Sonnets in Waves

My first attempt at writing epic sonnets, and a tinge of Slovak history and cinematography.

Oct 27, 2024

I devoted the last couple of weeks to researching conlangs and created languages, which left me a bit spent. That’s why I decided to change suit for this week’s post (October’s last) and strike a bit more literary and artistic chord. I would like to call it “taking a break” – but this sojourn led me to research again; this time Shakespearean sonnets resulting in an attempt to write something like it, so I’m not entirely sure it qualifies as a break…

This is my first time writing epic poetry; my attempts before had been only short, lyrical poems. Over time, I’ve come to find the curt, emotional and introspective form a bit shallow.

The question that might come to mind is why would I opt for such an activity and, especially, why the use of such a complicated and challenging form as sonnet? The answer is, unlike the solution, quite simple – and can be found in the words of many high-altitude mountain climbers, who answer the question:

Why do you want to climb Mt. Everest?
With a simple:
Because it’s there.

(And I’m not trying to suggest that writing sonnets is equally difficult as climbing Mt. Everest).

Nevertheless, I believe one should attempt to create within this form – just because it’s there.

Background

The first problem I encountered was finding a “worthy” topic for a form such as an epic verse. One of the things that inspired me was the Czecho-Slovak movie “Vlny” (Waves), which I had seen a couple of months ago – hence the title.

It tells the story of radio anchors during the Prague Spring in the late 60s and early 70s. After a significant, and short-lived, change in the regime in ’68 (the introduction of “Socialism with Human Face” by Alexander Dubček), the communist forces of neighbouring countries clamped down on the “democratisation” of socialism in Czechoslovakia and invaded the country for the coming 20 years.

I obviously hadn’t been born yet – nevertheless, the whole period has been described to me countless times through anecdotes, stories, jokes and photos. Therefore, I can only imagine what it was like, knowing the situation and events that transpired from the stories my parents and grandparents told me, and from the movie itself.

One of the most touching moments in the movie (and in reality) was when the demonstration in Prague was dispersed by a violent strike of the police, injuring numerous students and teenagers; killing five people aged from 14 to 27 in the process. The people that gathered there were peacefully protesting the invasion of the Warsaw Pact forces (Soviet Union, Hungary, Poland, East Germany and Bulgaria). This was in August 1969, whereafter the period of “normalisation” ensued – or, as The Beatles sing, we were “back to the USSR” rules. Dubček was soon after forced out of office in favour of Soviet-leaning officials.

The Warsaw Pact invasion of August 20–21 caught Czechoslovakia and much of the Western world by surprise. In anticipation of the invasion, the Soviet Union had moved troops from the Soviet Union, along with limited numbers of troops from Hungary, Poland, East Germany and Bulgaria into place by announcing Warsaw Pact military exercises. When these forces did invade, they swiftly took control of Prague, other major cities, and communication and transportation links. Given the escalating U.S. involvement in the conflict in Vietnam as well as past U.S. pronouncements on non-intervention in the East Bloc, the Soviets guessed correctly that the United States would condemn the invasion but refrain from intervening. Although the Soviet crackdown on Czechoslovakia was swift and successful, small-scale resistance continued throughout early 1969 while the Soviets struggled to install a stable government. Finally, in April of 1969, the Soviets forced Dubcek from power in favor of a more conservative administrator. In the years that followed, the new leadership reestablished government censorship and controls preventing freedom of movement, but it also improved economic conditions, eliminating one of the sources for revolutionary fervor. Czechoslovakia once again became a cooperative member of the Warsaw Pact.1

Families were torn apart, artists censored, non-members of the communist party persecuted…

The Myth and the Story

The sonnets that ensue hereinafter are an attempt at re-creating a myth as we know it from the ancient times (or, more precisely, as I know it from Tolkien) – with a bit of inspiration drawn from the aforementioned events in Czechoslovakia. Keep in mind, though: it’s not an attempt at re-creating or re-telling of the same story in different form; neither is it any form of agitation for certain political views or opinions. I only mention the events for context and to clarify where the sentiment stems from, part of which may be reflected in the verses that follow (I think it could be especially useful for the people unfamiliar with the affairs). As I was not directly present at the time, I don’t deem it my role to recount the developments in detail or with any degree of emotional hue.

The sonnets spill over from epic to lyrical – which might be hard to follow at times, and I am painfully aware of that. The story also took me somewhere I hadn’t foreseen when making the initial mental outline, so I had to revisit the earlier parts and tweak them in respect to eventual developments.

