Hi grasshopper,
Oh, I am feeling pernickety today (I was the same when squeezing peaches
this morning before I bought some - some, I thought, are altogether ripe,
some won't be really juicy for a day or two...). (So, how juicy is this?).
I'm enjoying the accomplishments of it! It feels like I can hear the voice
stood on centre stage... talking as if it's assured, very much in control.
No adrenaline here, just control and a total exercise of total power.
It does feel very, very, much a part of a play... sort of Low-wrench
Olivier, all the trimmings over the doublet and hose - and, after the
speech, because it says so much there can only be trumpets off stage and the
dimming of the lights.
Part of me wants to try and link it to our world (think: is this some crony
of Georgie Bush-baby and the daughter is a metaphor for Iraq's oil - nah!
That's silly) but I find I'm wondering "Whay am I being told this..." Is it
that it's offering me some insight into how women were just taken over by
such power-crazed blokes? Maybe... But I can't easily make it fit along with
today's world. The only shuddering realisation it gives me is that I've
never met such an unlikeable, so-powerful-I'm-less-than-human kind of guy.
So I'm left admiring the style, the phrasing, the control, the
accomplishment it shows - and really liking the way it fits together and no
words or phrases aren't telling, I mean significant, in themselves... And
still wondering why I don't feel bitten by it... I guess, therefore, that
it's just me - that likes my fruit juicy!
Bob
>From: grasshopper <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: New sub: Aftermath
>Date: Thu, 31 Jul 2003 19:54:27 +0100
>
> Aftermath
>
>Enough. I have no stomach to defame
>his memory. The man died well. Set men to prise
>the blazons from the walls and doors. My name
>will over-write his wealth, my lordly rise
>will soon rub out his lineage and his line.
>Bring in my hounds, my hawks, install my pages.
>Unlock his stores, uncask his finest wine,
>unchain his chests to pay my army's wages.
>
>My sword is stained with blood, indeed. No, leave
>it so. They say good brands must drink their fill
>before they sleep. That steel was forged to cleave
>the armour of my foes, to carve and kill.
>
>His family? Safe passage to the North,
>except that one fair daughter -bring her forth.
>
> (grasshopper)
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