JOURNAL 3

JOHN DRYDEN

From Of the Pythagorean Philosophy

‘And therefore I conclude; whatever lies

In earth, or flits in air, or fills the skies,

All suffer change, and we, that are of soul

And body mixed, are members of the whole.

Then, when our sires, or grandsires, shall forsake

The forms of men, and brutal figures take,

Thus housed, securely let their spirits rest,

Nor violate thy father in the beast.

Thy friend, thy brother, any of thy kin,

Is none of these, yet there’s a man within:

O spare to make a Thyestean meal,

To enclose his body, and his soul expel.

     ‘Ill customs by degrees to habits rise,

Ill habits soon become exalted vice:

What more advance can mortals make in sin

So near perfection, who with blood begin?

Deaf to the calf that lies beneath the knife,

Looks up, and from her butcher begs her life;

Deaf to the harmless kid, that ere he dies

All methods to procure thy mercy tries,

And imitates in vain thy children’s cries.

Where will he stop, who feeds with household bread,

Then eats the poultry which before he fed?

Let plough thy steers; that when they lose their breath

To nature, not to thee, they may impute their death.

Let goats for food their loaded udders lend,

And sheep from winter-cold thy sides defend;

But neither springes, nets, nor snares employ,

And be no more ingenious to destroy

Free as in air, let birds on earth remain,

Nor let insidious glue their wings constrain;

Nor opening hounds the trembling stag affright,

Nor purple feathers intercept his flight:

Nor hooks concealed in baits for fish prepare,

Nor lines to heave them twinkling up in air.

     ‘Take not away the life you cannot give;

For all things have an equal right to live.

Kill noxious creatures, where ‘tis sin to save;

This only just prerogative we have:

But nourish life with vegetable food,

An shun the sacrilegious taste of blood.’

An excerpt from “Of the Pythagorean Philosophy” by John Dryden lays the foundation for a vegetarian lifestyle and is a 41-line couplet that strays once with a triplet. The rhythm is swift, and combined with the sharp regimented rhyming pattern hovers on conveying the sharp quickness in death that so many animals face at the hands of humans (“Deaf to the calf that lies beneath the knife,/Looks up, and from her butcher begs her life;”) and the rampage of momentum of this lifestyle (“Where will he stop, who feeds with household bread,/ Then eats the poultry which before he fed?”). A simple indent near the end of the poem sets apart the author’s message of intent (“Take not away the life you cannot give;”).

JANE STUART

Eyes of the Mole

An astute wizard who lives in the woods

in a vacated woodpecker’s hole

swears that the world would be simple and gay

if man had the Eyes of a Mole.

The wizard is shriveled from living on nuts

and the roots of the weeping willow.

His head has grown soft because he has slept

with it propped on a dauk moss pillow.

But he says that man would return to the course

of the gods from whose image he strays

if he would close his eyes to the wrongs

of civilization’s ways.

Similar to “Of the Pythagorean Philosophy,” this poem delivers a soulful punch with a quick rhythm and astute rhyme. The tone of these poems is scornful, but the reader is allowed time to process with pointed imagery.  One of the things I enjoyed most about exploring the shallow Winooski River was discovering beautiful stones and shards of pottery.  It was amazing how many ceramic dishes had found their way to live among these stones.  No one in the group seemed to know why.  A few of the poems I chose to share come from the book Voices of the Hills: Selected Readings of Southern Appalachia.  Living in West Virginia, the only state that is completely within the area defined as Appalachia, I wanted to pay homage to the plight of my local wilderness and the people who love it. My mention of a "mystery fuel" below refers to our society's general lack of care and compassion for the natural resources, including Appalachian coal, that we so mindlessly exploit.

Serving Up the Future

My fingers are used to a silky hold,

      You best throw it out when it gets old.

In some cultures they don’t even use a fork,

But they shipped in china to eat on in York.

She hands me a fat chunk of wood,

But finding the spoon inside—I didn’t know if I would.

      Layers upon layers separate us now,

      And to think some children have never seen a cow.

I whittle away, but somewhere I know,

      Still there is someone or something taking the blow.

      Our lives are cold, but heated with mystery fuel;

      Ignorance is worse than planning to be cruel.

      All around us war is being fought,

      And not so secretly, I hope it isn’t all for naught.

      I sit quietly on the pine forest’s edge,

      And notice the sharp end of the green meadow hedge;

      Darkness and a need for sun

      Cannot dwell happily, but rather parallel run.

The edges are smooth in my grasp;

      Surely such anger cannot last.

      But the way we act and throw away

Is as if the bitter wife throws dishes day by day.

And here they rest amidst the shiny rock.

      I fear that one day the result will be a shock.

Gather ‘round the table and hear me out—

      Please unclog your ears: I’ve no desire to shout. 

___

Dryden, John. “from Of the Pythagorean Philosophy.” Wild Reckoning: An Anthology Provoked by Rachel
     Carson's Silent Spring. Ed. Burnside, John, Maurice Riordan. London: Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation, 2004.
     73. Print.

 

Stuart, Jane. “Eyes of the Mole.” Voices from the Hills: Selected Readings of Southern Appalachia. Ed. Higgs,
     Robert J, and Ambrose N. Manning. New York: F. Ungar Pub. Co, 1975. 338. Print.