Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Poetry: Many Are the Master of the Beasts


     It almost seems like a trademark of the British romantic poets to have radical theological and philosophical views. I was rather shocked when I met them at the beginning of the semester. And as an English major I feel bad to say so, but most of their work is gibberish to me. I think Wordsworth's in "Preface to Lyrical Ballads" and Shelley in his "Defense of Poetry," are digging too deep and being too analytical.
     Despite my muddled response to 17th century British literature, I hope I will end up taking something meaningful or useful away from it. I did sort of connect with one of Blake's ideas in his poem "London," to which I make an intertextual reference in my latest poem "XX."
     "XX" is posted below. I know it is rather pensive, and I hope to someday be inspired to write the more uplifting counterpart, but until then it stands alone. I ask you to read, reflect, and (in the actual sense of the words) RSVP, répondez s'il vous plaît, answer or respond, if you please. I'm turning this in to the university creative writing contest on the 15th and appreciate your criticism!

free image courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net



XX.
Again the frothy whitecaps rush the shore and pull away
The waves are at the mercy of the tide
Fog clings on with cold, clammy fingers
Till the heat burns a place for the noon
The sun is the ruler of the day
White-eyed creatures flee a crackling storm of black and red
And the polar bears melt behind the bars
With lolling tongue and snapping teeth the collies drive their cows
Many are the masters of the beasts
Momentary blindness can be purchased for a price—
From the judge’s mouth is served a candy-coated lie
Ancient words are trampled, warped
The gilded gavel falls
Money is the tyrant of the court
The hoarser burns my wasting voice, the tighter sealed my lips
The more I ache with thirst for air, the deeper do I hide
Retreating to myself
I bend, familiar joint, and ply my hammer at the forge—
I’m bemanacled again
We are the jailers of our souls

2 comments:

  1. I love it! I read it many times to try to understand. I hope I've got it right. Is it that so many things are rulers of others, but with our great powers we just use them to doom ourselves? I like the candy-coated lie part. But what is the crackling storm of black and red? Also "it's probably obvious to someone with half a brain" but what does XX mean after all?

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    1. Wow, thanks for even reading it many times! I think a poem can mean something to the writer and something totally else to the reader, but your explanation is exactly what I was trying to say!
      The crackling storm is supposed to be a wildfire. Is it a too obscure reference?

      Actually, it wouldn't be obvious at all what XX means, because it was just me marking it as the way I felt at my present age. Haha--I forgot who says that. I'm thinking of changing the title to "Many Are the Masters" though. What do you think?
      Also, I'm thinking about changing the final line to first person singular "I am" "my soul."

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