Giles Watson's poetry and prose
His Shadow
Incomplete on Flickr. Please go to: www.youtube.com/watch?v=KXIBjXvkUXI
HIS SHADOW
Ei Gysgod
Yesterday, while under leaves
Awaiting my Helen, in love's
Thrall, beneath birches, eluding rain,
I stood, a Fool, courting ruin.
At once, I saw a looming form
Most ugly, with stooping frame:
I shied from it, and shrugged,
Invoking saints. Stark and ragged,
It goaded me. I made prolonged
Prayers for deliverance from plague.
The poet:
"Speak to me, you silent wraith --
Say who you are, O thing of wrath!"
His shadow:
"Question not, you quailing fool!
I am your shadow, gaunt and frail.
By Mair, I bid you, not a sound,
But silence, till you understand!
A naked entity I am, your weird,
And wait upon you with my word:
You think yourself a jewel? My curse
Upon you, animated corpse!"
The poet:
"You lie, you goblin, evil sprite
Sent to taunt me for your sport,
Bleating goat with buckled back,
Mocking mimic of man! Black
Phantom! Dissimulating imp!
Grim parody! Simpering ape!
Burly troll on shaking stilts,
Withered thing on witch's shanks,
Boggart-shepherd, besmeared in muck,
Glabrous as a tonsured monk!
Jockey's joke on obby oss,
Heron-legged, obtuse, obese
Crane spanning half a field
Leaving crops and lands defiled!
Prating pilgrim, fatuous of face,
Blackened friar, stalking farce,
Corpse within a hempen shroud,
Why speak a word, deceiving shade?"
His shadow:
"I have been -- watch what you say --
In step with you for many a day."
The poet:
"Liar with your milk-churn neck
With what libel would you knock
Me down? With sin untainted
I mock you for a devil's turd!
I have no treason in my heart,
I never backstab. I haven't hurt
A chicken with a sling or stone,
Or pestered children. Not one stain
Besmirches me. I never moan
When spurned by wives of other men."
His shadow:
"If all I've seen were said
I swear you'd not be saved:
In no time you'd be lurching
In a wagon, to your lynching."
The poet:
"Stop! Unstring your snare!
Say nothing! Do not sneer!
If I had you in my grip
I'd stitch you lip to lip!"
- Dafydd ap Gwilym, paraphrased by Giles Watson. A parody of a traditional mediaeval genre: the dialogue between Body and Soul. "Helen" is not the name of the beloved, but a reference to Helen of Troy, whose beauty also brought ruin.
His Shadow
Incomplete on Flickr. Please go to: www.youtube.com/watch?v=KXIBjXvkUXI
HIS SHADOW
Ei Gysgod
Yesterday, while under leaves
Awaiting my Helen, in love's
Thrall, beneath birches, eluding rain,
I stood, a Fool, courting ruin.
At once, I saw a looming form
Most ugly, with stooping frame:
I shied from it, and shrugged,
Invoking saints. Stark and ragged,
It goaded me. I made prolonged
Prayers for deliverance from plague.
The poet:
"Speak to me, you silent wraith --
Say who you are, O thing of wrath!"
His shadow:
"Question not, you quailing fool!
I am your shadow, gaunt and frail.
By Mair, I bid you, not a sound,
But silence, till you understand!
A naked entity I am, your weird,
And wait upon you with my word:
You think yourself a jewel? My curse
Upon you, animated corpse!"
The poet:
"You lie, you goblin, evil sprite
Sent to taunt me for your sport,
Bleating goat with buckled back,
Mocking mimic of man! Black
Phantom! Dissimulating imp!
Grim parody! Simpering ape!
Burly troll on shaking stilts,
Withered thing on witch's shanks,
Boggart-shepherd, besmeared in muck,
Glabrous as a tonsured monk!
Jockey's joke on obby oss,
Heron-legged, obtuse, obese
Crane spanning half a field
Leaving crops and lands defiled!
Prating pilgrim, fatuous of face,
Blackened friar, stalking farce,
Corpse within a hempen shroud,
Why speak a word, deceiving shade?"
His shadow:
"I have been -- watch what you say --
In step with you for many a day."
The poet:
"Liar with your milk-churn neck
With what libel would you knock
Me down? With sin untainted
I mock you for a devil's turd!
I have no treason in my heart,
I never backstab. I haven't hurt
A chicken with a sling or stone,
Or pestered children. Not one stain
Besmirches me. I never moan
When spurned by wives of other men."
His shadow:
"If all I've seen were said
I swear you'd not be saved:
In no time you'd be lurching
In a wagon, to your lynching."
The poet:
"Stop! Unstring your snare!
Say nothing! Do not sneer!
If I had you in my grip
I'd stitch you lip to lip!"
- Dafydd ap Gwilym, paraphrased by Giles Watson. A parody of a traditional mediaeval genre: the dialogue between Body and Soul. "Helen" is not the name of the beloved, but a reference to Helen of Troy, whose beauty also brought ruin.