BeelzeBob
Acolyte
In a recent correspondence with Mr. Ligotti, I brought up my unsuccessful efforts in trying to acquire a copy of the super rare one-off fanzine Theoretical Detective from back in 1982. In which, Mr. Ligotti contributed a poem, "The Blonde: A Sonnet", under the name Frank Santino. Mr. Ligotti was kind enough to provide his commentary on how and why he composed such a piece as well as the poem itself as it appeared in Theoretical Detective. I received his blessings on sharing both here at TLO. Enjoy!
[FONT="]“As anyone can see who knows anything about sonnets--and I don't know
much--this one is highly unconventional. It's basically Elizabethan or
Shakespearean in form, though it has an opening stanza that's a quintain,
rather than a quatrain, with an abccb rhyme scheme, the last-named feature
not being unique in itself but pretty much unheard of in a sonnet.
Otherwise, the rhyme scheme and closing couplet is conventional, though the
rhythm sometimes is not.
Given the theme of the fanzine, I took the detective story as my subject.
The plot is derived from Raymond Chandler's The Big Sleep. (I went through a
period of fanatic admiration for Chandler's novels.) Nevertheless, the tone
and language keep an Elizabethan feel. The reason for that is derived from
the surname of Chandler's detective, Philip Marlowe, which he deliberately
spelled like that of the Elizabethan dramatist Christopher Marlowe, and I
make a couple of allusions to Marlowe's Faust play.
As for the plot, it's not unusual for Chandler's novels in that Marlowe
takes on a case, is betrayed or deceived by someone who plays a main role in
the case, and ultimately foils the betrayer or deceiver. Chandler also gave
his hero-detective an antique code of ethics, though he's by no means naïve,
and a tendency to become emotionally attached to an idealized female client.
None of this is original to Chandler, though the combination of these
elements may be.
[/FONT]
I wrote it a long time ago, and it was intended to
accompany a cross-genre detective-horror story that I ultimately destroyed
because it really wasn't any good. It's title was "The Angel That Fell from
the Fifteenth Floor." I'm not a fan of cross-genre fiction, but as Chandler
was concerned with creating an atmosphere of the unseen and unknown in his
novels, stating that in his works he wanted to convey a sense of "the
country behind the hill," I felt that ambition allied them with the kind of
horror stories I most admire. Chandler was also a great prose stylist, which
is why I was attracted to his books and none other in the detective genre.
[FONT="]Here's the poem as it appeared in Theoretical Detective.
The Blonde: A Sonnet
by Frank Santino
Black Slacks, shadow eyes, and a blood-red shirt.
"Blouson," she says; "Uh-huh," I says, bleakly
Fiddling with the office blinds,
Enclosing her in venetian lines.
Oh, please sigh, and weakly.
In crimson twilight I first opened the case,
A Marlovian Faust for Helen, my muse,
Who planted her clues by the moon's blushèd face.
They blossomed in colors of the freshly exhumed.
Then under the star-shattered window of night,
Out came her lies, and each brightly shone,
Turning blacks and reds to a bliss of blue light,
And blinded I fell toward an angelic unknown.
But a gun, scarlet fingers, she laughed, "So long, Frank."
Now who, Mephistopheles, had it filled full of blanks?
Tom L."[/FONT]
[FONT="]“As anyone can see who knows anything about sonnets--and I don't know
much--this one is highly unconventional. It's basically Elizabethan or
Shakespearean in form, though it has an opening stanza that's a quintain,
rather than a quatrain, with an abccb rhyme scheme, the last-named feature
not being unique in itself but pretty much unheard of in a sonnet.
Otherwise, the rhyme scheme and closing couplet is conventional, though the
rhythm sometimes is not.
Given the theme of the fanzine, I took the detective story as my subject.
The plot is derived from Raymond Chandler's The Big Sleep. (I went through a
period of fanatic admiration for Chandler's novels.) Nevertheless, the tone
and language keep an Elizabethan feel. The reason for that is derived from
the surname of Chandler's detective, Philip Marlowe, which he deliberately
spelled like that of the Elizabethan dramatist Christopher Marlowe, and I
make a couple of allusions to Marlowe's Faust play.
As for the plot, it's not unusual for Chandler's novels in that Marlowe
takes on a case, is betrayed or deceived by someone who plays a main role in
the case, and ultimately foils the betrayer or deceiver. Chandler also gave
his hero-detective an antique code of ethics, though he's by no means naïve,
and a tendency to become emotionally attached to an idealized female client.
None of this is original to Chandler, though the combination of these
elements may be.
[/FONT]
I wrote it a long time ago, and it was intended to
accompany a cross-genre detective-horror story that I ultimately destroyed
because it really wasn't any good. It's title was "The Angel That Fell from
the Fifteenth Floor." I'm not a fan of cross-genre fiction, but as Chandler
was concerned with creating an atmosphere of the unseen and unknown in his
novels, stating that in his works he wanted to convey a sense of "the
country behind the hill," I felt that ambition allied them with the kind of
horror stories I most admire. Chandler was also a great prose stylist, which
is why I was attracted to his books and none other in the detective genre.
[FONT="]Here's the poem as it appeared in Theoretical Detective.
The Blonde: A Sonnet
by Frank Santino
Black Slacks, shadow eyes, and a blood-red shirt.
"Blouson," she says; "Uh-huh," I says, bleakly
Fiddling with the office blinds,
Enclosing her in venetian lines.
Oh, please sigh, and weakly.
In crimson twilight I first opened the case,
A Marlovian Faust for Helen, my muse,
Who planted her clues by the moon's blushèd face.
They blossomed in colors of the freshly exhumed.
Then under the star-shattered window of night,
Out came her lies, and each brightly shone,
Turning blacks and reds to a bliss of blue light,
And blinded I fell toward an angelic unknown.
But a gun, scarlet fingers, she laughed, "So long, Frank."
Now who, Mephistopheles, had it filled full of blanks?
Tom L."[/FONT]