Sonnetation

Carson Gardner is an enthusiastic amateur poet. He did not begin seriously writing poetry until after a shocking grief in young adulthood. He has been writing poetry now for nearly 40 years. He has had poems purposefully published in local venues, and on very rare occasions accidentally published in national venues. He had fleeting and unremunerative success, as a lyricist, decades ago; helping garner a young folksinger a national award. But Gardner had obsessively avoided the unsettling chore of writing sonnets—that is, until the toll of years apparently impaired his better judgment. Since finally attempting the sonnet, he discovered—actually masochistically enjoyed—the challenge of twisting his mind around the arbitrary Shakespearean form. Gardner's sonnets are not slick, virtuosic, or perfect. But they are a candid peak into the unguarded, semi-unconscious thoughts of an eccentric, socially-clumsy loner who learned how to bluff his way through forty years of street-level helping response to others’ personal pain and fear—caring a lot, but being a bit fluently-autistic about it. This sonnet collection is not about those many he struggled to help in small, compassionate ways. That work would fill a three-volume set, be much more fascinating than these sonnets, and would only be publishable HIPAA-posthumously. Don’t worry—no such writings, by Gardner, exist. He has, only recently, formally achieved the daunting goal of actually completing one hundred one (101) sonnets—an achievement similar to jumping from a second-story window 101 times, without a net. May you choose an easier, more accessible, less-bruising obsession than this. The 101 are here for your perusal—plus a few more. Gardner does not mind if you critique them. But, if you intend to do so, then—before you do so—try to write even one yourself. William Shakespeare’s ghost can, Gardner seems quite confident, ably judge both himself and you.