Fable Fun

As a writing exercise last month, I re-wrote the fable of the fox and the crow, originally by Aesop. When I commenced the assignment, bells began clamoring through my head, and stray fragments of poetry zipped across my mental field of vision. Delving into The Harp and Laurel Wreath, by Laura Berquist, a poetry book utilized frequently in my elementary years, I located the poem and laughed over its simple yet sophisticated phraseology. Having enjoyed it, I chose to post it as the poetry for this week, mayhap following it up with my own composition later on.

The sycophantic Fox and the gullible Raven

By Guy Wetmore Carryl

A raven sat upon a tree,
    And not a word he spoke, for
His beak contained a piece of Brie.
    Or, maybe it was Roquefort.
We'll make it any kind you please --
At all events it was a cheese.

Beneath the tree's umbrageous limb
    A hungry fox sat smiling;
He saw the raven watching him,
    And spoke in words beguiling:
"J'admire," said he, "ton beau plumage!"
(The which was simply persiflage.)

Two things there are, no doubt you know,
    To which a fox is used:
A rooster that is bound to crow,
    A crow that's bound to roost;
And whichsoever he espies
He tells the most unblushing lies.

"Sweet fowl," he said, "I understand
    You're more than merely natty;
I hear you sing to beat the band
    And Adelina Patti.
Pray render with your liquid tongue
A bit from Gotterdammerung."

This subtle speech was aimed to please
    The crow, and it succeeded;
He thought no bird in all the trees
    Could sing as well as he did.
In flattery completely doused,
He gave the "Jewel Song" from Faust.

But gravitation's law, of course,
    As Isaac Newton showed it,
Exerted on the cheese its force,
    And elsewhere soon bestowed it.
In fact, there is no need to tell
What happened when to earth it fell.

I blush to add that when the bird
    Took in the situation
He said one brief, emphatic word,
    Unfit for publication.
The fox was greatly startled, but
He only sighed and answered, "Tut."

The Moral is: A fox is bound
    To be a shameless sinner.
And also: When the cheese comes round
    You know it's after dinner.
But (what is only known to few)
The fox is after dinner, too.

Downtime entirely unintentional

Yes, I do have a halfway reasonable excuse for not posting as I said I would. Two, actually. Firstly, I was absent most of the weekends(s) and didn't have the time to post, and secondly I haven't been able to sit down and read St. Valentine and now the penitential poetry appropriate for the season.

I found this sample refreshing, as far as text-filled Kyries go. My psyche has undergone excessive stress recently on account of some appallingly horrific, flimsy, sodden lines interspersed through the Penitential Rite - and, as a matter of fact, the rest of the Liturgy. I assure you, however, that no such atrocities will confront you here

"...and you may safely read." - G.K.C.

Lent, 1869

By Richard Storrs Willis

I.

We like sheep have gone astray,
Kyrie eleison!
Each his own misguided way,
Kyrie eleison!
Wandering farther, day by day,
Kyrie eleison!

II.

Shepherd kind, oh! lead us back;
Christe eleison!
Wrest us from our dangerous track,
Christe eleison!
Lest the wolves thy flock attack;
Christe eleison!

III.

Ope for us again thy fold,
Kyrie eleison!
Night approaches, drear and cold;
Kyrie eleison!
Death, perchance, and woes untold;
Kyrie eleison!

Located on Catholic Poetry from various resources

Mea Culpa

I apologize; I was busy yesterday and the day before and so did not post any poetry, and the Sunday before I was absent. Therefore, I am now going to post a poem that deeply ensnares my fascination. A quirk about my mind is that I am strongly attracted by shipwrecks, the stories, causes of, precautions taken against, etc. The one I read about first was not, as you may suppose, the ever-classic Titanic, but the Lusitania, in memory of which this poem was written. It would seem that before the Lusitania's last voyage in 1915, in the midst of WWII, the Germans published newspaper articles warning citizens to boycott the vessel. The warnings went unheeded, and that spring Lusitania set out with 3000 passengers, 1198 of which never returned. A Nazi submarine sunk the ship on May 7th, in only forty-five minutes. America's first explosion of indignation was summed up in Joyce Kilmer's passionate poem:

The White Ships and the Red

(For Alden March)

With drooping sail and pennant
That never a wind may reach,
They float in sunless waters
Beside a sunless beach.
Their mighty masts and funnels
Are white as driven snow,
And with a pallid radiance
Their ghostly bulwarks glow.

Here is a Spanish galleon
That once with gold was gay,
Here is a Roman trireme
Whose hues outshone the day.
But Tyrian dyes have faded,
And prows that once were bright
With rainbow stains wear only
Death's livid, dreadful white.

White as the ice that clove her
That unforgotten day,
Among her pallid sisters
The grim Titanic lay.
And through the leagues above her
She looked aghast, and said:
"What is this living ship that comes
Where every ship is dead?"

The ghostly vessels trembled
From ruined stern to prow;
What was this thing of terror
That broke their vigil now?
Down through the startled ocean
A mighty vessel came,
Not white, as all dead ships must be,
But red, like living flame!

