around one line, namely "Free like a bride deserted by the groom". I am proud of this line. It illustrates my point perfectly. Does it make it more poetic? Oh well, it would, if the rest wasn't so artificially constructed around it. (The other line the whole precarious construction depends on is the closing one, of course.)

Poetry rolls from your tongue. To a great extent, it's about words and syllables and sounds. Try reading any of mine out lout, they will grind on your tongue.

All this said, and thus some basics being defined, I think I can go on to analyze other people's poems. I really do believe there are poets here among us. Which, as I already said in Golden Rule, doesn't mean the critic has to be complimentary.

I can speak only about these pieces that are traditionally, formally poems; that is, comply with at least such rules as the presence of rhymes and metre. Please don't get me wrong. I understand very well the claims of vers libres adepts - that fixed structure (ballad or sonnet or what not) makes it only easier for the poet, that rhymes help the words along, that metre alleviates the burden of looking for the unique, the only suitable syllabic alternation, while in vers libres the poet has to aspire for absolute exactitude with no devices to help him - but I still don't buy it. It still seems to me very close to shadow-boxing, or to playing a game with no rules, or, worse, playing it according to the rules you can recreate yourself at any moment you see fit: it is not fair. That's why I can't comment on vers libres here: I fully realize they may be great, and I believe there must be people who see it; it's only that I personally don't understand them, and, thus, would rather keep silence on that subject.

Thus, chronologically, my first object is His king is dead. His army is defeated by JohnBlaze.

Not only the idea is great (turning defeat so clearly indicated in the starter line into victory!), but the whole poem is pivoted on the -eet rhyme (with only even lines rhyming): retreat-heat-seat and so on, till the glorious "golden Marguerite" that crowns it all. The eighteen lines of the poem go up and up, starting with defeat, through becoming heroes, - challenging, - cheating destiny, - cheering, with gods in hell greeting! - and climaxing in that Marguerite. The choice of words is suggestive of a chevalier, used to using cunning and manoeuvre rather than sheer straight force ("making our legend complete"; "help me destiny cheat"); moreover, this very choice of words ("gallantly takes his seat", "you wont leave this war incomplete") lets the author distance himself from the characters, making them an historical vignette rather than a metaphorical expression of any immediate personal emotion or experience (although, even given that, I am still not sure the word lexicon doesn't stick out like a sore thumb), and that's what I personally liked.
I didn't like any of the rhymes, not even because the author rhymes complete and incomplete: after all, it's François Villon contest, and monsieur Villon rhymed espoir and désespoir in the very poem I refer to in the starter post. No, the rhymes are all very old, beaten to death by generations of poets. No tropes are used, either (though I might have overlooked something); but maybe they were just not needed in a poem as short, whose main aim was, I believe, achieved: turning defeat to victory in a graphic, viable, historically recognizable scene, helped along with recurrent rhymes.

I've only just noticed that the poem has a title (which to my mind is also a great advantage). I am not sure the title fits, though: I mean, it fits the idea, of course, but hardly the whole fabric of the poem. There's nothing mythologic or symbolic or metaphoric in the text, while the title suggests exactly that. The poem is rather specific, and gives a very concrete feeling. The title is general and could fit a countless number of other poems on victory vs. defeat. (I mean, I would much rather it was entitled something like Sir Watkin Pumpkin (24th Earl of Kneedmoor) Defeats the Outnumbering Forces of Chevalier Guillaume du Cochon in 1402. I'm expressing a strictly personal opinion, of course, here or elsewhere - but it would seem more consistent.)

to be continued

[John Blaze]

there you go peoples, you have until thursday to still do one for this....

please don't be shy, we won't laugh. Unless it's funny.

[Jean]

I have updated the rules, they are in the first post

[John Blaze]

I have an addition to make to the rules.

Letti must post also.

[Brice]

I have an addition to make to the rules.

Letti must post also.

I agree she should.

[The_Nameless]

His King is dead. His army is defeated.
Now is not the time for heroes.
The myths that come, the tales ever repeated,
will be a reminder of this blackest of eves.

The majesty mounted his steed,
calling out for all to hear.
His invocations of bravery,
his declamations of freedom,
all lost as the crowd did cheer.

The arrows did soar, the swords did clash.
The sky roared, the field alight with lighting flash.
Clandestine archers strike from passing cart.
Their arrows piercing finding beating heart.

My king is dead. His armies are defeated.
My enemies will, his foes decree,
followed out for all to see.
Watch me now, he cried.
Your kingdom decimated, my actions completed.

Without home, I will now wander.
Without country, I will wallow.
To ramble along, my course to ponder.
And in my path, death will follow.

[Jean]

totally. I've edited the rules accordingly.

[Brice]

Ha, now it is a rule Letti.

[John Blaze]

nice addition nameless.

[The_Nameless]

There you go, Letti. You have no choice now.

nice addition nameless.

Thank you, sir. I didn't really have anything until I was inspired by yours.

[John Blaze]

yeah, i noticed you stole my saddle line!

j/k!

no seriously, it's good.