Taking a break from reading Chaucer, and from investigating the sources for The Nun’s Priest’s Tale (notably, of course, the story of Reynard and Chaunticleer), as well as briefly dipping into George Lyman Kittredge’s analysis of how Chaucer tells his tales, I found myself reading two completely unrelated poems: “Sea Fever” by John Masefield, and “Horatius” by Thomas Babington Macaulay.
The latter is the famous story of Horatius at the bridge — though seriously abridged in the anthology I found it in (on the page facing the Masefield poem). Reading even the abridged verse makes all too clear how little need we have of most banal fantasy worlds and weak D&D imaginings*; our own myths and history are replete with all manner of wonders:
The Three stood calm and silent,
And looked upon the foes,
And a great shout of laughter
From all the vanguard rose;
And forth three chiefs came spurring
Before the mighty mass;
To earth they sprang, their swords they drew,
And lifted high their shield, and flew
To win the narrow pass.Aunus, from green Tifernum,
Lord of the hill of vines;
And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves
Sicken in Ilva’s mines;
And Picus, long to Clusium
Vassal in peace and war,Who led to fight his Umbrian powers
From that grey crag where, girt with towers,
The fortress of Nequinum towers
O’er the pale waves of Nar.
Of course the original story is legend; even Livy — one of the primary ancient sources — doubts what he reports. But legend and meaning are what we humans give back willingly to this infinite universe of possibility and dream. We creatures seem to be the only ones who can do so, even if “these maps and legends have been misunderstood”. James Joyce posited that every man might recreate during each day the entire Odyssey of Ulysses. Perhaps that is true for every woman as well, though I don’t think so. The figure of Penelope seems more alike a sailor’s fantasy of the perfect wife, chaste at home while her husband goes a-whoring and adventuring — as Kenneth Rexroth noted. Perhaps the great epic of a woman’s journey has yet to find its worthy poet.
Be that as it may, I hope we all might notice the legends and meaning we create every day. As you combat the evils of foul traffic while retaining your courtesy and humanity, as we overcome the new challenges so that we can discover new experience, may the day be filled with that poetry and light that lifts our spirits “spite of despondence” and all such psychic weights. May your own story be one you will be proud to tell. And may we all make it safely home.
**The Masefield poem is the source for a line familiar to Star Trek fans of Captain Kirk: “all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by”