Remarks from the Fray:
L. S. Asekoff's poem "The Conquerors" is memorable for many reasons, not the least of which is its deliberate ambiguity. Just as J M Coetzee's novels can be read as parables, so also can this poem be read as a parable about the relationship between war and fear, not only in the place of the conquered, but in the home of the conquerors as well.
One aspect of this ambiguity is the author's use of "we" and "them"/"they." At first, "they" are the conquered people of another city. But in the second half of the poem, the conquerors have returned to their own city, only to find that there "they had raised in our absence /… A statue to Phobos / God of Fear / As they fell down before us." Have the distant victims infiltrated the conquerors' own city? Or, more likely, have the conquerors' own citizens become victims of fear, wondering whom their leaders will turn on next? In this regard, it is telling that Asekoff uses "They fell down before us" in the third line to describe the citizens of the other city and repeats the phrase in the fourth line from the end to describe those in the conquerors' own city.
It is also telling that the narrator says near the end, "Having lived so long among strangers." Who are the strangers – the distant victims who have infiltrated or, again more likely, the conquerors' own citizens, who have become estranged from their rulers? In this regard, it is significant that the poet refers to Phobos, the Greek god of fear, since Phobos is also the name of one of the planet Mars's moons. And Mars is the Roman god of war. War breeds fear, both abroad and at home.
Another fine use of ambiguity is the lack of punctuation at the end of lines, allowing a phrase to refer to either the line before or the line after. The conquerors describe themselves as "Terrible to behold we hovered above them / Lords of the Air," suggesting that "we" are superior to "them." But one can also read the phrase as "Lords of the Air / We promised them the peace / That passeth all understanding," suggesting that the conquerors are lords of nothing except air, mouthing empty phrases that are meaningless. This last interpretation is reinforced later when one of the city's priests refers to the conquerors as "The Lords of the Air who dare not touch earth."
Consider also "We promised them the freedom of the broken knee / Only the conquered can know." What exactly do the conquerors mean by the "freedom of the broken knee"? If one has a broken knee, he cannot kneel to his conquerors, so is he free not to kneel? But if such a paradox is something the conquerors "know," perhaps they, too, end up as the conquered.
Ambiguity is also suggested in the last line of the poem, where the narrator asks, "What is there to fear?" The poet, I think, wants us to read this ironically. The conquerors may think they have nothing to fear, but the poem's readers now know that conquerors have, indeed, as much to fear from their own citizens as from their distant victims. If a fish can start talking, if a black crow can turn white, then one's own loyal citizens can turn to fearful and mistrustful strangers. And again playing with ambiguity – "What is there to fear?" Perhaps the conquerors should also fear themselves because of what they have created.
This parable in the form of a deliberately ambiguous poem shows Asekoff in full control of his material. Yes, the poem could be about the U S and Iraq, but like all good poems, it is ultimately a poem that transcends particularities to examine the corrosive elements of the fear that comes with any war.
--MaryAnn
(To reply, click here.)
This poem packs so much into so little. It reminds me of a tin whistle player I used to know. He once told me that a church organist expressed amazement that he could get so much music from so little an instrument. The invitation was too much to resist, so he replied, 'and I'm amazed that you can get so little music from such a gigantic instrument'. I think this is true of poetry as well -- less is more, for the more the poetic point is labored, bogged down with excess baggage, the worse.
Asekoff's poem is a triumph of simplicity. It has an homiletic flow and charge, and was read with a kind of incantatory, hortative force. It reeks of biblical and historical resonances: There's the War of the Roses, the Fall of Babylon, St. John's Gospel, Genesis, The Battle of Wounded Knee, as well as a post-modernist echo in there, and yet it maintains great balance. In spite of the incendiary subject it is neither preachy nor judgmental, the tone is of the pulpit, perhaps, but the message certainly is not. And "Those who kill without risking death" are not beyond reproach, or the "walled marketplace" or the false god, 'Phobos'. Even from their supreme heavenly (though not divine) remove they are tied back to earth by their actions, and when on the earth they must mingle with the 'strangers' they ought not to fear.
The poem is sageful and multi-layered and lives way beyond the first reading. Plus, the reader doesn't have to import meaning to find meaning. It's here, maybe too rhetorically expressed, but that's OK, for it arises out of the quarrel with others. And in the end, the universal appeal of this poem is contained in the final note of reconciliation struck at the close: "What is there to fear?"
