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Writer's pictureAntonio Eramo

Chasing Tail: The Caudate Sonnet Form



The Caudate Sonnet is a form that was created by yet another Italian poet, Francesco Berni. Unlike traditional sonnets, which consist of 14 lines, this form has 17 lines. It follows the same rhyme scheme and structure as a Petrarchan sonnet, with the addition of a half line and a heroic couplet. Due to the extra lines at the end, this form is sometimes called a “Tailed Sonnet”.

Structure: 

An octave, a sestet, a half line, a heroic couplet


Rhyme Scheme: 

abbaabba cdcdcd dee


Template :

(a)

                                                               (b)

                                                               (b)

                                                               (a)

                                                               (a)

                                                               (b)

                                                               (b)

                                                               (a)


                                                               (c)

                                                               (d)

                                                               (c)

                                                               (d)

                                                               (c)

                                                               (d)


                              (d)

                                                               (e)

                                                               (e)


 


Example:

Tartuffe and Feather

  

Compendiums of idioms take flight 

as pendulums of writers swing away 

They take a stab at cutting words, "Touché" 

How avant-garde this language that they write. 

The brightest minds will never find the light 

by throwing shade at novices dismay. 

The covert hurt on canvas can't convey 

the spirit that we spearhead through our spite


And yet regret is furthest from my mind 

the egret round my neck is close enough 

for meanings you bestow are ill defined 

you wax on wicked wicks you can't rebuff 

the fruits of solving riddle's in the rind 

the hands of time still tick despite the cuff


All writers are Tartuffe 

so drip hot tar upon my fleshy back 

to prime my feather plume for its attack


Antonio Eramo

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