Words of one beat

[larryhammer]

Here's a fun game: Write posts in words of just one beat. It's hard at first, but once you catch the way of it, soon you can spin it out like a stream flows on and on. Well, yeah, sure, streams don't have to stop for food or sleep, but you can still go as long as you want. Or till you try to count -- it's danged hard to count past ten.

The best play is take a bit of verse or prose that's in bad words you can't read,* and put it in good words. If you're good at this, you can make your verse still rhyme; if you're way good, you can keep the beats of the line; if you catch the sound, the sweep, the tune, of the old verse -- well, I bow down in awe, Dude. Here's a stab at what I mean:

To His Coy Miss
by Drew Marv.

    Had we but all the world, and time,
These coy ways, Miss, would be no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the East Ind stream's bank-side
Shouldst find red gems: I by the tide
Near York would moan of love. I would
Love you ten years ere came the Flood,
You should say "No," if you should please,
Till Jews to Christ go on their knees.
My love like an old herb should grow
To some great state, and still more slow;
Five score of years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy brow should gaze;
Twice that to dwell long on each breast;
A Great Year's span to all the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart;
For, Miss, you should be loved in state,
Nor would I love at a fast rate.
    But at my back I seem to hear
Time's wing'd and horse-drawn cart run near;
And there in front of us lies this
Dead plain of all the time there is.
Thy good looks shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy stone-carved tomb, shall sound
My much-sung song: then worms shall raid
That long-kept state which you call "maid,"
And your quaint good name turn to dust,
And burn to ash shall all my lust:
The grave's a fine and well-hid place,
But no one screws in such a space.
    Now thus, while youth's first flush and hue
Sits on thy skin like the dawn dew,
And while thy soul now still wills forth
These quick, hot fires through all thy pores,
Let's fuck like minks while yet we may,
And now, like lust-crazed birds of prey,
Rip all at once to shreds this hour
And not be gnawed in his slow power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
We have that's sweet up in a ball,
And tear what comes from rough love strife
Through these steel grates hedged round our life:
Thus, though we can't make our old sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

As you can see, names are hard, too. We used to play this game on an old board, long since dead. I've got a page of works in words of one beat and an Oft Asked Things that gives the rules in more depth (with notes on such words as "power"). If you want to play, feel free to post here (and let me know if you want me to add it to the page). Or if you think folks would take part, we could start a group L.J. to play in.

* The way we played it, if you used a word with two or more beats, we could not "see" the word -- it was a hole on screen, as it were.

E.T.A.: I note that there is a wordsofonebeat group L.J. now. Needs some work to make it look nice, but I'll get to that in a bit.

---L.

Comments

[larryhammer]

Yes! There, that's the way. (Though where'd the shirt come from?) My I post it on the One Beat Book of Verse?

---L.

[pnh.livejournal.com]

No doubt there's blood on the shirt.

Go, sure, post.

[larryhammer]

Done.

---L.