The Knight & Drey (v2)
 

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v2
The Knight & Drey


You know the pub, its paint too worn
to welcome in the passer-by.
You know the street, the one that sank
beneath the city's rising tide.

You know the kind that drink in there,
each one as empty as a glass.
A place that's haunted by the living.
Which is why you scurry past.
Afraid to enter, quench your thirst,
for what you see might give you pause:
the grizzled things, discarded shells,
those veterans of the Squirrel Wars.

Their baffles, spinners, cages, wires,
the notebooks, logs and master plans,
their Sun Tzu quotes, their certainty
that Nature Must Submit to Man,
all came to naught. All came to this
slow twilight at the long road's end.
Behind a blue and boot-kicked door
their sorrows drown. And rise again.

Their Romes have burned, their Troys all fell,
their Kassels, overrun, surrendered.
The feeders, filled at such a cost,
they can't forget and so remember
how it was they fought across
the Washing Line, the Border's Edge.
Those Rubicons which led to woods
of squirrels nesting in their heads.

Above the bar an epitaph,
in pokerwork, just seven words:
a sentiment as old as Time
reads, What We Did Was For The Birds.


_________

S2/L3-6 was
Wednesay's Quiz and Karaoke,
but, something sees you scurry past.
Afraid to enter, quench your thirst,
for what awaits might give you pause:


_____________________




The Knight & Drey


You know the pub, its paint too worn
to welcome in the passer-by.
You know the street, the one that sank
beneath the city's rising tide.

You know the kind that drink in there,
each one as empty as a glass.
And you've heard it called "The Nuthouse"
which is why you scurry past.
Afraid to enter, quench your thirst
for what you see might give you pause -
the grizzled things, discarded shells,
those veterans of the Squirrel Wars.

Their baffles, spinners, cages, wires,
the drawers full of grand master plans,
their Sun Tzu quotes and certainty
that Nature Must Submit to Man,
all came to naught. All came to this
slow twilight at the long road's end.
Behind a blue and boot-kicked door
their sorrows drown. And rise again.

Their Romes have burned, their Troys all fell,
their Kassels, overrun, surrendered.
The feeders, filled at such a cost,
they can't forget and so remember
how it was they came to cross
the Washing Line, the Borders' Edge.
Those Rubicons which led to woods
of squirrels nesting in their heads.

Above the bar an epitaph,
in pokerwork, just seven words –
a sentiment as old as Time –
What We Did Was For The Birds.



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I quite like this, Richard, it seems a skillful combination of the light and the heavy—it has all the quick-moving rhythms of light verse, and yet the content shades into satirical darkness—a marriage I am quite fond of. Most of all, in its broad-ranging detail it seems a very exact portrait, appealing to both my senses and to my mind, placing eyes-and-ears and brain right there. I also enjoy the lineation and the rhyme-scheme: breaking up the long rhyming couplet into four lines with only two of the lines rhyming, well, it gives you a chance to pack in the detail and yet still keep the rhyme's forward momentum. Were the lines simply longer, they might feel over-stuffed and the rhymes might seem too insistent. There is something about the present layout that yields the best of both worlds: both freedom and constraint.

Bravo!

Nemo

Hi Richard,

I am going to give this credit for having a lot of thinking and good writing within, but also a demerit or two for making fun of working people, drunks, and old codgers. I think it would appeal to more readers if it good naturedly teased its inhabitants rather than dismissing them and their values. But hey, it's your poem. As a slightly more specific nit, I think the "squirrel" motif following the earlier reference to "nuthouse" is all right in concept but not quite as successfully carried out as you want it to be. Don't be disappointed by your lack of responses to date. Things here slow down in December, many spherians ignore light verse or tend to denounce it, and many also ignore long poems. [I see I cross posted with Nemo. You could have no better ally on the sphere. His opinion carries weight. I'll leave my critique here as is though. I thought it would be the first.]

All the best,
Jim

Richard, I'll be honest and admit I have no idea what this poem is about. That may be entirely on me, since others seem to understand it.

I do have a grammatical nit, though - the line "Their Romes have burned, their Troys all fell" sounds wrong to me. Would it be a problem to say "Their Romes have burned, their Troys have fallen," or something similar that keeps everything in the same tense?

