Reading Don Juan, which makes me feel better about poems. Of course, he never finished the thing, and Auden himself shied from addressing Byron in ottava rima, and I still have only the faintest of ideas what I want to do besides "write something long and entertaining in verse." So, though today I feel better about poetry, I'm not nearly as sanguine about my poetry. I think I'll try invocations to the muse (but which one?) in ottava and terza rima, rime royal, and the Pushkin stanza. Here's an old one (with tonight's revisions) that didn't work out so well:
Invocation
Sing, Muse! It's worth a shot, don't you think?
Maybe some dame in robes will fill my brain
With fire — it's happened! — when I've had a drink
Or maybe twelve the night before and pain
Is most of what I know. Sure don't know her —
Not that there's anyone here right now
Besides my wife. That's past, and I'd prefer
We don't explore that subject, anyhow.
Let's start again. Thalia! Bless my verse!
You gave the rustic shepherds lively song
And taught them how to woo — oh Christ, that's worse.
What can I say to her that won't go wrong?
Maybe there's nothing and I'm on my own.
Maybe it's time to learn to sing alone.
7:04:28 PM 
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