On sonnets

As some readers are aware I am a self-taught poet and writer. Self-taught does not equate with lazy, un-read or ignorant of form. All my favorite writers and poets and have been teachers and I’ve studied them intently.

When I was 16 & in secretarial school in Chicago a book fell off the shelf and into my hands. It is something I’ve heard from women readers, who went through the Ivy Halls of Wesleyan, Smith, or a small campus in West Texas–a book of mine flew off the shelf into their hungry hands and changed their lives forever. I believe it because it happened to me.

I read everything since learning to read. I did not think I was to become a poet or a writer although, I wrote since I learned to hold a pencil. I painted and drew and sang in a choir but did not think I would pursue those things either. My young father was a musician but worked in a factory. He paid little attention to the girl under his roof.

The sonnets of Edna St. Vincent Millay, true to their ingenue form which made them so popular long before I was born spoke to the 16 yr old girl reluctantly preparing to serve men in business in their offices. This sonnet was my favorite. It remained my favorite in my twenties when I began to write. Today, although I no longer smoke cigarettes, it still holds true for me…for someone I once knew, perhaps, the dream is done.