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Hi Nemo.

Thank you for the kind words. Very please you enjoyed it.

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Hi Jim,

I am going to give this credit for having a lot of thinking and good writing within,
Thank you.
but
Uh-oh
also a demerit or two for making fun of working people, drunks, and old codgers.
Zounds! That's my father you're talking about, sirrah.
I think it would appeal to more readers if it good naturedly teased its inhabitants rather than dismissing them and their values.
I thought this was good natured teasing. What am I missing?
As a slightly more specific nit, I think the "squirrel" motif following the earlier reference to "nuthouse" is all right in concept but not quite as successfully carried out as you want it to be.
Any thought/suggestions to improve it?
Don't be disappointed by your lack of responses to date.
Stiff upper lip and all that.
Things here slow down in December, many spherians ignore light verse or tend to denounce it, and many also ignore long poems.
Understood. Thanks.

_____________


Hi Hilary.

I'll be honest and admit I have no idea what this poem is about.
It turns out there are people who put out feeders containing nuts/seeds for the birds, only to discover that most of their largesse will be stolen by squirrels. A certain (shall we say small?) class of those people then take this as a personal challenge and go to ever greater lengths to squirrel-proof their feeders - there's quite an industrial complex that supports their endeavours - only to be met, inevitably, with failure. One such was my father. His constant battles (by which I mean failures) with the grey menace were a source of much amusement within the family. And quite possibly beyond (he swore they were laughing at him.)
That may be entirely on me, since others seem to understand it.
Perhaps the war has touched them in some way?

I do have a grammatical nit, though - the line "Their Romes have burned, their Troys all fell" sounds wrong to me. Would it be a problem to say "Their Romes have burned, their Troys have fallen," or something similar that keeps everything in the same tense?
Problem? Not in the slightest.
Will ponder. Thanks.


Thanks all.

RG.

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Hi Richard,

I confess I thought a lot of the squirrel stuff was metaphorical and referring to grumps in bars/pubs who go on and on about the state of the world. I mistakenly read this as political seething. I didn't really tie the two ideas/conceits together. My question now is whether a poor reader like me can even think of ways to help. I'll think on it.

All the best,
Jim

OK, I didn't get that at all. My reading was more along the lines of Jim's. I actually thought the "discarded shells" were people, like "he's just a shell of his former self" - that sort of thing. Now I understand that they are nut shells.

My parents have dealt with squirrels (and rats) stealing the birdseed and suet, so I'm not *completely* ignorant of that scenario, but somehow I didn't realize the squirrels were actual squirrels.

I confess that the there to which I was so confidently brought was somewhere else than the place you had in mind, Richard. I thought all the squirrel stuff was metaphorical, and that the setting was a pub frequented by aging war veterans (cued by the title). But I don't think that's a problem, the squirrel feeder merely augments my own reading, and both readings co-exist neatly together. I also did not read the poem as dismissive in its satire, but rather as affectionate.

Nemo

Hi Jim, Hilary, Nemo.

Oh dear. Three 'wrong turns' and all in the same direction. I blame the writer. But I'll take comfort from
Nemo's "both readings co-exist neatly together."

Nemo,
(cued by the title)
Is it possible that drey - the nest of a squirrel - is too easy to overlook? I wanted something that sounded like a typical (British) pub name. Perhaps it needs a rethink?

Hilary,
I actually thought the "discarded shells" were people, like "he's just a shell of his former self" - that sort of thing. Now I understand that they are nut shells.
They can be either, it's entirely up to you, or it could be a reference to (shotgun) shells.

RG.

Hi Richard,

Just a quick note. I wasn't being sarcastic. I truly meant I blamed myself for a poor reading. For instance, I had no clue drey meant squirrel's nest. I assume my ignorance is as wide as the Atlantic, but that's hardly the reason I misread the poem. I like the poem. It's smarter than I am. It's not the first poem to outfox me. I liked it when I thought it might be spoofing old geezers like me. I may have liked it even more then, but, at that time I thought it was being so judgmental that it could limit its publication potential.

Jim