The Remarkable Chronicle of a Pandemic Year: The Sonnets in Sloppier Forms

As we reflect upon the turbulent and unprecedented events of the past year, it is only fitting to encapsulate the myriad emotions, challenges, and triumphs that have unfolded through the power of poetry. Throughout history, poetry has served as a timeless expression of the human condition, providing solace, enlightenment, and a medium to capture the essence of a particular era with unrivaled precision.

The Birth of an Unconventional Art Form - The Covid Sonnet

When the world found itself ensnared in the clutches of the global pandemic, several renowned poets began to experiment with a unique art form that would eventually be dubbed the "Covid Sonnet." This newly born variation of the traditional sonnet form offered a platform for writers to articulate their fears, frustrations, and hopes amidst the unprecedented challenges brought forth by the Covid-19 crisis.

Inspired by the structure of the Shakespearean sonnet, the Covid Sonnet consists of fourteen lines, following an iambic pentameter pattern, and adhering to an ABABCDCDEFEFGG rhyme scheme. However, unlike the refined and meticulous nature of its predecessor, the Covid Sonnet embraces a more informal and raw style.

Poems from the Garden: A pandemic year in sonnets & sloppier forms

by Kimberly Hockaday(Kindle Edition)

5 out of 5

Language	:	English
File size	:	204 KB
Text-to-Speech	:	Enabled
Screen Reader	:	Supported
Enhanced typesetting	:	Enabled
Print length	:	78 pages
Lending	:	Enabled
Item Weight	:	1.41 pounds

FREE

The Sloppier Forms of Expression

Within this realm of pandemic poetry, a subcategory has emerged - the Sloppier Forms. As the name suggests, these poems deviate from the traditional rules and guidelines, allowing for more spontaneity and freedom of expression. The Sloppier Forms are characterized by their disregard for conventional meter and rhyme patterns, enabling poets to capture the haphazard essence of the turbulent times we inhabit.

The Sestina Gone Wild

In the realm of Sloppier Forms, the Sestina has undergone a transformation like never before. Originally consisting of six stanzas, each with six lines, and a final, three-line envoy, the Sestina has been liberated from its strict structure. The new rendition of the Sestina throws caution to the wind, rejecting traditional patterns and embracing a more chaotic, yet captivating, atmosphere. This form allows words and emotions to intertwine freely, mirroring the unpredictability of our pandemic year.

The Free Verse Frenzy

Another Sloppier Form that has gained prominence during these challenging times is Free Verse. Known for its absence of rhyme and meter constraints, Free Verse has become a powerful tool for poets, allowing them to break free from the shackles of structure and experiment with unconventional lines, spacing, and punctuation. This form is ideal for conveying raw emotions, capturing the chaotic nature of the pandemic, and providing an outlet for unfiltered expressions.

The Haiku Unleashed

The Haiku, a traditional form of Japanese poetry, has also undergone an unexpected transformation in the realm of Sloppier Forms. Deviating from its structured syllable patterns and three-line rule, the Haiku Unleashed embraces an untamed, organic style. While retaining the essence of brevity, the Haiku Unleashed allows for greater flexibility, granting poets the freedom to encapsulate the profound complexities of the pandemic within three lines.

Clickbait Title: Unveiling the Secrets of Pandemic Sonnets - Unadulterated Emotions and Untamed Metaphors!

Now that we have discovered and uncovered the fascinating world of Pandemic Year Sonnets in Sloppier Forms, it is time to delve into the heart-wrenching narratives, vivid metaphors, and unadulterated emotions that resonate within these unorthodox poems.

Through the chaotic Sestinas Gone Wild, the raw power of Free Verse Frenzies, and the untamed elegance of Haikus Unleashed, poets have fearlessly bared their souls, providing us with glimpses of their personal journeys through this tumultuous period.

These poems serve as a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the unwavering determination to find beauty amidst chaos. As we navigate the uncertain path ahead, let us cherish and celebrate the art that endures and transcends the boundaries of time and circumstance.

Poems from the Garden: A pandemic year in sonnets & sloppier forms

by Kimberly Hockaday(Kindle Edition)

5 out of 5

Language	:	English
File size	:	204 KB
Text-to-Speech	:	Enabled
Screen Reader	:	Supported
Enhanced typesetting	:	Enabled
Print length	:	78 pages
Lending	:	Enabled
Item Weight	:	1.41 pounds

FREE

I wrote a poem nearly every week of 2020 for the journal of the tiny Episcopal church I attend. Most of them were sonnets, a form I chose for its brevity. The poems were intended to be an update on the community garden, a little 100x100ft plot in the middle of south San José that I help run with my friend Arike. It’s a haven for a few dozen mostly Mandarin-speaking elders from the local low-income senior housing complex. They use their recycled fence-board garden beds to grow green onions for soup, taro for starch, crescent beans for protein, and purple-flowering peas for beauty.

The garden has existed in one form or other for two decades, nearly as long as the oldest members of the church have been attending. At one time or another it was: a vacant lot; a Girl Scouts project; a Marine’s weekend challenge for his new recruits to prove they could dig holes; a volunteer-site for students at Calero High School’s special education program.

In January of 2020, when I was elected to the vestry, I decided to give weekly updates in the journal one of the altar guild member’s grandsons puts out for us every Friday. I like to write, 1000 words on the page or 2000 edited every day, but I wanted to respect my fellow parishioners’ time. I figured a sonnet, 14 lines, 3 quatrains and a couplet, would ensure I kept my updates to the point. They got even shorter, shifting from 5 iambs to 5 syllables a line, when I realized how the journal’s formatting was creating unintended enjambments.

I was aware, by Valentine's Day, that this was a year I might want to take notes on. Each week when I wrote my poem — awake from nightmares at 6:30am, tapping on my phone; sitting in the quiet of the garden with the sun flaring warm through the oak leaves; cuddling my cats on the couch; working in my own garden — I tried to think of one small, gem-like image from the week that I would want to remember. Then I wrote that into a poem.

Like most of us, on Valentine's Day, I had thought and hoped that COVID-19 would be like the flu. Because I spent 10 hours a week most weeks helping and working alongside Mandarin-speaking elders, the danger and racism of the president calling it the “China virus” struck me much more quickly than the very real danger the virus posed to all of us.

The poems in this book chart the life of the garden through a year of pandemic. They were also the only way most of our community saw the garden, since we have not held an in-church service since March.

Our corps of volunteers continued through the pandemic, through fires that turned the sky to crusty amber, through a terrifying presidential election, and through a busy schedule of attending and supporting protests for racial justice. Kneeling at protests and planting seeds in the garden feel the same to me, as I wrote on June 5. They provide a ground truth about what the world is, not what it seems to be in the news.

On July 17, 2020 I wrote:

what, then, is the point

of writing garden

poetry during a

global pandemic

what, then, is the point

of reading it? the

sky will be blue,

the plants we water

will grow green, those we

do not will dry brown,

or sleep and dream of

rain. why not ask the

purple lupins why

they grow from wildfire?

Those words feel romantic and dramatic, but that is what I love about the garden. The sweeping branches of the oaks are romantic, even when they dug bruises into my thighs as I climbed them to prune off their deadwood. The flowering of eight foot tall, crayon yellow Evening Primroses that I raised from seed is dramatic. In a year characterized by fear, confusion, danger, tedium, pain, loss, and small snatches of joy, the garden was, as I hope it will always be, a sanctuary.