The town I live in is one of a kind, Where millions who abide in abject want Discourse with folks who breakfast on fine rind Without a falter in many a haunt, And cosmic chaos eyed does cause my mind To trow I am in some trancelike jaunt Wherein the rich know not to deign or vaunt Or feign pride and mistreat the ones broke; Ware they are that life shall one day go up in smoke!
Oh, mansions seen embellish narrow streets, Each of which is graced by dire slums as well, And every man who dwells in slums defeats The filth of their soul to escape pain, hell; And each who weens karma exists not meets Death like those who believe in strength of knell; It's good the rich and poor don't best or fell The ones who prize affection being woke; Ware they are that life shall one day go up in smoke!
There come days when great nature equals all, Not worried 'bout rich, powered, mighty men Or feeling sad for those poor and too small And folks who have not known what's homely den; Like dreams that go away when sleep we stall, Oft making us forget time and again Each sight that then looked as witching as glen, The scenes tell us that with time we shall choke, Thus making us ware life one day goes up in smoke!
The old widow is back at work; Sick she appears, Tired, drooling, she sighs, wipes the sweat Off her forehead. Right on the lane she's trod for years, She's seen sitting; Her mane, unkempt, white, reaches breasts Covered by aba, One that is mangled, torn, too messed. The old widow, Former charmer, Once loved, Now maimed, White-haired, Flown at by work, Is back at work.
A basket rests in front of her; It bears fresh fruits. Her face withal is all but fresh, For she has aged; The wrinkles on her face look like Paths that wind, twist; Her eyes appear as cold as ice; She's but ready, Quite ready to be slain, felled To rise again Perhaps in her next birth as child Of some monarch. The old widow, Former charmer, Once loved, Now maimed, White-haired, Flown at by work, Is back at work.
She is still, sullen seconds after; Her eyes tell tales Even as her mouth mouths words none get. Something's awry; The day she absented herself, Something transpired, For her smile is now gone, missing; Remains now just A flesh without a soul, conscience. Her sunk eyes meet mine, and she yelps; Yelp's painful, weak, Her meek self is now also weakened; It's heard then, 'He's dead.' 'Deceased is Son, passed last morning.' But the old widow Former charmer, Once loved, Now maimed, White-haired, Flown at by work, Is back at work.
Some stories I hold will a fine day die, For they may better be buried unvoiced. My voicing them may make you weep and cry.
Exist tales that can stun with not one lie, But they might come across as too unpoised. Some stories I hold will a fine day die.
Oh! I wish I were some bird in the sky That sang sound songs of love and hate rejoiced. My singing them may make you weep and cry.
My heart does yearn and burn to truly try wording each thought; nothing shall I foist. But stories I hold will a fine day die.
Courage may knock on my door, heave a sigh Not of relief but grief, crisp, loud, self-voiced. Some stories I hold will a fine day die.
Naught can now or forever make me buy Into thoughts of becoming frank; I hoist. Some stories I hold will a fine day die; My voicing them may make you weep and cry.
Villanelles, also known as villanesques, have always allured me, and I’m pretty darn sure they will continue to do so. But what exactly are villanelles? Is it easy to write them? This post aims at answering all the questions that you might have about this interesting type of poetic form.
Understanding the Term ‘Villanelle’
The English word ‘villanelle’ is derived from the Italian word ‘villanella’, which means a rustic song or dance. The word ‘villanella’, in turn, is derived from the word ‘villano’, which means a peasant. Simply put, villanelles were initially a copy of peasant songs that did not have any specific poetic structure. It is worth mentioning here that although villanelles were originally composed by French poets and balladeers, the majority of villanelles that have been composed are in English. A villanelle is a very good example of the fixed verse poetry, which is considered the opposite of the free verse form of poetry.
19 Verses With No Set Meter
Now that you know what the word ‘villanelle’ means, that a villanelle is a short poem comprising 19 verses is the first and foremost thing you might want to know. These verses are generally short and crisp, but there are no rules pertaining to the length of verses in a villanelle. It might also be noted that villanelles do not have any rules with regards to the syllables that appear in each verse. Although modern-day villanelles do not have any set meter, most of the 19th-century villanelles employed trimeter. Villanelles, nevertheless, have also used tetrameter and pentameter.
Now that you know a villanelle comprises 19 verses, let me venture to tell you that these verses are divided into a total of six stanzas. While each of the first five stanzas consists of three lines and is thus referred to as a tercet, the last stanza comprises four lines and is called a quatrain. The most important thing that you need to keep in mind about this type of poem is that the first, sixth, twelfth, and eighteenth verses are the same. Though slight changes are permissible, it must be kept in mind that none of these verses can be completely altered.
Similarly, the third, ninth, fifteenth, and nineteenth verses have to be the same. Here again, slight modifications are allowed. In different words, a villanelle must possess two refrains. The first line of the first stanza becomes the last line of both second and fourth stanzas and the penultimate line of the fifth stanza. The third line of the first stanza, nevertheless, becomes the last line of the third and fifth stanzas. Phew! That’s a lot of rules already! Right?
