Word: sonneteering
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...inhibition; the interesting part of the policy is that the more I scientifically measure up the ground that's available, the more ideas strike me about what one can do. It's rather like having a limited number of lines and rhyme schemes when you write a sonnet: it doesn't restrict your ideas, it concentrates you ideas and in fact I think improves on some of your thinking because of the restriction that appears to be there...
...nature of artifice, the Darwinian crisis of faith, the courtship of History and Romance. Invoking his ancestor Sir Walter Raleigh, and setting much of the action in the New Elizabethan Age of the 1950s, he fashions a narrative as fiendishly witty and sinuous and fluent as an Elizabethan sonnet. But at its heart is a simple, all but unanswerable question: "What is the difference between belief and make-belief?" Some readers may be exhausted by the pinwheeling frenzy of paradoxes and parallels; others, though, will be exhilarated by Swift's ability to make his terminally cerebral subject readable, and real...
Timothea, who works for a publishing company, decides to make Colm Liverpool's new poet when she secretly publishes his writings to her in a book called Sea Sonnets. She presents the book to him one night before dinner, and Colm is wondrous. "What is a sonnet anyway?" he asks, and when Timothea explains that these sonnets are his poems, he replies that they are really nothing more than marks--sea marks...
...with the couplet, "And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare/ as any she belied with false compare." Shakespeare says that it is not more romantic to idealize some creep than to love someone for one's imperfections. Didn't Blumenthal get to the end of the sonnet? Isn't it a good thing to look below the surface...
...without the intervention of gifted chroniclers like Roger Angell and Thomas Boswell, each baseball career is a study in literature. An ironic short story might be apt for the rookie whose only appearance in a big league box score comes at the tag end of a lost season. A sonnet would be fitting commemoration for those human meteors who flash across the big league sky and then flame out, their promise unkept. My four graybeard survivors, of course, deserve nothing less than full-length novels, sprawling Victorian epics that carry them from apple-cheeked anticipation to adult acclaim...