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On a Stupendous Leg of Granite, Discovered Standing by Itself in the Deserts of Egypt, with the Inscription Inserted Below -- Horace Smith

 From the so-bad-that-they're-good department...
(Poem #285) On a Stupendous Leg of Granite, Discovered Standing by Itself in the Deserts of Egypt, with the Inscription Inserted Below
In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,
Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws
The only shadow that the Desert knows.
"I am great Ozymandias," saith the stone,
"The King of kings: this mighty city shows
The wonders of my hand." The city's gone!
Naught but the leg remaining to disclose
The sight of that forgotten Babylon.
We wonder, and some hunter may express
Wonder like ours, when through the wilderness
Where London stood, holding the wolf in chase,
He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess
What wonderful, but unrecorded, race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.
-- Horace Smith
"It appears that in 1817 Shelley held a sonnet-writing session with his friend,
the poet Horace Smith. Both wrote a sonnet on the same subject, but while
Shelley came up with Ozymandias, Mr Smith produced something so delightfully
horrendous I simply have to indulge [myself] even further, and include it here
as well.

The poem was cited by Guy Davenport of the University of Kentucky in a New York
Times article a few years ago, which concluded: "Genius may also be knowing how
to title a poem." "

    -- Leo Breebaart, in the Annotated Pratchett File v7a.0, which you can read
in its entirety at  http://www.us.lspace.org/books/apf/index.html

thomas.

[Links]

Shelley's famous sonnet can be found at poem #22

Surprisingly enough, Ozymandias is the only poem of his to have featured on the
Minstrels - I guess neither Martin nor myself are fans enough. Readers are
invited to rectify the situation with guest submissions.

A web search for a biography of Horace Smith, Poet  failed to turn up anything
of interest. I wonder why.

'MOST ANGLERS ARE VERY HUMANE'--Daily Paper -- Norman Rowland Gale

       
(Poem #284) 'MOST ANGLERS ARE VERY HUMANE'--Daily Paper
 The kind-hearted angler was sadly pursuing
 His calling unhallowed of choking the fishes;
 He bitterly wept, for of course he was doing
 An action most strongly opposed to his wishes!

 His vertabra shook as he musingly planned
 How kindly to threadle the worm he'd begun--it
 Was plain had the reptile possessed a right hand
 The penitent angler would gladly have wrung it!

 He cast in his float filled with tearful emotion
 And murmured "How fearful, how terrible this is!"
 And just at that moment, amid some commotion,
 He jerked out a panting and rather small /piscis/!

 "Unfortunate fishlet, what dread impulse brought you
 To meddle with bait which I carelessly threw in?
 My dear little swimmer, I'm sorry I caught you,
 So please don't blame me for contriving your ruin!"

 "O barbel and salmon-trout, tench, dace and gugdeon,
 O ev'ry fat jack and each eel (not a conger)
 Why, why will you grieve me and stir up my dudgeon?
 Go, die on his hooks who has eyes that are stronger!"

 But, however, whilst moaning he pulled out a score,
 And continued his wonderful luck till at last--it
 Was plain that his soft heart could bear it no more,
 Too deep were his groans, and--too full was his basket!
-- Norman Rowland Gale
A type of poem that has always intrigued me is one written in response to a
specific incident or situation. This is particularly true when the poem is
humorous - there's an extra piquancy to the fact that the incident the poet
has so amusingly described is indeed true, or, more accurately, that the
poet has produced so wonderfully appropriate a response to the situation.

Today's gently sarcastic poem is a nice example of the genre. The form is
also one very popular among writers of light verse - the predominantly
triple verse, and the heavy use of feminine rhymes, give it a light,
tripping feel (in particular, ending with a feminine rhyme avoids the risk
of closing on a heavy note). Again, it is a somewhat 'playful' form - the
poet often willing to sacrifice the mot juste in favour of a clever rhyme or
unexpected polysyllabic word.

Of course, like most such poems, it was never destined for greatness; but
equally, greatness was never its aim. In fact, even the fact that it has
withstood the test of time is not the point - I like it more for its
topicality, for the fact that it was a wonderful rejoinder to a careless
headline (one wonders where the poets are to immortalise more recent
examples, such as the famous 'Man Found Dead in Graveyard').

m.

Links:

Another lovely 'incidental' poem (though in a much harsher vein) is O'Kelly's
Litany for Doneraile poem #266

Norman Gale seems to be another of those poets without an accessible
biography, though you can read several of his poems at the Poets' Corner
[broken link] http://geocities.com/~spanoudi/poems/poem-gh.html

A Great Poem -- Gavin Ewart

       
(Poem #283) A Great Poem
This is a great poem.

