“Cynosure” Fumbles a Masterpiece

Eric Studdard was working on his three hundred and twenty-third masterpiece. This one would be a winner for sure. He had spent the better part of an hour on it and the poem was currently two hundred and ninety-seven words long, with thirty-one lines and seven and ¾ completed verses. It was composed along the rhyme scheme of “abab caca” and was based solidly on the pure iambic foot. And somewhere in of the vast and echoing vault that Eric Studdard claimed for a muse, inspiration spoke the word “cynosure” which he placed at the end of the thirtieth line. He then keyed in the next line as it dropped from the vast echoing vault:

And so there was a way for them to go,

Which rhymed perfectly with “snow.”

He thought “cynosure” was a magnificent word. A glorious word. A word out of heaven. Unfortunately it was also the word that caused the fumble of Eric’s of three hundred and twenty-third masterpiece. Up until that point he was headed for a perfect iambicility paced and correctly rhymed poem.

Then the muse angels dropped the “cynosure” canister. Not only did its three syllable glory disturb the thrust of the true iambic line, but Eric had no idea how the angels came up with it or what their intent in making it was. But since it was muse-provided, Eric was committed. Eric was not one to use backspace, erasers, delete or control-X in his mad pace for masterpieces. If it dropped from heaven onto his keyboard and thence onto his screen, it was meant to be.

He was also a bit unclear as to how “cynosure” related to meaning. But this he could deal with. Meaning was not usually a problem in Eric’s masterpieces. As far as Eric was concerned his fans could find their own meaning. Meaning was their problem. That approach seemed to be working out pretty well with Katie, Eric’s significant other of forty-nine years and survivor of three hundred and twenty-three masterpieces. She was the only fan he knew of, so far. And her analysis was solidly into finding (or perhaps not seeing) no problem with meaning in Eric’s poems. “Gee, Wow,” is mostly how she expressed her analytics.

But there was the issue of footage on the thirtieth line. And rhyme might also be a problem. Eric figured he could handle footage with poetic license. He could just ignore the second syllable. So he made a rare backspace and inserted an apostrophe and, poet that he was, made the word “cyn’sure.” Footage problem solved! He was pretty pleased with himself.

But Eric was not sure how the word should be pronounced and so rhyme was still a problem. Maybe kin a siror, as he had modified it, kin ‘ sir. He thought he should check on pronunciation, though, since there was nothing like a mis-rhymed word to really fumble a masterpiece. To Eric, the on-line Merriam Webster was a perfect accompaniment to the muse. It provided a clear pronunciation of almost every word the muse provided. He was a little shocked and somewhat surprised that the Merriam Webster that came through his earphones was not kin a sir. He had already been planning to rhyme with “tour” which he could see being pronounced so it rhymed with sir. It was a stretch but it would work. Some people somewhere certainly pronounced it that way. So when he heard Webster saying –sī-nə-ˌshu̇r– (or as an alternate –si-nə-ˌshu̇r–) it threw a real fumble into the works.

It was a fumble he recovered very well when he realized that –si-nə-ˌshu̇r– was a dead on rhyme with “tour.” And with the second syllable ()ed out, everything fell magnificently into place.

He finished the masterpiece with a perfect line:

It made a perfect ending for their tour.

Any meaning derived with rhyming –sī-’-ˌshu̇r– with “tour” was purely up to Katie and the other fans of the masterpiece.

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