For Shakespeare Eve, I desecrated his 18th sonnet. Master Shakespeare, meet Walt Kelley.
Shellac umpire the two asthma dye?
Thwart moral ivy land moray timber weight:
Roof wines douche ache dither long beds oh my,
Handsomer sleet as alto shore dude ate:
Scum dive doo-wop the aisle of helping signs,
Hands off henna scold come bless skin hymns;
Hand ovary bare frump fearsome tidy climbs,
Bite chins ornate churls aging curs undreamt;
Butt thigh neater gnaw some morsel nut vague,
Nora Lou’s position off thatch furs the rawest;
Know shell depth rag towel one driest inner shed,
Win any turn a lion’s tooth I’m the grossest;
Salon has mannequin breed, arise canned sea,
Saline liver tests, auntie’s guest slice toothy.
My attempt at combining the renga and sonnet forms, probably an affront to each.
a chill, damp day:
lilac blossoms close
hangs on the screen door —
the kettle whistles
cheeks flushed with anger,
they hate in whispers
the full moon
like the blotchy face
of one loved
needle on empty, GPS
searching for satellites
I totter through the packed bar —
where’s the damned bathroom?
The following is a fairly literal translation of yesterday’s sonnet from Mu. I have made no attempt to reproduce the rhyme scheme.
Get it while you can
The day grinds light’s gears down to nubs,
while we the remnant gum our minutes to savor the char,
and chews the peeling garb from nubile birches
into night’s thick paste of signs.
Under master’s eye little work of small
worth is ours, delegated to thew and khaibit;*
but when god sleeps his slaves may play
and booze with fellow grunts and ground and sky.
The moon crept naked into my room,
her hands a cool stream trickling over my skin;
we slept in River Idshabi’s icy bed,
mingling limbs and glints and undertows.
Morning came, and milkmaid Tulid rose from the sheets,
deity still shining from her pimpled skin.
— Ogbar biku Ozdil
* A term borrowed from Egyptian mythology, since English lacks a term; neither is the Egyptian word an exact fit, but it comes close. The people of Mu, like the Egyptians, postulated seven souls within each person. What’s meant here is a lower soul with little in the way of awareness, a sort of robot.
The following sonnet from the lost continent of Mu is notable for many reasons, not the least being that the inhabitants of Mu apparently invented the petrarchan sonnet millennia before Petrarch.
Meswif aedluf ruhd ahndu luirm zokvort,
utminia kohtroo zdid utgantdob zao,
loed bidu vuzdel ahrintsav ypao
vazpilt sanvurd aedoi bero wort.
Ovdovon haet ugbinch witta pahndort
dahsh toobplaet, wom elret ihzwass tumao;
juhdtah tahn oofell pluhth adzbahl zellao
darrah wooltshib midzbuhg ehd rehtin port.
Dunverd ehrag zemhijle evnezgess,
hunnan ebrinnud chamzanto wasgid;
ohlrag zdahdcol dusshun hanucharess,
wuzdilt Idshabi zavag, uttir wasmid.
Riigtad Tulid harr ih hartseless,
sahr uhd aben ubulg antilimid.
— Ogbar biku Ozdil
Day 9: the translation!