Initially, there was supposed to be only a single part encompassing the entirety of the story; however, coming to its end earlier than expected (around stanza V.), I’ve devised what has become the second instalment.

The Process

As the story grew, I’ve realised there will arise a need for the “second and third generation” of protagonists, as I felt the need to give the story sufficient time and space to grow for it to become what it wills to be. Thus, naturally, you may find I took significant liberties when it comes to plot invention in respect to the historical events, and I merely adhered to certain sentiments.

For now, I’m only sharing the first instalment. The rest will be uploaded, and the sonnets updated here, after the story is finished.

The names and the timeline of events changed throughout the week, as I was trying to avoid inconsistencies or logical flaws that could make it even more confusing for the readers unfamiliar with either the history or the form itself. The first concepts and ideas were connected to those of Tolkien’s hope under the label of “Estel”; but I discarded them for something a tad more original. In the second sonnet, you can find what could be called now a “vestigial structure” of the idea.

I believe – or hope, more likely – that a certain influence of Tolkien’s writing can still be felt from the verses, which is deliberate. I’ve always admired his style and use of English, as he wrote numerous poems himself – among the most complete ones the Lay of Leithian, detailing the story of Beren and Lúthien. There are several notions derived from his mythology; in addition to Estel, the succession of events inspired by the developments in the Children of Húrin after Nirnaeth Arnoediad (the Battle of Unnumbered Tears).

In many lines you might find what may seem like strange words or strange verb forms; these were used in an attempt to give the story more authenticity and historical or linguistic depth (an attempt at worldbuilding, I guess) – for which end I used, among other resources, “A Middle English Vocabulary” compiled by J. R. R. Tolkien. You can rummage around in it for free here.

At last, I’ve come to a realisation that writing sonnets is significantly harder than I expected. The verse/rhyme structure for basic variety of sonnets is ABAB CDCD EFEF GG. There are, of course, other aspects you might want to consider, such as number of syllables in each verse; the stop that usually comes in the middle of each verse – the iambic pentameter; etc. Advanced layers found mainly in traditional English poetry and drama (think Shakespeare).

I was happy to just get my point across in this form, so I chose not to adhere to these additional stringent conditions. And I’m not sure I could even if I wanted to.

With this cleared up, I shall not tarry any longer – the sonnets ensue, and I’ll be happy to hear your tips, questions and thoughts.

PS: I feel like I hit my stride somewhere around stanza IV., so bear with me and indulge my amateurism for a while – though I can’t guarantee any artistic or aesthetic payoff.

Waves

First Generation – Hoté

Hammer and sickle in unison there once were,
And people bowing to the frail might,
With nothing but fear creeping upon their hands bare,
Could they one day take up the fight?
Crosses of hope far off and distant,
Hidden by the smoke of hot anvils,
And right there, in that moment—that instant,
The horizons were shrouded with horn’d devils.
Devils red, of concrete and lead,
Poison’d the air—now heavy as iron,
Forever doom’d to thraldom and dread
Were the mountains, the faërie, the icons.
Once this curtain fell upon the heads of gold,
They forgot the days of glory, of liberty, of old.

II.

There once was a man, and thou knew him not,
Destin’d was he to bloom in the cold of stone;
Striking hammer upon that iron hot,
With each cling he clung, estel2 shone.
In dúnes to the left he saw the stars,
And to the right the gates of iron,
Shadows—towering scars
Of days of old bygone.
Though heal’d, lo! Not forgotten,
Forefathers lay’d the roots of trees,
Entrenched by the fell deeds begotten,
In the hands of foes and fiends.
Though few they were with branches bare,
Leaves fiery glistened in the cold, iron stare.

III.

Trees young with roots yet shallow,
Took to march upon the iron gates,
Sinew young, full of valour,
Crushing waves upon shields and plates.
Lo! The sea hath shown its peril,
Coast of rock and iron, blunt and cruel,
Struck the trees with the force of devil,
Alas! This hath becam a doom’d duel.
Trees yet frail knew not of cliffs that maim,
And slay with fervour heads crown’d in heavens,
Whose siege would’ve been tamed in vain,
Hath not it been for the voice that leavens.
Voice of Hoté3 rang with valour,
For whom cower’d beneath the crimson tower.

IV.

On the morn of sea storm fierce,
O’er the fiefdom iron cloaked in dread,
On plains of evil soaked in tears,
Where the wind cried with poison’d lead.
The hope was lost, bygone in maws,
Of fell black night, of iron gates,
The trees and waves hath met the claws,
That hath clasp’d their forlorn fates.
Crimson drew in waters wide,
The iron fence cast shadow dark,
O’er the crown and branch of that beating tide,
Afloat bark, leaves and sap a bitter close hath mark’d.
‘Twas in that hour of rising black coast,
From Verden4 emerg’d a valiant host.