Rhyme Scheme
Villanelles are not easy to compose; for while on the one hand, they have strict rules pertaining to the repetition of verses, on the other hand, they are required to follow a rhyme scheme. There are only two repeating rhymes throughout, which means that each of the tercets uses the rhyme scheme ABA while the quatrain uses the rhyme scheme ABAA. The rhyme-and-refrain pattern can be illustrated thus:
1B2 AB1 AB2 AB1 AB2 AB12
Here, A and B refer to the rhyme sounds while 1 and 2 indicate the two refrains. Please note that both refrains rhyme with A.
Summary
So a villanelle is a well-structured short poem that • does not always follow an established meter • comprises 19 verses • has two refrains and two rhymes • follows the ABA rhyme scheme (and ABAA in the quatrain) • has five tercets followed by one quatrain
Animal Farm by George Orwell, born Eric Arthur Blair,comes in layers. At least seemingly. Every time you read the twentieth century fictional tale, you are more likely than not to discover a deeper meaning or two obscured within and amongst its ninety odd pages (mine was published by Select Classics, some run over one hundred and ten pages). Betwixt and between the lines of Animal Farm therefore lie tales that might otherwise evade the not-so-discerning reader. On the face of it, though, the book seems to be a humorous (spoiler alert: at times ghastly) story of anthropomorphic animals that overthrow the self-serving lord of a manor farm, taking ownership of the place with pride.
The novella, which might initially overwhelm the reader on account of its having very many animal characters, begins by depicting the farm, rich with power play and chitter-chatter, where many animals abide together, albeit not peacefully. Oppressed and overburdened with work, they stage a revolution under the leadership of Old Major, a boar. They eventually succeed in appropriating the land; the human owner is shooed away, and what begins as a founding of a peaceful animal community ends with an ending that comes across as much more tyrannical and oppressive than what it used to be during the human owner’s presence.
More Than a Fable, More Than a Satire
In what may also aptly be called a fairy story,animals convene regularly, turning intense and deliberative at times, a promulgation of seven commandments occurs, each of which undergoes fine-tuning with time to feed the needs of the ruling pigs, and even a key song entitled ‘Beasts of England’ symbolising home and the fight for freedom that is oft-repeated initially gets pronounced forbidden as the plot advances. Hypocrisy is part of the leitmotif, for Napoleon, the celebrated pig that eventually exclusively gets to rule the farm, after having a fallout with its comrade Snowball, another pig, steadily goes on to reduce its sightings in public and is almost always worshipped by its protective guards, i.e., dogs and an obsequious pig named Squealer. The other animals add colour to the story, but their brainlessness and utter tolerance seem to tell the reader what could go wrong if one ended up accepting whatever was hurled at them.
You might finish reading Animal Farm in one sitting without realising what you read was a masterpiece, wondering if there was some hidden meaning, nay meanings, only to later probably either accidentally or purposefully figure out for yourself that it was a satirical take on Stalin’s regime that began in the late 1920s. What you should be able to figure out in the first read is this: Power corrupts. Absolute power absolutely corrupts, irrespective of whether humans or animals hold it. I do not quite remember how many years ago I first gave Animal Farm a read. What I do remember nonetheless is that I flipped through it more like a fable, blissfully ignorant of the historical context and completely unaware of the rise of Stalinism in the then Soviet Union.
Where Symbolism Reigns Supreme
I decided to reread the book two weeks ago, for I had to discuss it with my students, who I am given to understand are well-read. Only this time around, I was wiser. I did my research, read about Orwell and arrested the fact that the book was a chastising of sorts of the Communist rule in the Soviet Union, especially under its controversial ruler Stalin. I discovered with conviction that it is an allegory, a stark political satire that comes with a deep, moral message.
The animals’ revolt could not just be a symbolic representation of the revolt that led to the establishment of the Stalin regime in the then USSR but also a depiction of how any individual seeking power is not immune to corruption. Perhaps the power-seeking individual himself hardly realises he may end up corrupted and oppressive? I leave you with that question to ponder. And this quote from the book: ‘Some animals are equal, but others are more equal than others.’
Change. We must have all heard this word oft-repeated, especially in cliches such as ‘change is the only thing that never changes’ or ‘change is the only constant’. After all, should we not all be reasonable to admit that everything eventually changes? A Christmas Carol, a 19th century novella by Charles Dickens, communicates how change is something that even the most inexorable of individuals cannot escape from. Set in Victorian era England, the morality fiction, divided into five chapters (the original version is divided into staves; I read the one published by Collins Classics), revolves around the happenings in the life of Ebenezer Scrooge around one not-so-normal Christmas. Scrooge is introduced as a lonely and parsimonious old man. By the end of the novella, nonetheless, Scrooge is a transformed individual. He becomes a happy, friendly, and overly generous man. The depiction of this metamorphosis of sorts forms an integral part of the book’s leitmotif.
