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Unfortunately, this poem refers to Mervyn Peake's ubar-brilliant "Gormenghast" post-WWII fantasy trilogy.... oh, and I just learned a word to which his work applies as an early influence: "Mannerpunk" or Fantasy of Manners. Anyway, the full import of this poem's not really there unless you're familiar with the first two books of the series, Gormenghast and Titus Groan.
BUT, I think the tone, many of the ideas, and what I did with meter allow it to still stand for some kind of review.
At any rate, if you're not familiar with Gormenghast, I recommend it superlatively. And if you are, hopefully this amuses.
The meter, mostly iambic, I wrote in steadily rising and falling waves of length. I was surprised and pleased how good this sounds when read aloud-- I'm not aware of such a pattern being used elsewhere, so if it works, you know, sweet! I dunno, tell me if you think I'm wrong about it.
Anyway, aside from writing in praise of the original, quintessential eccentric genius goth girl, it was the effectiveness of sine-wave meter that really got me off about what I did with this.
SPOILER ALERT:
As a sort of skeleton key to some of the referenced events:
Fuschia is the daughter of Sepulchrave (a reclusive scholar who portrayed as fairly helpless), the 76th Earl of Groan (the titular land ruled from its seat, Gormenghast), largely ignored by her parents, a sweet, unassuming, sensitive, and deeply imaginative personality, prone to wandering in the woods and playing games of make-believe in her attic. Her father's insanity and subsequent death involved owls, and were the start of a chain of events that comprise what there is of a plot to the first two books of the trilogy. Fuschia slips from her windowsill while contemplating suicide during a massive flood, at the end of the second novel. Her doctor, Alfred Prunesquallor, brother Titus, and perhaps also her nanny Mrs Slagg, are the only people who are ever really kind to her; besides them she is in the main utterly disregarded. Gormenghast is steeped in ritual and tradition to the point of being stifling.
BUT, I think the tone, many of the ideas, and what I did with meter allow it to still stand for some kind of review.
At any rate, if you're not familiar with Gormenghast, I recommend it superlatively. And if you are, hopefully this amuses.
The meter, mostly iambic, I wrote in steadily rising and falling waves of length. I was surprised and pleased how good this sounds when read aloud-- I'm not aware of such a pattern being used elsewhere, so if it works, you know, sweet! I dunno, tell me if you think I'm wrong about it.
Anyway, aside from writing in praise of the original, quintessential eccentric genius goth girl, it was the effectiveness of sine-wave meter that really got me off about what I did with this.
SPOILER ALERT:
As a sort of skeleton key to some of the referenced events:
Fuschia is the daughter of Sepulchrave (a reclusive scholar who portrayed as fairly helpless), the 76th Earl of Groan (the titular land ruled from its seat, Gormenghast), largely ignored by her parents, a sweet, unassuming, sensitive, and deeply imaginative personality, prone to wandering in the woods and playing games of make-believe in her attic. Her father's insanity and subsequent death involved owls, and were the start of a chain of events that comprise what there is of a plot to the first two books of the trilogy. Fuschia slips from her windowsill while contemplating suicide during a massive flood, at the end of the second novel. Her doctor, Alfred Prunesquallor, brother Titus, and perhaps also her nanny Mrs Slagg, are the only people who are ever really kind to her; besides them she is in the main utterly disregarded. Gormenghast is steeped in ritual and tradition to the point of being stifling.
Category Poetry / Fantasy
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 90 x 120px
File Size 2.4 kB
It's been far too long since I read those books, and I think I was too young to appreciate them at the time.
Anyways, this poem rekindled memories . . . I particularly liked this bit:
The poison in your eyes, I'll draw,
With art exceeding even Doctor Prune's
(My elder cousin as it happens-- Ha ha ha!)
For I'm a careful student of your father's poetry,
And his translations of the castle's worn-down runes.
His lucid verse will answer EVERYTHING,
In playful words and sing-song vowels:
The meaning of the Law,
And even Owls.
You're right, it's fun to read aloud. Makes me want to speak in that strange, exaggerated almost-british manner actors in old movies did.
Anyways, this poem rekindled memories . . . I particularly liked this bit:
The poison in your eyes, I'll draw,
With art exceeding even Doctor Prune's
(My elder cousin as it happens-- Ha ha ha!)
For I'm a careful student of your father's poetry,
And his translations of the castle's worn-down runes.
His lucid verse will answer EVERYTHING,
In playful words and sing-song vowels:
The meaning of the Law,
And even Owls.
You're right, it's fun to read aloud. Makes me want to speak in that strange, exaggerated almost-british manner actors in old movies did.
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