(from the napowrimo prompt: “remix” a Shakespearean sonnet. Here’s all of Shakespeare’s sonnets. You can pick a line you like and use it as the genesis for a new poem. Or make a “word bank” out of a sonnet, and try to build a new poem using the same words (or mostly the same words) as are in the poem. Or you could try to write a new poem that expresses the same idea as one of Shakespeare’s sonnets, like “hey baby, this poem will make you immortal” (Sonnet XVIII) or “I’m really bad at saying I love you but maybe if I look at you adoringly, you’ll understand what I mean” (Sonnet XXIII). If you’re feeling both silly and ambitious, you might try writing an anagram-sonnet, like K. Silem Mohammad has done here.)
When I was 16 my AP Lit
teacher was writing a book
of sonnets in English and
translated into German—
the poems facing each other
across a Checkpoint Charlie
binding and author’s will.
So, he made us memorize
one of Bill’s sonnets because
his own would have been too
obvious and I chose 55—
I was over it all the love
and kisses and roses
and flashing eyes at
girls who wanted it
and boys who didn’t.
Fifty-five seemed like
it was about the end and
coldness and not caring
any more because every
single love was dead.
Of course, I was completely
wrong.
In my Public Speaking class
I make my students memorize
something—monologue, famous
speech, poem—but a poor
fellow, freshman blond and kempt,
wanting to please, couldn’t find
anything that worked for him.
“Try 55,” I said.
Three weeks later, I was
actually looking forward to
hearing the past rise up
to be better than I was, to
hear a 15 year-old know
what he was talking about
and reminding me of my
folly-filled past when I was
not nearly as smart as I
thought I was. He began:
“Not marbles nor the gilded…”
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