How I suffer!
How I suffer!
How I suffer!

This is a great poem.
Full of true emotion.
-- Gavin Ewart
This is truly a great poem. Nothing more needs to be said :-).

thomas.

PS. Another Ewart poem, along with a short bio, con be read at poem #263

Fog -- Carl Sandburg

       
(Poem #282) Fog
 The fog comes
 on little cat feet.

 It sits looking
 over harbor and city
 on silent haunches
 and then moves on.
-- Carl Sandburg
As Thomas remarked in the notes to Crucible[1], Sandburg's poetry ranges
from passionate, granitic verse to the most delicate and finely-chiselled
Imagist poems, and he displays an equal mastery of both ends of the
spectrum. Today's poem - perhaps his most famous after Chicago - belongs to
the latter category; as perfect and self-contained as a miniature, and with
a truly striking central image.

m.

Links:

A biography of Sandburg is available at poem #163

'Crucible' is at poem #205,
along with another biography

We've run a number of Sandburg poems - look up the index at
http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels

L'Allegro -- John Milton

The second part of
(Poem #281) L'Allegro
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures
Whilst the Lantskip round it measures,
Russet Lawns, and Fallows Gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray,
Mountains on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest:
Meadows trim with Daisies pied,
Shallow Brooks, and Rivers wide.
Towers, and Battlements it sees
Bosom'd high in tufted Trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
Hard by, a Cottage chimney smokes,
From betwixt two aged Oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,
Are at their savoury dinner set
Of Herbs, and other Country Messes,
Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses;
And then in haste her Bower she leaves,
With Thestylis to bind the Sheaves;
Or if the earlier season lead
To the tann'd Haycock in the Mead,
Some times with secure delight
The up-land Hamlets will invite,
When the merry Bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks sound
To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the Chequer'd shade;
And young and old come forth to play
On a Sunshine Holyday,
Till the live-long day-light fail,
Then to the Spicy Nut-brown Ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How Faery Mab the junkets eat,
She was pinch'd, and pull'd she said,
And by the Friar's Lantern led
Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat,
To earn his Cream-bowl duly set,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy Flail hath thresh'd the Corn,
That ten day-labourers could not end,
Then lies him down the Lubber Fiend.
And stretch'd out all the Chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength;
And Crop-full out of doors he flings,
Ere the first Cock his Mattin rings,
Thus done the Tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering Winds soon lull'd asleep.
Tower'd Cites please us then,
And the busy hum of men,
Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold,
In weeds of Peace high triumphs hold,
With store of Ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize,
Of Wit, or Arms, while both contend
To win her Grace, whom all commend,
There let Hymen oft appear
In Saffron robe, with Taper clear,
And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask, and antique Pageantry,
On Summer eves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonsons learned Sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespeare, fancy's child,
Warble his native Wood-notes wild,
    And ever against eating Cares,
Lap me in soft Lydian Airs,
Married to immortal verse
Such as the meeting soul may pierce
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out,
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running;
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony.
That Orpheus' self may heave his head
From golden slumber on a bed
Of heap'd Elysian flowers, and hear
Such strains as would have won the ear
Of Pluto, to have quite set free
His half regain'd Eurydice.
    These delights, if thou canst give,
Mirth with thee, I mean to live.
-- John Milton
There's a wealth of classical allusion in Milton; rather than write any sort of
commentary on this (exquisite) poem, I'll leave you with this

[Glossary]

Aurora: Early morning. According to Grecian mythology, the goddess Aurora,
called by Homer 'rosy-fingered', sets out before the sun, and is the pioneer of
his rising.

Bacchus: In Roman mythology the god of wine. He is represented as a beautiful
youth with black eyes, golden locks, flowing with curls about his shoulders and
filleted with ivy. In peace his robe was purple, in war he was covered with a
panther's skin. His chariot was drawn by panthers.
    Bacchus sprang from the thigh of Zeus. The tale is that Semele asked Zeus to
appear before her in all his glory, but the foolish request proved her death.
Zeus saved the child which was prematurely born by sewing it up in his thigh
till it came to maturity. The Arabian tradition is that the infant Bacchus was
nourished during infancy in a cave of Mount Meros. As 'Meros' is Greek for a
thigh, the Greek fable is readily explained.

