Lancelot

June 4, 2016

But why do I count on you to fight?
Why count at all? Why fuss as time
Must sting to be apostle to your sight?
Such a slight sight, such a false rhyme.
The birds fly high over the castle’s keep.
The children drown each other one by one.
The clouds roll off the sea, a place to sleep,
When pure poetry becomes the  sun.
The moon must hide the clouds, invisible
To man and boy, to be a symbol so
Irreverent, so indivisible
That the man-boy must be a child of woe.
The day is over, so is night…and plot
Must not intrude…on good, kind Lancelot

Advertisements

3 Responses to “Lancelot”

  1. extrasimile Says:

    Thomas, once again you have shown me my poem afresh. Shall I say it? An apostle to/ for my poem.
    Wallace Stevens might chime in “I am the necessary angel of earth, since in my sight you see the earth again.”
    A necessary apostle?
    Well. I will conclude by saying that Robert Bresson’s film ‘Lancelot du Lac’ is one of my favorite films.

    And sonnets. No one is more surprised than i am to find me writing sonnets.

  2. Thomas Davis Says:

    I would, of course, love the idea that you are writing sonnets, Jim. And what sonnets too!
    “Lancelot” is, in the ExtraSimile way, challenging. The question to Lancelot is, “why do I count on you to fight?” Then that sly comment following the question, “Why count at all?” Then the sudden depth of the sonnet tumbles into consciousness: “Why fuss as time/Must sting to be apostle to your sight?” What a line! Time as apostle? I understand why time stings. I am getting old. But apostle to your sight? What’s going on? Then the ironic voice: “Such a slight slight, such a false rhyme.” I take it that, in the end, caught, “Time held me green and dying” Dylan Thomas said, in time that somehow follows us as apostle to our lives, there is a falseness in there somewhere.
    Then the news: “The birds fly high over the castle’s keep./The children drown each other one by one.” Where did the children come from? Are they why Lancelot must fight. Is that what we count on the great hero with the fatal flaw for?
    Then lines that I could wish to write, but haven’t the ability to come up with, I’m afraid:
    The clouds roll off the sea, a place to sleep,
    When pure poetry becomes the sun.
    So this is a poem about poetry and heroes and children that die and time.
    The moon must hide the clouds, invisible
    To man and boy, to be a symbol so
    Irreverent, so indivisible
    That the man-boy must be a child of woe.
    There is irreverence here! I hear it! Must the man-boy, the hero, caught in time’s apostlehood, living in poetry from that time to this time, be a child of woe? Must the children drown?
    AAh,
    The day is over, so is night…and plot
    Must not intrude…on good, kind Lancelot.
    There is no ending to Lancelot, is there, even though time is following us somehow, even though woe is on the wing, oh, woe is on the wing.
    What a sonnet your write, Jim, swirling and swirling like a whirlpool made of many, many currents.

  3. John Looker Says:

    Shakespearean sonnet I see, Jim. I must reread tomorrow.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: