Burrito Especial
Having written a sonnet, I decided to try a sestina.
A sestina has six stanzas of six lines each, plus a tercet at the end known as the “envoi.” The first six lines end with a set of words that also appear at the ends of the lines in every other stanza, albeit in different, very specific orders.
A marvelous example is John Ashbery’s “Farm Implements and Rutabagas in a Landscape,” as is “A Miracle for Breakfast” by Elizabeth Bishop (about waiting for a higher power to distribute crumbs). One of the very most moving is “The Book of Yolek” by Anthony Hecht, which I think everyone should read, but I would suggest picking a time to do so with some compassion for yourself.
And then there was another influence at play. My son and I had watched a movie where the closed captioning displayed a word as “metal” that might well have been “mettle,” which also happens to have a third homonym, namely “meddle.” Such words are known as multinyms.
Now, when a sestina repeats a word, the associated meaning changes subtly across some of its appearances. So I decided to gather some multinyms, where in just listening to the poem instead of reading it, the intended word might not be entirely clear, and “wholly” might be heard as “holy” or “holey” (and so on).
I had some triplets that were all nouns, some all verbs, and some all adjectives… with a little bit of categorical play.
Among them were “burro” (burrow/borough) and “brays” (braise/braze) which is a sign that I could ignore only at my peril.
As I wrote the sestina, the story insisted upon telling itself to me. There was a natural progression of hitting rock bottom during the first half and then rising up again in the second. There was a contrast of fundamental valuing systems, namely the spiritual versus the commercial. Plus I had written a story not long before that had substantially involved cloisters.
Having written an initial version, I needed to work on its rhythms so that it would work well when set to music. That is not traditional for a sestina, but not unheard of. It was likely going to have to be some sort of folk ballad with an art song flair; however, it also meant breaking with the strict sestina form and adding another tercet in the middle as a chorus. Since the envoi used the ACE pattern, I made that chorus BDF. The narrative needed a better introduction of the children, rather than springing them in wholesale in the first line of the fourth verse, so I brought them up there.
When it all came together, it made a lovely story about the rescue of some children who had been devalued, and the redemption of those who had their valuing systems sorely misplaced.
Plus there’s a holy singing burro (Batman), so how could it go wrong?
Lyrics
Each dawn with joy unbridled, sang a burro,
his heart in love poured forth in fervent brays.
His soul's pure song rang out so clear and wholly,
until they stilled his voice for thirty cents.
Their stony hearts denied him hope of praise,
and so his truest self was swiftly sold.
Now drifting empty, neither blessed nor souled,
he wandered past the edges of the borough,
where in the barren silence now he prays.
While summer's burning sun began to braise
his hide, he struggled hard to find some sense
in selling what he knew was truly holy.
Among the cast-offs, worthless now and holey,
where dreams lay scattered, worn and tatter-soled,
he huddled, sickened by the rotting scents.
Deep in the refuse, made his lonely burrow,
while copper coins within his memory braze
his shame, as truth upon his spirit prays.
While children's laughter echoes as they braise,
their worth is measured in discarded cents,
these eager finders, innocently souled.
Through refuse drifted youthful notes of praise,
that stirred his buried spirit rising wholly,
until, unbidden, soft and low, he brays
that precious gift he'd foolishly thought sold.
The children came to seek their singing burro,
their love worth more than all earth's meager cents.
At last he found a glimmer of sweet sense
as, leading children forth, he gently prays.
The sisters watched them near their cloistered borough,
and something stirred in them of what is holy,
not in their tomes, but in these young ones, souled
with joy that fought the sun that seemed to braise.
Where children played in halls once deemed too holey,
a home arose from dreams once tatter-soled.
Sweet incense mingled with earth's humbler scents,
each chamber rose above the old burrow,
now warmed by love that taught the sun to braze
more gently where bright hope, not fear, now prays.
Remember well this humble singing burro,
who taught that love must take us in so wholly,
until our very being glows with praise.