[Gail White]

The Baby and the Bathwater


"Our fabulous account of the medieval world supposes
that the lord of his household would bathe first,
followed by other men, then women, then children—
with the unfortunate baby being plunged last into sinfully
black waters. Hence the catchphrase, “Don’t throw the baby
out with the bathwater.”--Elizabeth Pollard Thistlethwaite

Let it go, let it all go down the drain—
The forest ashes where a witch was burned,
Dirt from the cellar where a queen was slain,
No heir escaping death, and nothing learned,

The crescent moons of darkness under nails,
Ditch-digger’s drops of sweat, the blood from soil
That sprouted fingertips, the slick from snails
Where the butchered peasants were left to spoil:

Let it swirl, let it all swirl down the drain—
Let murderous grime be curlicues to gyre
Around the blackened mouth, let mortal bane
Be gulped, and waste be drink for bole and briar.

Here's a new-washed babe; marvel what man mars,
The flesh so innocent it gleams like stars.

[Gail White]

COMMENT BY CATHERINE: Although the origin and meaning of the catchphrase set out in the epigraph have been debated [the concept of warning against avoidable errors, the rejection of the vital along with the expendable, the discarding of essence while retaining dross, a metaphorical warning against overreaction] the vivid images in this finely crafted sonnet — filled with wonderful metrical substitutions, inventive rhymes, a perfect mixture of alliteration and repetition, leading up to the chilling couplet — sings of evil and goodness, leaving the reader the option of deciding where that babe will go.

[Nigel Mace]

How good to see a poem NOT being rejected because it needs an epigraph of some length for its fuller appreciation. Poetry magazine editing pundits, please take note!

This is a stunningly articulated piece with wonderful sounds to match its dark reflections. Way out in front for me.

[Gail White]

COMMENT BY GAIL: This poem has a quality of fairy-tale evil that reminds me of the witches' cauldron song in Macbeth, so that I practically expect the refuse to include "finger of birth-strangled babe." Instead, however, a newborn of star-like cleanliness and innocence turns up, like Hope at the bottom of Pandora's box. The whole sonnet brilliantly illustrates my thesis that poetry is the art of choosing one right word after another.

[Roger Slater]

I like this sonnet very much as well, though I don't agree that it "needs" the epigraph at all. I think the title would be enough. Surely, if there is to be an epigraph, the final sentence of it could be omitted.

Expertly done. While this is purely a matter of taste, however, the last two lines fall just a trifle flat for me, exclaiming tendentiously about "man" and reminding us that babies are innocent.

[Maryann Corbett]

I like this for its unusual conceit; good things can be done with riffing on a stock expression.

If we're comparing poems, though, it seems to me that while this one offers different aspects of human evil, they all point in the same direction and they contain no surprises. If I have to choose (and that's the point of this event, is it not?) then I prefer the nuances of sonnets 6 and of 1.

**I've come back to this because a bit more thought reveals another part of my resistance to it. The poem seems to say that we could throw out the evils of history and culture and be left with essentially good humanity. I'm afraid I can't agree with that aspect of it.

**Back again. Readers have questioned the epigraph, but it seems to me that the purpose of the epigraph is to establish a connection between the proverb about not throwing out the baby, etc. and Things Medieval. While the epigraph itself says the lore is bogus, I'm still just a wee bit resistant to the connection that starts off the poet's riffing. Clearly, the connection worked for the poet, though it doesn't work for me, and that's the sort of thing no one can help.

[stephenspower]

This is now my favorite, if only because it's not another poem about old people or people getting old. Six of eight so far, and I'm including the internet poem because the narrator's attitude is so obviously old ("these darn kids and their devices! get off my digital lawn!").

The language is great, and I really like the repeated "Let it." The author might have made L5 another "Let it" line as well as the last to create an entire new form: a refrain sonnet. I'm going to try one of those myself. I especially like the "crescent moons" image.

I have a problem with the historical details in the first stanza. Executions, historically, were public affairs, meant to reinforce the power of the state, restore justice, offer a moral lesson and entertain. So witches weren't burned in the forest, and queens, with the rare of exception of Czarina Alexandra, didn't die in cellars. They were held in the public square or some other prominent place. Only today, where execution has become a largely secret, medical event to mask the absolute shame of it, would these details be accurate.

I have no problem with epigraphs, but I see no need for this one, which was cribbed from David Wilton's WORD MYTHS along with several other entries and sent around as an email a decade ago, which cheapens it for me. See: http://bit.ly/17nsmXr for the Wilton. And Snopes on that email: http://www.snopes.com/language/phrases/1500.asp

[Melanie Wright]

I struggled a bit with the metre in the slick from snails/ Where the butchered peasants were left to spoil: -- the missing half-iamb makes snails / Where an awkward spondee shaped enjambment which doesn't seem deliberate -- i.e. isn't intentionally contributing to the sense of the line. Needs fixing.

I also scratched my head at and nothing learned -- does that mean no one heard of the murder of the queen / the heir?

But overall the tone is an incantation and very effective for the subject matter. Well crafted.

[Rob Wright]

There's something primal about these images that appeals to me. The meter pushes the content along nicely, and I think the substitutions are well handled and pleasing — to my ear at least. I agree that the epigraph is not needed, and in fact, it rather saps the energy of the poem — there's enough so that it does not sink it— but I would drop it (witty though it is). I love "ditch digger's sweat," and "bole and briar." My only nit is line 14. It seems a little flat after the great images that preceded it. But, that said, I'd follow this poet anywhere.

Rob

[David Danoff]

I'm not sure anything more than the title is needed to set up the concept--but if so, I'd make it very short and matter-of-fact. I felt like the epigraph jarred with the tone of the poem, and without it the start of the poem would be much more striking. Going directly from the title to the first line would have a great hortatory quality, with the gruesomeness a welcome irony.

I agree with Stephen about the forest witch and cellar queen--those seem like 20th century atrocity details, not medieval. The forest ashes would be easy to fix. And for L3, how about: "Dirt from the cellar where a queen has lain"?

The poem would be more interesting if there were less absolute gore, and more general naughtiness. And isn't the idea that these are the lords and ladies, who eventually will bathe away their lurid activities? Not just every sort of killer or earth grubber. ("Ditch-digger" doesn't seem like the type to bathe.)

But maybe I'm seeing this in a different way than it's intended.