ZENO
On Monday, August 26th, 2013, J. Patrick Lewis wrote me as follows:
New verse forms deserving of the name are almost as rare as sky hooks and unicorns. But turning to the world of mathematics, I discovered an elegant sequence that suggested a verse form I call the “zeno.” The mathematical “hailstone sequence” is simply explained at http://plus.maths.org/issue1/xfile/index.html. An experiment there describes a process whereby any positive integer will end eventually in a repeating cycle, like a hailstone in a cloud going up and down before descending to Earth.
Since the term “hailstone” calls to mind Mary O’Neill’s well-known children’s book, Hailstones and Halibut Bones, I refrained from using the term. Instead, the eponymous zeno follows from the pre-Socratic Greek philosopher of paradoxes, especially the dichotomy paradox, according to which, getting anywhere involves first getting half way there and then again halfway there, and so on ad infinitum.
In other words, the subject never arrives.
By my definition, a zeno is a poem of ten lines with 8,4,2,1,4,2, 1, 4,2,1 syllables that rhyme abcdefdghd. Its tight stricture might appeal to formalist poets. For example:
Weather,
by The Old Masters
The Michelangelo thunder
of an April
cloudburst
hints
at what follows
a great
rinse:
spring meadows in
Monet
prints.
A Third Grader Reflects
On the Good Old Days
Why isn’t elementary school
filled with sizzle,
fizz and
buzz?
I wish I knew
why be-
cause
kindergarten
always
was.
What a Day
Out of dark’s rougher neighborhoods,
Morning stumbles,
none too
bright,
recalling now
that thief,
Night,
who stole her work
of art—
Light.
Sea Song
A song streaming a thousand miles may sound like a
fairy
tale,
but it’s only
love’s bulk-
coming out of
the blue…
whale.
Why Wolves Howl
Gray wolves don’t howl at the moon.
Across a vast
timber
zone,
they oboe in
mono-
tone,
Fur-face, I am
all a-
lone.
Telephooone
The great horned owl sits in the tree
answering each
local
call—
swivel-neck and
big-eye-
ball
operator
of night-
fall.
A Slug Writes
The trails of slime I leave behind
Are merely this:
Cursive
scrawls
in juicy lines
on long
hauls—
“I dream of life
without
walls.”
If the sestina, villanelle, triolet and their cousins would move over one seat, there just might be room for this newcomer, the zeno.
-- © 2013 J. Patrick Lewis
All rights reserved.
Here are a few other zenos:
Great Blue
The great blue heron tries to hide
itself in tall
grasses,
yet
passers see this
nature’s
pet,
take photos to
not for-
get.
-- © 2013 Carol Weis. All rights reserved.
October 31st
Night. A graveyard. A single boy
walks soft as a
new-raised
ghost,
with each step re-
gretting
most
making that quick,
daylit
boast.
-- © 2013 Kate Coombs All rights reserved.
Weapons Make the Warrior?
Marching in time, but out of time
into the harsh
light of
day:
Emperor Qin’s
army.
They
wield bronze swords in
arms of
clay.
-- © 2013 Laura Purdie Salas All rights reserved.
Putting the Art Before the Horse
In Emperor Qin’s afterlife,
he would rule by
timeless
force.
But death had its
way, of
course.
Lesson? Don’t ride
a clay
horse.
-- © 2013 Laura Purdie Salas All rights reserved.
One Hen Speaks
We make eggs inside our bodies.
Roosters chase us
make us
mate.
Every egg is
tempting
fate.
Farm life or your
breakfast
plate?
-- © 2013 Amy Ludwig Vanderwater. All rights reserved.
Suggested writing exercise:
Write a Zeno.
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