The Quisling
FinsburyParkCarrots
Posts: 12,223
Some say he was an orphan boy, some say
one dusk, his mother fled back home alone
returning to her island. He would play
the mainland children's game, affect their tone
of loud command and keep in with his knife-
sharp keepers: Cold, drawn blades, colonial
administrators once upon a life,
upon that island where perennial
dreams of never ending suns cut down
into the soil that stained them with blood,
that blood the boy's own father's. He would disown
his bloodshod name to be just like the good
sharp sword of empire, steel proud Western Man.
He would never curse, this Caliban.
one dusk, his mother fled back home alone
returning to her island. He would play
the mainland children's game, affect their tone
of loud command and keep in with his knife-
sharp keepers: Cold, drawn blades, colonial
administrators once upon a life,
upon that island where perennial
dreams of never ending suns cut down
into the soil that stained them with blood,
that blood the boy's own father's. He would disown
his bloodshod name to be just like the good
sharp sword of empire, steel proud Western Man.
He would never curse, this Caliban.
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He may well be many, and in his colonial mimicry, no-one. Or his mimicry might fracture the authority of the colonialists he mimics by doubling it at a distance from its own claim to monolithic, absolute power.
I can certainly relate to that - I found living in the UK, that in order to assimilate into this former Colonial intimidator, I had to learn English very well, and affect a posh accent/south london accent, and I had to be old school - and I was old school....it helped that I was pretty and white, but I was never really accepted......the UK is changing rapidly......I have all the tricks in the book, I learnt them when I was there.......the only thing I couldn't master was actually feeling like I belonged there.......I worked for the Director of the Royal Commonwealth Society, and he showed me the original document which he had in his top drawer which was like the Magna Carta of the Commonwealth, old and crusty, like him......and when I first met him in my tattered threadbare clothes, he blithely told me that the room we were in (civil service) was the ante room to a bedroom of some Queen in her palace, where Tsar Nicholas had resigned......needless to say, I wasn't impressed.......it takes a lot to impress me......hehehehhee
That's exactly what I'm talking about. In my poem this Caliban's mother is no supernatural Sycorax. She is, perhaps, an economic migrant who had followed the colonialists back to the imperial "mainland" at the end of empire after her husband had died, bringing her child with her. But for some reason undisclosed here (and for the reader to decide), she has fled back to her old country. The child has subsequently been adopted by the former colonialists and brought up in their image.
I suppose the piece is allegorical.
No, far from it. I'd venture to say, exactly the opposite.
No no, I don't do autobiographical poems (unless I write about love). I didn't want to say anything for fear of swaying people's interpretations, but this poem's about a certain public figure of colonised heritage (who will remain nameless), who is making a name for himself by pretending to be a quintessential English Gentleman.
Nope. And I'm not going to say.
"But that's all them bastards have left us: words."
Derek Walcott, "The Schooner Flight"
Some say he was an orphan boy, some say
one dusk, his mother fled back home alone
returning to her island. He would play
the mainland children's game, affect their tone
of loud command and keep in with their knife-
sharp fathers: Cold, drawn blades, colonial
administrators. Once upon a life,
they had his island, where perennial
dreams of never ending suns cut down
into the soil, and stained all with blood.
Somewhere, his father lies. He would disown
his name for bloodshod dreams, to be the good
sharp sword of empire, steel proud Western Man.
He would never curse, this Caliban.
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?
http://www.literaturepage.com/read/shakespeare-tempest-1.html
What would we do without our Fin
to keep us all culturally aware ?:)
Richard III
Much Ado....
Romeo and juliet
as you like it
taming of the shrew
hamlet
macbeth
Measure for measure
and
The sonnets.
The tempest I have not conquered yet,fully.I think i read it in college-but i dont quite remember!
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?
But thank you for its' analysis!:)
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?
It must be ...what time over there?Difference from the east coast...?
(The alcohol has fried my brain on time zones...6 hrs difference?
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?
the slave of war masters,
a puppet positioned in simulated power,
kept in place for all to fear,
tracked by the swine of the all consuming mining machines.
*my short take on finsbury's latest..*
thanks fins for sharing your poems and knowledge!
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
You've got it. That's the fella. Thanks, Olderman.
All poetry is autobiographical- sometimes you just have to look a little harder