When I began reading A Christmas Carol, I expected a tough read. For starters, I knew I was to read Dickens, who wrote in an English that differs to some extent from what is in use today. Second, the first chapter of the novella made it appear as if it were a ghost story, and trust me, I am not very fond of supernatural fiction. Nonetheless, as I continued with the read, taking my pauses to let things marinate, I began revelling in the plot; A Christmas Carol proved to be a different ball game altogether. Not that it was not demanding and surely not that it did not contain ghosts, but despite being tough with its convoluted sentences and strange ‘ghostly’ phenomena, I found it unputdownable. To be honest, it made me reminisce about my past as well. Of course, I had to read the fictional tale critically, for I was going to discuss the book with my students (and maybe review it later?), but what I did not expect was it turning out to be more predictable than I deemed it would have. So, I told myself as I read, ‘What is the harm in flipping through the 90-odd pages and reading everything coming alive in Dickens’ own words despite knowing what is to transpire?’ Thus intensified my journey of reading A Christmas Carol.
The first chapter entitled ‘Marley’s Ghost’ sets the mood for what is to follow. It begins with the death of Marley, who up until his death had been Scrooge’s business partner, and ends with the appearance of his ghost, which is all set to give its two cents to an affrighted Scrooge. Dickens’ use of simile in the very first page is explicit. ‘Old Marley was as dead as a doornail,’ says the introductory paragraph, allowing the reader to anticipate an imagery-rich continuation. The author then continues, ‘Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what is particularly dead about a doornail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade.’ This unsolicited expounding that happens in Dickens’ books is what I admire. By indulging in this practice, Dickens brings life to his narration. He also does a commendable job of showing Scrooge’s personality rather than simply telling. For instance, in the very first chapter, Dickens writes, ‘External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could warm, nor wintry weather chill him.’ This rich imagery shows us that Scrooge was indifferent to what happened around him. Even the death of his partner Marley did not move him. ‘And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but he was an excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnized it with an undoubted bargain.’
Now, contrast this to what happens in the final chapter entitled ‘The End’. Dickens writes, ‘Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the altercation in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know…’ Alright! Guess that is more than enough to show us the transformation that happened. What leads to Scrooge’s transformation might come as a surprise if you haven’t read the novella: three ghosts, each making its appearance separately in the second, third, and fourth chapters, in accordance with what was predicted by Marley’s ghost at the start.
Having said so, the book leaves a question or two unanswered. Whether Dickens does this to appreciate the intelligence of his reader or out of sheer willingness to leave the reader thinking is best known to him (or maybe now his ghost?). For example, in the fourth chapter entitled ‘The Last of the Three Spirits’, Dickens writes, ‘Scrooge was at first inclined to be surprised that the Spirit should attach importance to conversations apparently so trivial; but feeling assured that they must have some hidden purpose, he set himself to consider what it was likely to be.’ Even the reader would set himself to consider what the purpose of the conversation mentioned could be although the answer seems to float like a cloud yet to grow greyer. I would have perhaps enjoyed the read more if the sudden splurge of characters, with each either directly or indirectly connected to Scrooge’s life, in the third and penultimate chapters had not happened. I had to slow down to apprehend whatever was happening.
In Possession of Transformative Power
That leads me to a bonafide question: Is the book a tad too much for young readers? Maybe, maybe not. The big picture is easy to grasp, and the moral is what at the end matters. Who would, after all, not like to read a story of ghosts that do more to entertain and little to scare? Well, whosoever thought ghosts were creatures you should be afraid of had better give this book a read. I should also recommend this book to readers above 10 years of age who tend to believe in stories of change. You might tear up a bit, laugh out loud at times, and at times be marvelled with the use of Dickens’ English. Dickens might have been a hypocrite, but his stories, I pronounce, hold a transformative power and may continue to do so for generations to come. It’s time I bade you happy reading.
Like the Sun that shines, radiating bright light,
a guru disseminates thoughts lofty and wise.
Using his power, directness, and mystical might,
pulls you out of every single and dangerous vice.
Get closer to your guru, feel the spiritual rise,
an elevation that could get you to the worlds beyond;
but if you utter untruths or say blatant lies,
a guru will not deride you, nor will he break the bond.
If your thoughts dovetail with his, it will be a worthy sight;
and if he made you his friend, that would be verily nice.
Only he can raise you to what is called the spiritual site;
and tell you how to survive without maize, wheat, or rice.
Sages and seers in India have always had this piece of advice:
Revere your guru, pay heed to him, with him readily correspond;
but if you still have feelings that are seemingly unwise,
a guru will not deride you, nor will he break the bond.
Take refuge in your guru, do what is rightfully right;
shun residing in what some call a fool’s paradise.
Become calm, unnoticeable, omnipresent, and light,
chewing over the fact that everyone, including you, dies.
Your guru will also ensure that you get rid of bad ties,
to your queries he will be more than elated to respond;
but if you still cast aspersions or willfully fail to arise,
a guru will not deride you, nor will he break the bond.
Ask your guru if a world exists over those vast blue skies.
You will soon be turned into a contented spiritual vagabond;
but if you still make it a point to distrust and criticise,
a guru will not deride you, nor will he break the bond.
