I count out the syllables
For each line’s meter. I pull
Language for each one, unforced —
Of course — as best I’m able.
Author: Diane Griffin
About Englyn Cyrch
This week I am writing Welsh quattrains, one a day for the whole week. The particular Welsh quatrain (four-line poem) form I have decided to focus on is called an englyn cyrch. The best sense I can make from what Google Translate tells me the term means is “attack verse,” or maybe “verse attack,” or even possibly “verse raid.” So, maybe they’re little four-line blitzes.
Englyn Cyrch are very math-y. Each line has seven syllables. The first, second, and last lines must rhyme, and the third line must rhyme with the second, third, or fourth syllable in the last line. I appreciate the strict form as well as the brevity. My challenge is to make them seem somehow natural, or at least musical.
The ones I have written so far this week have not been stellar, but I’m enjoying them as little word puzzles, or language exercises, or little sketches. They’re fun to make on that level. As of this writing, I have produced five (the fifth one went live a half an hour before this post did, the third will appear later in the week) and I think that they are trending towards better as the week goes on, though I liked the one I wrote first best so far.
I hope you find them amusing, and I invite you to try making your own. Happy writing!
Clock’s too fast for writing stuff.
Hours vanish in a smoke puff.
Optimism burns my fuel
It’s cruel! There’s not time enough.
That guy you dumb asses chose
That we all want to depose
Doesn’t care about a thing
But snorting you up his nose.
I have never been a star
And I would refuse to spar
With you over my record
But that word will be my bar
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