The pale green waves about her
Were swiftly, strangely dyed,
By the great scarlet stream that flowed
From out her wounded side.
And all her decks were scarlet
And all her shattered crew.
She sank among the white ghost ships
And stained them through and through.

The grim Titanic greeted her
"And who art thou?" she said;
"Why dost thou join our ghostly fleet
Arrayed in living red?
We are the ships of sorrow
Who spend the weary night,
Until the dawn of Judgment Day,
Obscure and still and white."

"Nay," said the scarlet visitor,
"Though I sink through the sea,
A ruined thing that was a ship,
I sink not as did ye.
For ye met with your destiny
By storm or rock or fight,
So through the lagging centuries
Ye wear your robes of white.

"But never crashing iceberg
Nor honest shot of foe,
Nor hidden reef has sent me
The way that I must go.
My wound that stains the waters,
My blood that is like flame,
Bear witness to a loathly deed,
A deed without a name.

"I went not forth to battle,
I carried friendly men,
The children played about my decks,
The women sang -- and then --
And then -- the sun blushed scarlet
And Heaven hid its face,
The world that God created
Became a shameful place!

"My wrong cries out for vengeance,
The blow that sent me here
Was aimed in Hell. My dying scream
Has reached Jehovah's ear.
Not all the seven oceans
Shall wash away that stain;
Upon a brow that wears a crown
I am the brand of Cain."

When God's great voice assembles
The fleet on Judgment Day,
The ghosts of ruined ships will rise
In sea and strait and bay.
Though they have lain for ages
Beneath the changeless flood,
They shall be white as silver,
But one -- shall be like blood.

Sunday installment

I'm going to follow Love2learn Mom's example and post poetry once a week. This will probably occur on Sundays, because I feel most poetic then. Here is a poem I enjoy every time I read it. It reminds me of the poem 'Only to Rise' in The Shadow of the Bear.

A Day Dream

By Emily Bronte

On a sunny brae alone I lay

On summer afternoon;

It was the marriage month of May

With her young lover, June.

From her mother’s heart seemed loath to part

That queen of bridal charms;

But her father smiled on the fairest child

He ever held in his arms.

The trees did wave their plumy crests,

The glad birds caroled clear;

And I, of all the wedding guests,

Was only sullen there.

There was not one but wished to shun

My aspect void of cheer;

The very grey rocks looking on

Asked, ‘What do you do here?’

And I could utter no reply-

In sooth I did not know

Why I had brought a clouded eye

To greet the general glow.

So resting on a heathy bank

I took my heart to me

And we together sadly sank

Into a reverie.

We thought-‘When winter comes again

Where will these bright things be?

All vanished like a vision vain-

And unreal mockery!

‘The birds that now so blithely sing-

Through deserts frozen dry,

Poor specters of the perished Spring

In famished troops will fly.

‘And why should we be glad at all?

The leaf is hardly green

Before a token of the fall

Is on its surface seen.’

Now whether it be really so

I never could be sure-

But as in fit of peevish woe

I stretched me on the moor

A thousand thousand glancing fires

Seemed kindling in the air-

A thousand thousand silver lyres

Resounded far and near.

Methought the very breath I breathed

Was full of sparks divine

And all my heather-couch was wreathed

By that celestial shine-

And while the wide Earth echoing rang

To their strange minstrelsy,

The little glittering spirits sang

Or seemed to sing to me,-

‘O mortal, mortal, let them die-

Let Time and Tears destroy,

That we may overflow the sky

With universal joy.

‘Let grief distract the sufferer’s breast

And Night obscure his way;

They hasten him to endless rest

And everlasting day.

‘To thee the world is like a tomb-

A desert’s naked shore;

To us-in unimagined bloom

It brightens more and more.

‘And could we lift the veil and give

One brief glimpse to thine eye

Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live

Because they live to die.’

The music ceased-the noonday Dream

Like dream of night withdrew,

But fancy still will sometimes deem

Her fond creation true.

Now, I know I once posted on Liber Parma about my preference of Charlotte Bronte's writing over her sister's, but Emily's poetry is far more eloquent in my eyes. Some is, alas, rather morbid and depressing, but there are hopeful poems as well. I've been meaning to read more of Anne Bronte's poetry, too, and there's always plenty of Chesterton to be absorbed, and re-read, I want to get through Dante's 'Divine Comedy'....Why was it called a Comedy anyway???

Diamantes

Cathy and I just received our Lit assignment, requesting us each to write a Diamante. As you probably know, this is a diamond-shaped poem about a pair of opposites. We chose to do them about us and our sisters.

Cathy
sarcastic, operatic
singing, doodling, laughing
joy, melodrama, vivacity, extroversion
intoxicating, bubbling, bouncing
optimistic, voluble
Mari

gilbertgirl
contrary, abstracted
ditzing, imagining, reading
melodrama, verbosity, contemplation, precision
contradicting, observing, studying
calm, quiet
Margaret

Our friends from Love2learn know this portrays us perfectly!