I would not risk the Cockatrice’s three hairs,
Or eat its flesh, and if I sensed its whistle,
I’d fly with hands gripped firmly over ears –
Nor would I risk the Basilisk’s dread missile.
The Cockatrice and Basilisk do not
On grounds exist, of that I'm much afraid;
If called, I’d fly and hide – I won’t be caught
With armour, sword and shield on some crusade.
But give me skates and ice, I’m there to play
With stick in hand and shoulder set to check,
And, yes, I’ll drop my gloves – their goon will pay
With body blows or wood brushed by his neck.
Don’t ask me why this is, for I don’t know;
It might be that I’m ruled from what’s below.
_________________________________________
I found Earl's original couplet, “So supernatural monsters scare me shitless, / But give me flesh and bone, then check my fitness,” inadequate. Too much of a simple summary of the poem.
But the couplet he settled upon, an unkind critic might say, seems to be a mere continuation of the sestet, in tone and meaning, and ends with the word “below,” where he supposedly gets his sporting mojo.
But if one remembers the octave, where his talk is of his fear of supernatural (or poetic) monsters, the word “below” becomes somewhat ambiguous, for it is now the source of his cowardice as well.
The strength of the poem therefore relies on that word.
So how is the word “below” to be read? Hell, yes, of course, always. And cock and guts, or their mental facsimiles, potency or willpower. But this answers nothing. Why doesn’t he have the guts to enter hell? On earth, one guesses, he’s all right.
One could talk about fear of the unknown. And of how familiarity breeds contempt. And be right.
But the use of such clichés obfuscates what’s truly profound here. As Freud says, the mind is not a place, nor is it a battlefield. It is battle. It is conflict. It is not a place of conflict, it is conflict itself. It is conflict in search of field or place.
Earl's imagined battle with the Cockatrice or Basilisk has no such place, is, as said, imagined. Nothing exists “below” his feet. Earl says, "The Cockatrice and Basilisk do not / On grounds exist." And later, he goes on to say, “But give me skates and ice, I’m there to play.”
The formula? Bravery needs locality. Or something for the feet. “Ice,” in this case.
Or eat its flesh, and if I sensed its whistle,
I’d fly with hands gripped firmly over ears –
Nor would I risk the Basilisk’s dread missile.
The Cockatrice and Basilisk do not
On grounds exist, of that I'm much afraid;
If called, I’d fly and hide – I won’t be caught
With armour, sword and shield on some crusade.
But give me skates and ice, I’m there to play
With stick in hand and shoulder set to check,
And, yes, I’ll drop my gloves – their goon will pay
With body blows or wood brushed by his neck.
Don’t ask me why this is, for I don’t know;
It might be that I’m ruled from what’s below.
_________________________________________
I found Earl's original couplet, “So supernatural monsters scare me shitless, / But give me flesh and bone, then check my fitness,” inadequate. Too much of a simple summary of the poem.
But the couplet he settled upon, an unkind critic might say, seems to be a mere continuation of the sestet, in tone and meaning, and ends with the word “below,” where he supposedly gets his sporting mojo.
But if one remembers the octave, where his talk is of his fear of supernatural (or poetic) monsters, the word “below” becomes somewhat ambiguous, for it is now the source of his cowardice as well.
The strength of the poem therefore relies on that word.
So how is the word “below” to be read? Hell, yes, of course, always. And cock and guts, or their mental facsimiles, potency or willpower. But this answers nothing. Why doesn’t he have the guts to enter hell? On earth, one guesses, he’s all right.
One could talk about fear of the unknown. And of how familiarity breeds contempt. And be right.
But the use of such clichés obfuscates what’s truly profound here. As Freud says, the mind is not a place, nor is it a battlefield. It is battle. It is conflict. It is not a place of conflict, it is conflict itself. It is conflict in search of field or place.
Earl's imagined battle with the Cockatrice or Basilisk has no such place, is, as said, imagined. Nothing exists “below” his feet. Earl says, "The Cockatrice and Basilisk do not / On grounds exist." And later, he goes on to say, “But give me skates and ice, I’m there to play.”
The formula? Bravery needs locality. Or something for the feet. “Ice,” in this case.
Guy Barbaroux
No comments:
Post a Comment