Silly Dunce. I wasn't correcting you on the hyphenation -- merely pointing it out. I was correcting you the stressed syllable.
> > and the first syllable is slightly stressed, so the pronunciation would be "TA-cos."
>
> I hear (and say) them no differently, as here:
>
https://dictionary.cambridge.org/pronunciation/english/taco
>
> I think one would be stressed more in a sentence, but which one would depend on the surrounding words. "I had a taco yesterday" sounds better with the first syllable stressed; "the best taco imaginable" sounds better with the second stressed. I'll change my notation to a spondee.
>
> > Your corrected line would be stressed as follows:
> >
> > "i OF-ten THINK of my PAST and the BEST TA-cos."
> >
> > That is: iamb-iamb-anapest-anapest-trochee.
>
>
>
> >
> > "Iamb-iamb-anapest-anapest-trochee" does not translate to "iambic pentameter" regardless of how loosely the term is used.
>
> I'll change my scansion to a spondee. I wouldn't rule it out for that, since spondees are allowed (on occasion) even within strict IP.
>
> > The second line, "I'd share with Kathy down on Victory Drive" could pass as "loose IP."
> >
> > The third line, "where the taco stand stood 40 years ago." opens with a pair of trochees:
> >
> > "WHERE the TA-co STAND STOOD FOR-ty YEARS a-GO." Or: trochee-trochee-spondee-trochee-cretic.
>
> I scanned that as
>
> Where the TA/co STAND / stood [FOR/ty] YEARS / a-GO
> anapest, iamb, iamb, iamb, iamb - loose IP as well.
You can always force most sentences into any meter you want, but it doesn't sound very natural when you do.
> > The fourth line, "The Thursday special was a buck for five" would be pronounced as "the THURSday SPECial WAS a BUCK for FIVE." This is a tricky one because one has to decide whether to count the initial "the" as part of the first foot. I wouldn't, because no one says "the THURS/day SPEC/ial WAS..." The "the" would therefore be ignored as a soft beat followed by four trochees and a sustained single beat (the/THURSday/SPECial/WAS a/BUCK for/FIVE), which is much more in keeping with the normal speech patterns.
>
> > We now have "soft beat-trochee-trochee-trochee-trochee-hard beat."
>
> OMFG!, as they say. The line is perfectly iambic.
>
> I see I'll have to post my own scansion.
It's only iambic if you count the opening "the" and force the meter when reading. Try reading it aloud and you'll see that the iambic take sounds ridiculously forced.
I believe that a poem's meter should follow natural speech patterns -- otherwise it reads in a sing-song manner that sounds amateurish.
When I read Will's poem, it (mostly) comes across as naturally spoken prose (chopped up for visual effect). I mean this as a good thing. The following is a breakdown of how I hear it being read (the stresses should be very light):
I OFten think of my PAST/
and the BEST TAcos I'd share with KATHy/
down on VICtory DRIVE/
where the TAco stand stood FORty YEARS aGO./
The THURSday SPECial was a BUCK for FIVE;/
BACK THEN at BUEna VISta TAco stand/
near ZOdiac and MICKey's, on MUsic ROW./
At the little TAble there I'd HOLD her hand;/
eating a TAco AFter the ROCK show./
The red and green SAUCEs there were MADE from SCRATCH/
(hard to deCIDE on WHICH, both MIGHty FINE)
though we aGREED the GREEN sauce had no MATCH./
SHARing our FEAST, her EYES staring into MINE.../
NosTALgia; aLONE with CHILLing WIND/
and VIsions of my LAdy KATHerine.
Scansion aside, it starts off better than it ends (getting progressively weaker as the narrative moves along). The penultimate line is six degrees beyond horrible. Who would ever say something in real life that even resembled "Nostalgia, alone with the chilling wind"?
Here's the text punctuated for clarity and with "sauces" in its correct, plural form:
I often think of my past, and the best tacos
I'd share with Kathy down on Victory Drive
where the taco stand stood 40 years ago.
The Thursday special was a buck for five;
back then at Buena Vista taco stand
near Zodiac and Mickey's, on music row.
At the little table there I'd hold her hand;
eating a taco after the rock show.
The red and green sauces there were made from scratch
(hard to decide on which, both mighty fine)
though we agreed the green sauce had no match.
Sharing our feast, her eyes staring into mine . . .
Nostalgia; alone with chilling wind
and visions of my Lady Katherine.
It's still an embarrassingly bad piece of work -- and being cast in a supposed sonnet form only heightens its weaknesses.
As an editor, you're faced with two choices: 1) work with it in sonnet form, or, 2) work with it as anecdotal prose and chop for presentation when finished.
I would suggest the second option. It's easier to make poorly written anecdotal prose read well than it is to fashion a sonnet out of a sow's ear.
Then again, it's hard to even make agreeable prose out of this swill. I just wasted fifteen minutes trying to fashion a decent sentence out of the first three lines, only to come to the conclusion that it can't be done. That is, it can't be done without rewriting the passages entirely.
I often think of my past, and the best tacos
I'd share with Kathy down on Victory Drive
where the taco stand stood 40 years ago.
The opening line is laughably bad. Try sticking a period at the end of it if you haven't gotten the joke.
Can you imagine an old man waxing nostalgic over his past... and the best tacos that they'd serve up for cheap down on Victory Drive?
It's as though the measure of a man's life lies in the quality (or, in this case, the greasiness) of his meals.
Another problem is that it's too convoluted: "I often think of my past, and the best tacos I'd share with Kathy, down on Victory Drive where the taco stand stood forty years ago."
"I often think of my past" doesn't belong at the local Taco Bell.
It requires *at least* a complete sentence to itself before we start smacking our lips over the menu: "I often think about my past; thirty-five, forty years ago, when Kathy and I were carefree with youth, and the world was just a backdrop for our tale."
This places the focus on what should be the main points of the poem: Nostalgia for a lost past, Kathy (a lost love), and lost youth... as opposed to some twenty cent tacos.
Speaking of which... "Like the old Buena Vista taco stand that used to be down on Victory Boulevard, some forty years ago. Kathy and I used to share the best tacos there, on Thursday nights after the rock show when they sold the tacos at a buck for five."
But, of course, the first sentence is a total rewrite; incorporating what I take to be the main themes of Will's poem into the text. The latter two sentences keep more closely to the original text -- they just switch the various parts around to read in a more natural style. It won't be a pseudo-sonnet anymore, but let's see how it looks once after having been properly chopped:
I often think about my past;
thirty-five, forty years ago,
when Kathy and I were carefree with youth,
and the world was just a backdrop for our tale.
Like the old Buena Vista taco stand
that used to be down on Victory Boulevard,
some forty years ago.
Kathy and I used to share
the best tacos there, on Thursday nights
after the rock show when they sold
the tacos at a buck for five.
***
As to the taco sonnet, I'm not even going to try. Then again, I could just cut two lines from my previous spoof and have:
The "At the Taco Stand" Sonnet
Took my bitch out for tacos on Victory Drive,
on Thursdays when tacos were a buck for five;
I'd dribble some salsa on top of my dick,
and push Kathy's face down and tell her to lick;
then I'd dribble more salsa and get some more head,
while Clay lay asleep in the truck's cargo bed;
then she'd suck off some fucker in truck number two,
and we'd use the five dollars to buy us some brew;
A few brewskies later and back to my shed,
Where Kathy and I could lie down in our bed
And watch pretty colors the rest of the night;
While back on the pickup's bed, snuggled up tight,
Young Clay snored away like he hadn't a care
All curled up like a kitten on top of the spare.