Villanelle for Mum

Writing a Villanelle isn't easy. I can give you some basic tools such as the rhyming scheme;

A1-b-A2 / a-b-A1 / a-b-A2 / a-b-A1 / a-b-A2 / a-b-A1-A2 which looks simple enough.

I can tell you to make your 'b' an easy to rhyme ending 'such as the 'ay' ending chosen by Dylan Thomas in his remarkable Villanelle, "Do not go Gentle into that Good Night."

I can post that poem for you here;

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

 

Unfortunately, what I can't do is to teach you how to write a Villanelle with that much power. The power of a poem belongs to the writer.  As with any other act of creation, it begins with an idea, requires mood, dedication and vocabulary to express the required emotions. 

 

I have tried on a number of occasions to write a Villanelle. The rhyming scheme is technical and doesn't easily lend itself to creativity except when the mood is right. I have failed in the past to write in this form with any impact. 

 

This week I have been making preparations for my Mum's funeral and decided to honour her long and mostly happy life with a poem, to read during the church service. While caring for her at home towards the end of her life, I had little time and the poems that I managed to cobble together were in the moment and as a result, would be quite traumatising for a congregation assembled to see delivered safely to her maker. 

 

The poem I have dedicated to her is a Villanelle and I hope that it successfully reflects the sadness that we, her family, feel her loss and my own concerns for our own future. 

 

 

 

 

 Villanelle for Mum

 

This day begins our mourning, now at last we cry.

Laid in a simple casket, you take your last repose.

Daffodils will bow their heads as your cortege goes by.

 

Tonight there’ll be another star to light up heaven’s sky

The angels caught your gentle spirit as it rose.

This day begins our mourning, now at last we cry.

 

You leave us, dearest mother, though we feel you ever nigh,

We’ll catch your scent in summer’s sweetest rose.

Daffodils will bow their heads as your cortege goes by.

 

Adrift without our anchor, we are caught up in a sigh

of anguish for the family bonds you chose.

This day begins our mourning, now at last we cry.

 

Geography may part us and as the years pass by,

No lynch pin now can hold us close.

Daffodils will bow their heads as your cortege goes by.

 

Our mother, friend, our counsellor, for you, I know we’ll try.

The Carleton garden will soon bear your sweetest prose,

Today begins our mourning, now at last we cry

Daffodils will bow their heads as your cortege goes by.

 

Written 28^th February 2018 (In preparation for the funeral of Dorothy Ada Robinson who died on 

18^th February 2018 (aged 97 and a half!)