| MM |
 This
week I thought I would say something about long poems. Almost everything
I have written in my So You Want to be a Poet articles has
been concerned with the writing of relatively short poems; and although
we have used some quite lengthy poems in the Poems of the Week
series - John Gilpin's
Ride comes to mind - I haven't said anything about structure.
A key item, as with novels, is that the opening has to get your
attention - if it doesn't, it is probable that the average reader
is unlikely to devote the considerable effort required to read the
whole thing. It is also important that the ending is a good closure,
because otherwise you are unlikely to read it again - and it is
an important element of poetry as an art form that you have to read
each poem many times.
So this week, we are going to look at some starts and finishes to
long poems.
I
think that one of the best examples of an openings is that to Edward
FitzGerald's 'translation' of The
Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, which we have mentioned here before!
I have 'translation' in inverted commas, because (of course!) FitzGerald
did more than simply translate the 12th Century work: Omar's verses
were separate quatrains, and the long poem we have is entirely FitzgGerald's
construction. I always use the first 1859 version, rather than the
1889 version, largely because I feel that the opening is so much
more dramatic:
1
Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.
2
Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky
I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,
"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
"Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."
The
ending is also a fine example of how to do it:
74
Ah, Moon of my Delight who Know'st no wane
The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again:
How oft hereafter rising shall she look
Through this same Garden after me---in vain!
75
And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass
Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,
And in thy joyous Errand reach the Spot
Where I made one -- turn down an empty Glass!
TAMAM SHUD (It is completed.)
We
referenced in an earlier article
a poem by Thomas Babbington, Lord Macaulay, which describes a great
feat of arms in ancient Rome. The opening describes the gathering
of the invading army, and the doom-laden closing line of the second
stanza really sets the scene:
Horatius: A Lay Made About The Year of the CityCCCLX
(from Lays of Ancient Rome)
I
Lars Porsena of Clusium
By the Nine Gods he swore
That the great house of Tarquin
Should suffer wrong no more.
By the Nine Gods he swore it,
And named a trysting day,
And bade his messengers ride forth,
East and west and south and north,
To summon his array.
II
East and west and south and north
The messengers ride fast,
And tower and town and cottage
Have heard the trumpet's blast.
Shame on the false Etruscan
Who lingers in his home,
When Porsena of Clusium
Is on the march for Rome.
So,
the scene is set. When the Etruscan army arrives at Rome, there
is 'tumult and affright' and the Consul planned to cut down the
bridge to protect the town. However, there was clearly not enough
time to cut the bridge down before the army arrived, and Horatius,
who was the Captain of the Gate, volunteered to delay them; with
two other volunteers. He succeeded; and this is how the poem ends:
LXIX
When the oldest cask is opened,
And the largest lamp is lit;
When the chestnuts glow in the embers,
And the kid turns on the spit;
When young and old in circle
Around the firebrands close;
When the girls are weaving baskets,
And the lads are shaping bows;
LXX
When the goodman mends his armor,
And trims his helmet's plume;
When the goodwife's shuttle merrily
Goes flashing through the loom;
With weeping and with laughter
Still is the story told,
How well Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.
I
have avoided quoting any of my own poetry in the articles I have
written for The Mediadrome (with the exception of a single unattributed
haiku), but here is the opening and close of a poem which is as
far from Ancient Rome as one can imagine. It describes an incredibly
vast but ethereal craft which sails before 'The Wind of the Beginning'
which is the wind from the Big Bang at the birth of the Universe.
The poem is narrated by the helmsman, and this is how it begins:
The Wind of the Beginning
I am the helmsman: holding in my hands
the thousand gossamer strands that warp
the vast insubstantial sails through which
shine the infinite undimmed stars.
The
catharsis ultimately is concerned with succession, and the poem
ends with the new helmsman arriving:
He is here, and the light of ten thousand suns
shines over my shoulder into his face. His eyes
are new and innocent like a child's, looking past
or through me to the heart of the universe.
He stretches out his hands, and into them I pass
the threads that warp the sails. I can turn away.
He is the helmsman, and at last I can start
my long climb towards the vacant bridge.
At
some time in the future, if the Editor of The Mediadrome allows
me, I may share the rest of it with you.
Another example, also related to the voyage of a windjammer, but
this time on the sea, is by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and describes
the tribulations of a mariner returned from a truly hideous voyage:
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Part I
It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?
The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
May'st hear the merry din.'
He holds him with his skinny hand,
'There was a ship,' quoth he.
'Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!'
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.
So
there is a scene set - your worst nightmare, I imagine: an old man
determined to tell you about some depressing story, when you want
to get into a party! But in fact, the story he has to tell is, to
say the least of it, gripping. On his voyage, he shot an albatross
with his crossbow: the worst thing that can be done at sea; and
a curse fell over them. His sea-mates hung the dead albatross round
his neck, and the ship was becalmed. Eventually, all his crewmates
died, but he could not pray and could not die, until he saw some
sea-snakes in the water near the ship, and 'blessed them unaware'.
He then could pray, and the albatross fell from his neck. Eventually,
he is rescued; and begs forgiveness; part of his penance is to tell
his story over and over again.
This is how the poem closes:
Part VII
Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.
He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.
The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest
Turned from the bridegroom's door.
He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.
So,
this is the theme of this week's piece. I have decided to use as
the poems of the day for this week three great examples, each in
their own way. The first is Samson Agonistes, by John Milton
(1608-1674) which describes the last day of the great Nazarite hero.
The second is Endymion, by John Keats (1795-1821); this is
a poem which Keats wrote as a friendly competition with Percy Bysshe
Shelley to write a four thousand line poem in six months! Finally,
to end the week on a lighter note I have chosen another poem based
on a voyage (more or less!): The Hunting of the Snark, by
Lewis Carroll (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson) (1832-1898).
I hope you enjoy them!
Samson
Agonistes
Endymion
The
Hunting of the Snark
|
|
