Tag Archive: Chagallian Loku


A form called Loku

A Word About Chagallian Loku

Some detail about what I believe to be an original form,  rooted in more traditional form.  I call the form Loku, an obvious play on the word haiku, with a little bit of “loco” thrown in.

Loku is intended to be 17 haiku, a total of 289 syllables, with 1 additional syllable thrown in, at any point in the Loku, as a symbolic gesture to mar the otherwise standard form.

The poet should think of the Loku as 3 sections, the first 5 haiku long, the middle section 7 haiku, and the last again 5 haiku long. The haiku to the Loku form is as syllables are to the haiku.

There are 2 volta in the form, separating the sections, similar in purpose to the 1 volta found in a sonnet. These are the turning points, at the start of haiku 6 and 13.

The 3 sections take shape on the page as (8) four-line stanzas, and a final two-line couplet. The four-line stanzas are made of (2) haiku, in 5/12/12/5 syllable-pattern. The final couplet is a concluding play on a haiku in the form 5/12.

(Again, somewhere in the sections is an errant syllable, for the reason mentioned earlier – a gesture of humility and out of reverence for that which is Perfect; it may or may not be a third volta, and may or may not coincide with one of the 2 intended volta).

Visually the volta mentioned above will occur midway in the 3rd and 7th stanza.

When I construct Loku, I write them as 17 haiku and then form them, rather than try to write stanza of 5/12/12/5. This helps to retain the haiku spirit of the verse.

Lithographs
For Morgana Le Fay
The Alpha’s Bet
for poems in the Loku form.

A shout out to wordcoaster (http://wordcoaster.wordpress.com/), who has been a significant voice in the conversation to evolve this form.  Search for Loku at that site for more.

Should any of you attempt the form, I – and I’d think wordcoaster – would very much enjoy reading your work, so please let us know.

P.S. Should you know this form to already exist, please let me know and I will retract any thoughts of originality here.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

chagall backdrop

Hear the whisperer?
Ambient prayer in shadows, the dead hush too still
to christen the eve the big night before the day
when hard rains will fall.

Soak once parched sere ground,
fault lines that begin to show true and harsh intent,
exposed molten core bubbles up to shape islands
that cool and then sway.

On waters not named
still steaming in afterbirth biological,
delicate creatures emerge, rear their souls, awed by
wondrous beginnings.

Sulfur smells like sex
atop the fuzz of new earth, mossy, wet, and green;
the world is yawning, awake, kinetic, pensive –
contemplates its fate.

Allies band, foes die,
even in these early days survival reigns hard;
intelligence lurks, sentience searches for theme
to grasp the moment.

To give life meaning
words must capture the meaning, but there is no meaning,
there’s only intent, longing, desire for the light
absent the darkness.

The finger gives form,
shapes the world in seven days, give or take eons;
maybe just a whim or an essential craving:
innate creation

The remnants revolve,
grooved in concentric motions astrological,
suns rise over stones placed so to mark the passing.
Long live the solstice.

This too comes to pass.
All things fade away in time, hail hale whisperer!

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

Other poems in this form include:

Lithographs

For Morgana Le Fay

 

For Morgana le Fay

chagall backdrop

An idea lies there
in dry grass, a starlit field, on its back thinking
one idea’s ego, vain to think, conceives itself
contemplates the world

Rises and hovers
a swelled mainsail filled with air bound oceanic
o’er powerful waves rushing the jagged night coastline
searching for harbors

I have flown too far
swum too long with the currents to ever return
rides the scree, updrafts, feeds on heron, on itself
then fasts for forty days

Dreams need to touch down
a superior mirage there where the sky ends
tangled in gulfweed too close to surface tension
attraction pulls deep

Glimpse of air, drowning
so sudden this transition, failed attempts to rise
falling through water a slow motion acrobat
feet first is fastest

Alights on the silt
there on the bottom, no sound just joy, buoyancy
starfish everywhere wonder where the light comes from
pushing through the dark

The idea lies there
gazing up at starlit wakes on abyssal plain
one idea’s ego sad to think it conceived self
contemplates the world

Rises and hovers
a swelled puffish filled with air bound celestially
‘neath powerful waves under the ancient coastline
among lost harbors

I have come too far
against all of the currents to never return

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

Please see Lithographs for another poem in this form