Cerberus: A grim, watchful keeper, house-porter, guardian, etc. Cerberus,
according to Roman mythology, is the three-headed dog that keeps the entrance of
the infernal regions. Hercules dragged the monster to earth, and then let him go
again.
    Orpheus lulled Cerberus to sleep with his lyre; and the Sibyl who conducted
Aeneas through the Inferno, also threw the dog into a profound sleep with a cake
seasoned with poppies and honey.
   The origin of the fable of Cerberus is from the custom of the ancient
Egyptians of guarding graves with dogs.

Cimmerian Darkness: Homer (possibly from some story as to the Arctic night)
supposes the Cimmerians to dwell in a land `beyond the ocean-stream,' where the
sun never shone. (Odys., xi. 14.)

Corydon: A swain; a brainless, love-sick spooney. One of the shepherds in
Virgil's eclogues.

Elysium, Elysian Fields: The Paradise or Happy Land of the Greek poets. Elysian
(the adjective) means happy, delightful.

Eurydice: Wife of Orpheus, killed by a serpent on her wedding night. Orpheus
went down to the infernal regions to seek her, and was promised she should
return on condition that he looked not back till she had reached the upper
world. When the poet got to the confines of his journey, he turned his head to
see if Eurydice were following, and she was instantly caught back again into
Hades.

Friar's Lanthorn: the Will o' the Wisp.

Hebe: Goddess of youth, and cup-bearer to the celestial gods. She had the power
of restoring the aged to youth and beauty. (Greek mythology.)

Hymen: God of marriage, a sort of overgrown Cupid. His symbols are a
bridal-torch and veil in his hand.

Mab: The 'fairies' midwife'- i.e. employed by the fairies as midwife of dreams
(to deliver man's brain of dreams). Thus when Romeo says, "I dreamed a dream
to-night", Mercutio replies, "Oh, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you". Sir
Walter Scott follows in the same track: "I have a friend who is peculiarly
favoured with the visits of Queen Mab", meaning with dreams (The Antiquary).
When Mab is called 'queen', it does not mean sovereign, for Titania was Oberon's
wife, but simply female; both midwives and monthly nurses were anciently called
queens or queans. Quen or cwen in Saxon means neither more nor less than woman;
so 'elf-queen', and the Danish ellequinde, mean female elf, and not 'queen of
the elves'. Excellent descriptions of 'Mistress Mab' are given by Shakespeare
(Romeo and Juliet, i. 4), by Ben Jonson, by Herrick, and by Drayton in
Nymphidea. (Mab, Welsh, a baby.)

Orpheus: A Thracian poet who could move even inanimate things by his music. When
his wife Eurydice died he went into the infernal regions, and so charmed King
Pluto that Eurydice was released from death on the condition that Orpheus would
not look back till he reached the earth. He was just about to place his foot on
the earth when he turned round, and Eurydice vanished from him in an instant.
    The tale of Orpheus is thus explained: Aeoneus, King of Thesprotia, was for
his cruelty called Pluto, and having seized Eurydieas she fled from Aristaeos,
detained her captive. Orpheus obtained her release on certain conditions, which
he violated, and lost her a second time.
   There is rather a striking resemblance between the fate of Eurydice and that
of Lot's wife. The former was emerging from hell, the latter from Sodom. Orpheus
looked back and Eurydice was snatched away, Lot's wife looked back and was
converted into a pillar of salt.

Phyllis: A country girl. (Virgil: Eclogues, iii. and v.)

Pluto: The grave, or the god of that region where the dead go to before they are
admitted into Elysium or sent to Tartaros.
     "Brothers, be of good cheer, this night we shall sup with Pluto." -
Leonidas to the three hundred Spartans before the battle of Thermopylae.

Styx: The river of Hate, called by Milton 'abhorred Styx, the flood of burning
hate' (Paradise Lost, ii. 577). It was said to flow nine times round the
infernal regions. (Greek, stugeo, hate.)
    The Styx is a river of Egypt, and the tale is that Isis collected the
various parts of OsIris (murdered by Typhon) and buried them in secrecy on the
banks of the Styx. The classic fables about the Styx are obviously of Egyptian
origin. Charon, as Diodorus informs us, is an Egyptian word for a 'ferryman',
and styx means 'hate'.

Thestylis: Any rustic maiden. In the Idylls of Theocritos, Thestylis is a young
female slave.

Zephyr: The west wind, the son of AEolus and Aurora, and the lover of Flora.
(Roman mythology.)

All these and much more can be found in that wonderful, wonderful reference
book, Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, available online at
http://www.bibliomania.com/Reference/PhraseAndFable/

And of course, don't miss the first part of this poem, at poem #279

thomas.