The Third Rhyme

Your man Dante (1265 - 1321) invented the rhyme scheme of terza rima (the third rhyme) and employed it to marvellous effect in his most famous poem, the one we all know as 'The Divine Comedy ', epic in length, painstakingly composed over thirteen years, and completed only months before the poet's death. 

In the wake of interesting blogs about terza rima by Pam and Terry, let me throw in a couple of tantalising reveals before we knuckle down to business: Firstly, Dante Alighieri's poem, as originally written, was simply titled 'Comedia ' (Comedy) and that's how it was known (in manuscript form obviously as this was before printing-presses) and then in the first printed editions from the 1470s onwards. It wasn't retitled 'La Divina Comedia ' until 1555, over two hundred years after the author's death. Secondly, Dante Alighieri wasn't strictly speaking even Dante, for he was christened Durante di Alighiero. Crazy, no?

Durante's 'Comedia ' then...😉

Not only was 'Comedia ' written in tercets (three-line stanzas) with a rhyme scheme of aba bcb cdc ded  et cetera (where the third line shares an end rhyme with the first and the ending of the middle line provides the end rhyme for the first and third lines of the following stanza), but its 14,000+ lines were equally divided between three cantiche (parts or volumes), sub-titled 'Inferno ' (hell), 'Purgatorio ' (purgatory) and 'Paradiso ' (paradise), with each cantiche consisting in turn of 33 cantos, so 99 in total (plus a preface to the entire poem, making 100 cantos in all). Furthermore, every single line was hendecasyllabic (consisting of eleven syllables or beats), so each tercet or stanza contained 33 syllables. Given his fascination with threes and multiples thereof, some might even consider this spectral Durante to be the Third Man... (cue famous tune).

Dante foresees being translated into English by a crime-writer

I first read 'The Divine Comedy ' when at university in the 1970s. We read it both in English (the Penguin Classics edition, translation by Dorothy L. Sayers, more famed for her crime novels) and in the original (for which we took Italian lessons in parallel with our English studies). I say first read, but in truth I've not opened a copy in fifty years. Now that I'm more than "halfway through the journey of our life..." and given the pile of unread books awaiting my reading pleasure, I'm fairly certain I shall never venture into its yellowed pages again. 

If you've been following my blogs and poetry for a while, you've probably realised that I'm not a huge fan of constraining rhyme schemes, but I'm prepared to give anything at least a try-out, terza rima no exception. However, I'm invoking Dead Good privilege on this one, so while I will respect the rule of the third rhyme (aba bcb cdc etc) there will be no kow-towing to the idea that all the lines have to be of equal length (whether Dante's hendecasyllabic eleven beats or the more common decasyllabic ten beats of  iambic pentameters). My beats will be irregular. Think of it as terzarrhythmia.

heart monitor

I was diagnosed at a recent health check with an erratic pulse. A couple of quick ECG traces proved inconclusive. I have no obvious symptoms (no dizziness, shortness of breath, physical pain et cetera) and I consider myself to be reasonably fit and healthy. I've taken to measuring my blood pressure and heart rate (beats per minute) when at rest several times a day. Blood pressure is usually around 115/65 (the median of three readings) but my pulse, although generally in the range of 60-70 bpm often seems to skip a beat, sometimes two in a row. It is thought I may have some kind of arrhythmia, and so one day earlier this week I was fitted with a 24 hour heart monitor to try and get a better understanding of what might be going on, to see if there is any obvious pattern or evidence of malfunction. I was told to do exactly what I would ordinarily do in my day and to keep a log of timings of activities (eating, walking, driving, writing poetry, watching tv, sleeping etc) - although as I was told not to get the apparatus wet, I did have to forgo my usual hour at the gym followed by a shower. I wore the device from 11.00am one day to 11.00am the next and I wait now for the analysis.

I wrote the majority of this latest poem on that wired-up day...I might revise/improve it in due course:

Rainy Day 24-Hour Heart Monitor Blues

Dear heart! The thought that you might flaw

pulls me up a moment to reflect

on mechanics and mortality. This downpour

is relentless, England's summer. Why ever expect

burnished beach days of sandy-toed fun?

I sit torso bared waiting for a nurse to connect

the spider to my chest. You're a tricky one hun

she says, and shaves small clearings in the fur

the better to affix five sticky patches. All done

she declares, as she plugs me in, a brief whirr

from the tiny recording angel at my waist

indicating my 24 hours have begun. I thank her,

walk through the storm to the car in haste

mindful not to get the apparatus wet.

Just act normal  she'd said. I wonder is this a taste

of purgatory? Either way I don't need to let

imagination run away but there's a limit

to what one can do when the weather is set

to be so thundery foul for the duration. I sit

with wipers flipping and slip Lightnin' Hopkins

into the player - Rainy Day Blues - a bit of a hit

from an age away. Fire up the engine. Who dares wins

as they say. Get into gear and pull out into the flow.

What have I done for my sins?

It's what I can't see or feel that worries me so,

the depressing possibility something's awry,

a wave of fear sweeps for what I don't know...

Woah Lordy, these clouds won't pass away.

Woah Lordy, these clouds won't pass away.

Thanks for reading 💗 S ;-)