02 April - Roger Zelazny Poetry Month - The Last Defender of Camelot

So far these are going in the same order that I originally reviewed the stories, but that's just a meaningless coincidence.

And a word on my criteria. My understanding of poetry is extraordinarily shallow. (Well, let's be charitable and say somewhat shallow, I've been doing these poetry month things for about fifteen years now so I’ve picked up a little along the way, but my choices are still limited by what I know (which, of course, is true of everything, but it seems fair to shine a light on it here.))

The smarter and better-read among you will no doubt think of sharper, deeper, or more apt pairings than I’ve managed, and you’re probably right. So let’s just say: these are the best poems I could find to represent these stories, as constrained by Josh’s Limited Canon™.

And who knows? Perhaps I'll learn something along the way.

Today we have: The Last Defender of Camelot, modern day immortal Lancelot's quest for the Holy Grail.

The poem: Sir Galahad, by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 

Spoiler, this will not be the last Tennyson poem. I like his work and I think it meshes well with the themes of Zelazny's writing. 

Idylls of the King is probably a better (read, more representative) poem, but I like Sir Galahad. It was actually the centerpiece of a police procedural I wrote for a Doctor Who charity anthology that never  went to press.

And how can you not love writing like this?

My good blade carves the casques of men,
My tough lance thrusteth sure,
My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure.

I could see the Lancelot of LDoC repeating those lines with full awareness of the irony of his words.

01 April - Roger Zelazny Poetry Month - For A Breath I Tarry

 Okay, here's what we're going to do this month. 

For every day, I'm going to take a novel or story by Roger Zelazny and match it to a poem that I think best represents it. I'll summarize the story briefly, name the poem and talk a little bit on why I think they fit together and include the poem or a relevant passage. 

We're going to start with an easy one:

The first story is For A Breath I Tarry, the tale of the machine Frost, who seeks to become that extinct creature, Man.

The poem is poem 32 (or XXXII if you like) from A Shropshire Lad by A.E. Housman.

          From far, from eve and morning
           And yon twelve-winded sky,
          The stuff of life to knit me
           Blew hither: here am I.

          Now- for a breath I tarry
           Nor yet disperse apart-
          Take my hand quick and tell me,
           What have you in your heart.

          Speak now, and I will answer;
           How shall I help you, say;
          Ere to the wind's twelve quarters
           I take my endless way.

It's really a no-brainer. The collection is mentioned by name and gives the story its title and the poem  itself closes out the piece. I love how audaciously on the nose the parallels are between the poem and the story, particularly concerning Frost's creation. 

Preview: A return to Zelazny Poetry

Coming tomorrow, the return of Roger Zelazny poetry month!

This time I'm doing things a little bit different.

Stay tuned!

A visit to Green-Wood Cemetery

With young Percy attending school in NYC, we have more opportunities to head into the city than we did before. Spring break was ending this past weekend so we decided to make a day of it and what better way to do that than exploring a scenic cemetery?

Green-Wood (and that hyphen is driving me crazy) is 478 acres in the heart of Brooklyn.  Battle Hill is on the grounds and it's the highest point in Brooklyn. The view is breathtaking. I understand why rich assholes want to cut down trees that block their view of picturesque locations.

Stoopid trees, blocking my view.

It's a lovely place. It seems very polished in a way that cemeteries typically aren't. I don't mean that as a pejorative, but I do understand how it could be perceived that way. It seems that they are very deliberate in maintaining their identity, which is an unusual thing to say about a cemetery, but it's an unusual business facing unusual pressures. (This episode of the Search Engine podcast covers some of the history of cemeteries and the unique challenges they face.) 

Jen really enjoyed the monk parakeets.  I took a picture but they all flew away before I snapped it.

Ayup

Percy found a grave hidden away in a bush and mentioned how sad that seemed.

Like any cemetery of its size, it has some truly impressive mausolea. 

It's nice. It's peaceful. It's everything it should be. I appreciate the efforts of the people who run the place, who ensure that it will endure.

To Stand, To Struggle, To Stop

All Star Superman is my second favorite Superman story and it was my favorite for a long time. (My current, and probably eternal favorite is Superman Smashes the Klan, which despite being another Superman origin story, is probably the truest distillation of his essence ever put to paper.)

Everyone remembers this page and rightly so.

I have it etched on my body.

The only bad thing I can say about it is that it is so powerful a moment that its light eclipses the rest of the story.

Specifically, this part.

What happens when you can't help?

I watched Puella Magi Madoka Magica with my kid. It's....boy howdy, it's hard to explain in a single sentence, but it's a subversion of the Sailor Moon "magical girl" genre, suggesting that maybe conscripting pre-teens into an endless war against monstrous hell demons might be kind of messed up. And it's got a flawless soundtrack.

Sayaka Miki isn't the main character (that would be Madoka), though the creator of the property considers her the "hero".  She's a young girl who makes a selfless wish to heal someone else, only to find that her sacrifices don't lead to a better world. She spirals into despair, convinced that if she isn't useful, she is worthless. She can't find a path to live in a world that isn't fair and in the end, it kills her.

In Encanto, Luisa carries more than just the weight of the world. She carries expectation, obligation, the quiet fear that if she falters, everything falls apart. When her strength begins to fade, so does her sense of self, and for the first time, she is forced to ask: Who is she, if she can’t hold everything up?

And in the Trump era, this pressure only grows. Decent people are being erased, their voices drowned out, their efforts stretched thin. Those without a direct stake feel the need to fight constantly, to throw themselves into the struggle because to do otherwise feels like surrender.  It’s about the fear that if you aren’t fighting, you are failing.

But here’s the truth: utility is not the same as worth.

Superman is Superman even when he’s dying. Sayaka was worthy of love before she ever picked up a sword. Luisa deserved rest before she started losing her strength. And so do you.

This is a battle to the end. But even battles have moments of rest, of retreat, of gathering strength. The hardest and most necessary lesson might be the one these stories whisper to us between the lines: you don’t have to save everyone. You were never supposed to.