Glosa Collaboration with Timothy Hicks and Suzanne Delaney
You are probably all wondering what is a Glosa? If you hadn’t heard of it……..
The Glosa is a Spanish form, also called Mote or Retruecano, is closely related to the cantiga, and was introduced during the Renaissance period (late 14th/early 15th century) by the Spanish Court Poets.
In its strictest form it is a poem consisting of a line or a short stanza, called cabeza (also mote, letra, or texto), stating the theme of the poem, and followed by one stanza for each line of the cabeza, explaining or glossing that line and incorporating it into the explanatory stanza at the end as a refrain. Lines may be of any length.
The interesting thing about the glosa in modern usage (after P.K. Page) is that the cabeza is normally a four line stanza (quatrain), and the quatrain is written by another poet or author; and credited to that author.
Because it is a quatrain, there then follow four ten-line stanzas, with the last line of each of these stanzas being the last line taken in order from the original quatrain. The sixth and ninth lines of each of the ten line stanzas rhymes with the "borrowed" tenth line.
So, the form runs:
Quatrain from another author:
Line 1
Line 2
Line 3
Line 4
Ten line stanza written by you, rhyming:A/B/C/D/E/F/G/H/F/F, with the last line being line 1 of the original quatrain.
Each subsequent ten line stanza then takes the next line of the quatrain, and uses the same rhyme scheme.
The glosa is often used to praise another poet, or to expand on an idea or theme of the original poet. The glosa is an early Renaissance form that was developed by poets of the Spanish court. In a glosa, tribute is paid to another poet. The opening quatrain is actually written by that other poet, and each of their four lines are imbedded elsewhere in the glosa. The opening quatrain is followed by four stanzas, each of which is generally ten lines long.
The first line of the borrowed quatrain becomes Line #10 of S1.
The second line of the quatrain becomes Line #10 0f S2.
The third line of the quatrain becomes Line #10 of S3.
And the fourth line of the quatrain finishes ends up as Line #10 of S4.
As for rhymes? I've seen several different methods.
The one that seems to allow the most flexibility (always a good thing!) goes as follows.
S1L6 and S1L9 must rhyme with S1L10,
S2L6 and S2L9 must rhyme with S2L10,
S3L6 and S3L9 must rhyme with S3L10, and
S4L6 and S4L9 must rhyme with S4L10.
And that's it. The rest is up to you.
Timothy wrote his Glosa. “A Question in the Sky” using a quatrain I wrote,
and I wrote my Glosa, “Living in the Middle” from a quatrain he wrote.
We thought it would be fun for more Poetry Soupers to try this form
that is challenging but not impossible. as you can see by our examples.
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The Epitaph of Earth may soon be writ
Upon the memory of a glory gone
For all things bright and beautiful, that inter-fused with death
Like harmony and breath have fled as one
-Suzanne Delaney
A Question in the Sky
There's a desert some place, where the sky fell through,
as the monsoons of March fervently proclaim, Must it be?
And there's a gardener some place (looking just like you)
whose heart now floats on what can only be called Hydrangea Sea.
And there's a question in the sky, that makes me wonder why,
we think for a moment, we can do better than this our planet.
For if we're made from Dust, why not share some love,
for the ground beneath you (do you see what's peeking through?)
For love is a fragile seed and if we don't care for it
the Epitaph of Earth may soon be writ.
... and what an elegy it would conjure! But I will weep just like a songbird,
for these tears, they carry a rebellious sheen,
taking me to the place of dandelions dreams,
that grow all the more because of it - watch as they glide
into skies unwritten - avenues forbidden ...
... but forget not your roots on the summer lawn
where malachite grass bid you good cheer,
green with envy at your escapade into azure folds.
Now only the voice of cicadas touch the dawn,
upon the memory of a glory gone.
But we will wait for you, Oh Gossamer King,
though we be tickled by twilight's tender touch,
intermixed sweetly with a hard kind of love.
If I must fall, knock me onto my back, Oh Life!
Onto the dew-laden blades, gazing up at stars,
so I might come to grips with smallness, like Biblical Seth
once did, ushering in future glory, though just a man.
"Appointed" just like the monsoons, that forged tombs, and summer blooms;
make merry the streams of laughing tears that Yeshua wept,
for all things bright and beautiful, that inter-fused with death.
And though often we may not know the reason
we must hold onto the hope there is a season!
A purpose for this downtime…. purpose for this rhyme
For we all have things we must overcome
(just look at the rose who bears a dagger on her dress)
Even she lives in the night, awaiting the rise of the Son.
May there be no requiem composed for my passing,
for I follow the crowd, with eyes on the clouds.
Let us leave to proclaim, in triumph, "It is DONE!"
like harmony and breath have fled as one.
Timothy Levi Hicks
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We are living in the middle, you and I,
between butterfly beginnings - ethereal endings.
Despite Natural Law, I'm persuaded to pause;
if possible, dear, let chrysalis continue ...
-Timothy Levi Hicks
Living in the Middle
Rules of life restrict us from infancy.
If instincts are true we thrive, each new lesson,
a cynosural guide to success, an urge to forget
those practices made to thwart happiness.
Spare spending habits, avoiding the seven deadly sins,
passages, and reaching for that metaphoric sky
Until, true love, that mystic carriage to what may be;
the chrysalis that cradles heightened mystery.
The inevitable enduring of drudge before we fly.
We are living in the middle, you and I.
There is much we live, reliant upon chance happenings.
What if we had never met? If our paths had never
intersected or, if they did, we failed to connect.
Missed the perfect moment when the sky was right
to usher in romance, the laws of allurement
that shaped 'Plaisir d'amor' in magical renderings.
The ardent awareness of simpler things;
Brilliant colors, ambrosial kisses and heavenly perfumes.
The harmony of mutual understandings
between butterfly beginnings - ethereal endings.
The eager phase of dreams, of promises made,
getting used to things- some expected, some not.
then the arduous art of forgiving.
Our consent to cherish common objectives.
Was it happenstance our love succeeded - or was it
Because we overlooked each other's flaws-
What we expected in the moment?
Two souls astounded to be of the same accord;
that a chance encounter could be the cause.
Despite Natural Law, I'm persuaded to pause;
Too quickly the paragraphs of time we rèad.
Hand in hand we strolled the pages of our years,
standing fast against misfortunes we emerged,
shaped by caring and forbearing hearts.
Refusing to imagine life devoid of one another,
fighting new adversity with every sinew.
Nothing earthly, or in heaven, can measure
this small eternity we have made ourselves.
No matter how circumstance may try to spin you,
if possible, dear, let chrysalis continue ...
Suzanne Delaney