Sunday, January 01, 2006
The Lion
This is not the first submission for my new regimen; again, I am simply trying to flesh out the main body a bit so the sidebar doesn't trickle obscenely under the center. Once there's more content, there will be little danger of that happening, I imagine, but it's best to err on the side of caution for now.
In any event, this is not, as I say, a new work. I produced this sometime last year on a whim. The phrase, "there is a certain cat I knew who strode upon the veldt" had sprung unbidden into my mind (and utterly without cause, so far as I can tell), and cried out to be used in a piece of verse. "Veldt" is such a bizarre word, after all; a wonderful piece of middle Dutch. How could I not?
It was a rude and slapdash affair, on the whole, but pleasant in its simplicity.
"The Lion"
There is a certain cat I knew
Who strode upon the veldt;
His eyes blaz'd out like diamonds
From a face as soft as felt.
His deep and mighty purring
Would a bastard's rancor melt;
His heart! That fearsome organ,
Beating endless like a belt
Fools spoke to us of sadness
After fate's fell blow was dealt -
We upon His tomb, not mourning,
But in prayers and grace have knelt.
For who laments the body that
Ne'er in earth hath dwelt?
We wear Him as He wears us:
Strong in eye, and claw, and pelt.
Now, I should add that this was written several months (at least) before the arrival of the current Narnia mania (Narmania?), so we should not take it to be an Aslan pastiche. One of the pleasures of presenting my own poetry is that I can stick it to Ransom, Tate, Warren et al. by delivering authorial intent directly unto you with authority and comprehensiveness. Or, at least, I will when I feel like doing so.
There's little to say beyond the obvious. If the general Christian imagery doesn't leap out at you, I should probably just give up this whole writing gig right now (or you, possibly, should forego a career in reading). The only thing that might need explaining is the beating heart, though it becomes much more simple when viewed in Christian terms. It is true that Christ is benevolent, but He is not what we would call sentimental. His is a hard love, and so much more so is His anger. The act of beating something with a belt is evocative, perhaps (charitably), with His whip-assisted driving-out of the money-changers from the Temple.
Whippings are highly symbolic in many ways. We may note in the Gospels, first of all, that history serves equilibrium very well. That is, God being Justice, things are often reciprocated and echoed in a variety of literal and non-literal ways. This is the one of the signficant bases of Christ's claims to divinity, after all; the parallels and reflections of Himself and Joshua, of John the Baptist and Elijah, of events in Isaiah or Psalms and events in the Gospels, etc. etc. What we begun is now completed. All of this is a roundabout way of suggesting that it is appropriate indeed that Christ can both dish it out as well as take it on the whipping front. Christ's scourging of the money-changers contributed in part to subsequent traditions of the pious denial of riches and indolence. The Fransiscans "whipped" the wealthy, but gently. On the other hand, the scourging of Christ Himself gave rise to a whole tradition of self-flagellation - both metaphorical and literal - on the part of His followers, eager as they were to imitate His glorious example.
I seem to have wandered somewhat from the topic at hand. Expect this to happen.
More to come. ¶ 7:08 PM
In any event, this is not, as I say, a new work. I produced this sometime last year on a whim. The phrase, "there is a certain cat I knew who strode upon the veldt" had sprung unbidden into my mind (and utterly without cause, so far as I can tell), and cried out to be used in a piece of verse. "Veldt" is such a bizarre word, after all; a wonderful piece of middle Dutch. How could I not?
It was a rude and slapdash affair, on the whole, but pleasant in its simplicity.
"The Lion"
There is a certain cat I knew
Who strode upon the veldt;
His eyes blaz'd out like diamonds
From a face as soft as felt.
His deep and mighty purring
Would a bastard's rancor melt;
His heart! That fearsome organ,
Beating endless like a belt
Fools spoke to us of sadness
After fate's fell blow was dealt -
We upon His tomb, not mourning,
But in prayers and grace have knelt.
For who laments the body that
Ne'er in earth hath dwelt?
We wear Him as He wears us:
Strong in eye, and claw, and pelt.
Now, I should add that this was written several months (at least) before the arrival of the current Narnia mania (Narmania?), so we should not take it to be an Aslan pastiche. One of the pleasures of presenting my own poetry is that I can stick it to Ransom, Tate, Warren et al. by delivering authorial intent directly unto you with authority and comprehensiveness. Or, at least, I will when I feel like doing so.
There's little to say beyond the obvious. If the general Christian imagery doesn't leap out at you, I should probably just give up this whole writing gig right now (or you, possibly, should forego a career in reading). The only thing that might need explaining is the beating heart, though it becomes much more simple when viewed in Christian terms. It is true that Christ is benevolent, but He is not what we would call sentimental. His is a hard love, and so much more so is His anger. The act of beating something with a belt is evocative, perhaps (charitably), with His whip-assisted driving-out of the money-changers from the Temple.
Whippings are highly symbolic in many ways. We may note in the Gospels, first of all, that history serves equilibrium very well. That is, God being Justice, things are often reciprocated and echoed in a variety of literal and non-literal ways. This is the one of the signficant bases of Christ's claims to divinity, after all; the parallels and reflections of Himself and Joshua, of John the Baptist and Elijah, of events in Isaiah or Psalms and events in the Gospels, etc. etc. What we begun is now completed. All of this is a roundabout way of suggesting that it is appropriate indeed that Christ can both dish it out as well as take it on the whipping front. Christ's scourging of the money-changers contributed in part to subsequent traditions of the pious denial of riches and indolence. The Fransiscans "whipped" the wealthy, but gently. On the other hand, the scourging of Christ Himself gave rise to a whole tradition of self-flagellation - both metaphorical and literal - on the part of His followers, eager as they were to imitate His glorious example.
I seem to have wandered somewhat from the topic at hand. Expect this to happen.
More to come. ¶ 7:08 PM
