Moist Lemon-Scented Cleansing Square

I just finished Stephen Fry's splendid "The Ode Less Travelled," a manual, guide book, almanac and textbook about poetry. He goes through it all: amphibrachs, poetical feet, stanzas, verse forms, consonance, assonance, and oh so much more.


Lest that look of disdain on your face be proved justified, I should mention it's also fantastically entertaining, wry and everything you'd expect from someone who co-created this...











One of the verse forms he introduced me to, hitherto unknown to me, is the kyrielle. Taking its name from the kyrie eleison section of the Mass, it's quite simple in its use of repetition, in ways the villanelle or sestina (much as I love both) aren't.


Mr. Fry thoughtfully includes a demonstration...

Kyrielle

Stephen Fry

The chanting of a Kyrielle
Tolls like the summons of a bell
To bid us purge our black disgrace.
Lord a-mercy, shut my face.


Upon my knees, I kiss the rod,
Repent and raise this cry to God -
I am a sinner, foul and base
Lord a-mercy, shut my face.


And so I make this plaintive cry:
"From out my soul, the demons chase
Prostrate before thy feet I lie."
Lord a-mercy, shut my face.


There is no health or good in me,
Nor in the wretched human race.
Therefore my God I cry to thee.
Lord a-mercy, shut my face.


Let sins be gone without a trace
Lord have mercy, shut my face.


You've heard my pleas, I rest my case.
Lord have mercy! Shut my face.




Every time I read it I start to crack up. It's both deadly earnest and completely hysterical, somewhat on par with the flagellant monks in "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" whacking themselves in the face with hard-bound oversized family Bibles.

Here's one a little less in jest.

Kyrielle

John Payne

A lark in the mesh of the tangled vine,
A bee that drowns in the flower-cup's wine,
A fly in sunshine,--such is the man.
All things must end, as all began.


A little pain, a little pleasure,
A little heaping up of treasure;
Then no more gazing upon the sun.
All things must end that have begun.


Where is the time for hope or doubt?
A puff of the wind, and life is out;
A turn of the wheel, and rest is won.
All things must end that have begun.


Golden morning and purple night,
Life that fails with the failing light;
Death is the only deathless one.
All things must end that have begun.


Ending waits on the brief beginning;
Is the prize worth the stress of winning?
E'en in the dawning day is done.
All things must end that have begun.


Weary waiting and weary striving,
Glad outsetting and sad arriving;
What is it worth when the goal is won?
All things must end that have begun.


Speedily fades the morning glitter;
Love grows irksome and wine grows bitter.
Two are parted from what was one.
All things must end that have begun.


Toil and pain and the evening rest;
Joy is weary and sleep is best;
Fair and softly the day is done.
All things must end that have begun.




I do have to say I think the quartet is a little less pat and trite than the rhyming couplet, as a general rule. aabb just seems to rub me the wrong way most of the time, like the poet has to keep drawing my attention to the fact that he can find words that sound similar. He then proceeds to rub my nose in it at the end of every single line, like I'm a child that keeps getting distracted. At least give me a quick breather, alright buddy?