Lo! Behold! Hoté quoth,
My kinsmen bring gay tidings!
Alas ‘twas his last word forth,
Afore darkness took him blinding.
Crimson waters full of dread,
Wave now beyond horizons,
Wash the hulls of ships that sped,
To aide cometh forth their mizens.
Alas late is the hour for Hoté-king,
Who hath given life in battle,
Thunderous valour forth they bring,
To cast vengeance upon red mantle.
Silence bare, way up yonder,
Looms with screams that break skies asunder.

VI.

The voice of hope shan’t heard be evermore,
For Hoté king hath perished,
Lost in hammering tides of iron ore,
Strength of sinew vanished.
Waves of trees lie splinter’d,
Upon gory fields of glory,
The last breaths of men hath wither’d,
The tides shall carry their story.
Masts of green emerge—Alas! Late and few,
Banners stained fell with leaves,
Behold! Hoté-son cometh thru,
All of Verden, the glen of green, now grieveth.
Hoté-son there what he saw, shan’t told be here evermore,
For upon that blood-stained shore, oath of vengeance grave he swore.

VII.

Lo! The darkness groweth nigh,
And claspeth Verden, the land of hope,
Hoté-son Fëóhtan5 riding high,
Away from hands that in pursuit grope.
Forlorn are the green lands,
To darkness lost and stainéd,
No more song and no more dance,
The folk of Hoté roam strained.
The horn’d devils with sickle and hammer,
Shan’t rest ‘til the kin of Hoté fall,
Fëóhtan forsook his banner,
To eschue the hands of darkest foe.
Waves upon those blackened shores,
Ever beat in mourning scores.

The folk of Fëóhtan are in exile at this point; they had to flee the darkness into the woods and live there in a clandestine way for many years to come. But they laboured and roamed the lands, helping to restore the parts struck by darkness and aiding people where they can – the least they could do to fight the oppression. They are ragged, down and out; but soon, the tides are to change their fates, though they know it not yet…

This is where I leave the narrative for now; hopefully, I’ll be able to finish the second part in the coming weeks or months. I am visiting London next week, and I always come back with a ton of new ideas from such trips.

Second Generation – Fëóhtan in Exile

Bereft of home Fëóhtan-folk are left to roam,
E’er pursued by stone and ore,
For the place they once called home,
Hath fallen into claws of gore.
Shadows of woods now serve them well,
To cover their tracks from fiends and foes,
Still they mourn their kin that fell,
In song and verse they weave their woes.
Fëóhtan doth now what he can,
To aide in travails that ail his folk,
Though peril hangs o’er every man,
And women alike bear this yoke.
Of these a maiden fair liveth in the shadows green,
A fairnise6unlike any Fëóhtan hath e’er seen.

II.

The woods of shadow doth she roam,
With umber hair and eyes deep as seas,
Fëóhtan enchanted stands alone,
Watcheth her dance through the trees.7
A song she weaveth in great woe of yesteryear,
The tale Fëóhtan cherished—
Of the dread upon the shores drear,
Where Hoté-king hath perished.
Maiden fair of umber hair—Fëóhtan quoth:
Whence dost thou knowe a tale so fyrn8?—The trees hath whispered, and waters froth,
My sire, for the lands of Verden fredom yearn.
And Fëóhtan bid the name of the maiden fair,
Ythwenn9, quoth she, for joy in waves of sea I bear.

III.

Fëóhtan and Ythwenn betrothed were,
And the seas rejoic’d in waves and were glad,
The glens and glades of Verden bare,
For a moment in green once more clad.
Many a year pass’d in exile the peoples of glens,
Ne’er forgotten the doom of Verden,
For voices long lost rang out from the barren fens,
And roused them to freedom those who heard’em:

Hearken! Lynage of Hoté, Fëóhtan-kin,
‘tis in thee we lay our hopes,
And the words of prophecy,
Of thine heir to hele our woes.

An heir of fighting waves in joy, Fëóhtan and Ythwenn-son,
The one behæsted10to reclaim the glens of Verden,
Now awaits his fate in the girdle of green shadow spun,
Ere the waning days of his engendrure11éndian12.
And in shadows green was born the one that long hath been promised,
Ythwenn named him Loinnéörl13—heir to spark of Hoté, lynage of kings banished.

Hrot

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