--Zeus-Boy
(To reply, click here.)
(8/29)
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Remarks from the Fray:
L. S. Asekoff's poem "The Conquerors" is memorable for many reasons, not the least of which is its deliberate ambiguity. Just as J M Coetzee's novels can be read as parables, so also can this poem be read as a parable about the relationship between war and fear, not only in the place of the conquered, but in the home of the conquerors as well.
One aspect of this ambiguity is the author's use of "we" and "them"/"they." At first, "they" are the conquered people of another city. But in the second half of the poem, the conquerors have returned to their own city, only to find that there "they had raised in our absence /… A statue to Phobos / God of Fear / As they fell down before us." Have the distant victims infiltrated the conquerors' own city? Or, more likely, have the conquerors' own citizens become victims of fear, wondering whom their leaders will turn on next? In this regard, it is telling that Asekoff uses "They fell down before us" in the third line to describe the citizens of the other city and repeats the phrase in the fourth line from the end to describe those in the conquerors' own city.
It is also telling that the narrator says near the end, "Having lived so long among strangers." Who are the strangers – the distant victims who have infiltrated or, again more likely, the conquerors' own citizens, who have become estranged from their rulers? In this regard, it is significant that the poet refers to Phobos, the Greek god of fear, since Phobos is also the name of one of the planet Mars's moons. And Mars is the Roman god of war. War breeds fear, both abroad and at home.
Another fine use of ambiguity is the lack of punctuation at the end of lines, allowing a phrase to refer to either the line before or the line after. The conquerors describe themselves as "Terrible to behold we hovered above them / Lords of the Air," suggesting that "we" are superior to "them." But one can also read the phrase as "Lords of the Air / We promised them the peace / That passeth all understanding," suggesting that the conquerors are lords of nothing except air, mouthing empty phrases that are meaningless. This last interpretation is reinforced later when one of the city's priests refers to the conquerors as "The Lords of the Air who dare not touch earth."
Consider also "We promised them the freedom of the broken knee / Only the conquered can know." What exactly do the conquerors mean by the "freedom of the broken knee"? If one has a broken knee, he cannot kneel to his conquerors, so is he free not to kneel? But if such a paradox is something the conquerors "know," perhaps they, too, end up as the conquered.
Ambiguity is also suggested in the last line of the poem, where the narrator asks, "What is there to fear?" The poet, I think, wants us to read this ironically. The conquerors may think they have nothing to fear, but the poem's readers now know that conquerors have, indeed, as much to fear from their own citizens as from their distant victims. If a fish can start talking, if a black crow can turn white, then one's own loyal citizens can turn to fearful and mistrustful strangers. And again playing with ambiguity – "What is there to fear?" Perhaps the conquerors should also fear themselves because of what they have created.
This parable in the form of a deliberately ambiguous poem shows Asekoff in full control of his material. Yes, the poem could be about the U S and Iraq, but like all good poems, it is ultimately a poem that transcends particularities to examine the corrosive elements of the fear that comes with any war.
--MaryAnn
(To reply, click here.)
This poem packs so much into so little. It reminds me of a tin whistle player I used to know. He once told me that a church organist expressed amazement that he could get so much music from so little an instrument. The invitation was too much to resist, so he replied, 'and I'm amazed that you can get so little music from such a gigantic instrument'. I think this is true of poetry as well -- less is more, for the more the poetic point is labored, bogged down with excess baggage, the worse.
Asekoff's poem is a triumph of simplicity. It has an homiletic flow and charge, and was read with a kind of incantatory, hortative force. It reeks of biblical and historical resonances: There's the War of the Roses, the Fall of Babylon, St. John's Gospel, Genesis, The Battle of Wounded Knee, as well as a post-modernist echo in there, and yet it maintains great balance. In spite of the incendiary subject it is neither preachy nor judgmental, the tone is of the pulpit, perhaps, but the message certainly is not. And "Those who kill without risking death" are not beyond reproach, or the "walled marketplace" or the false god, 'Phobos'. Even from their supreme heavenly (though not divine) remove they are tied back to earth by their actions, and when on the earth they must mingle with the 'strangers' they ought not to fear.
The poem is sageful and multi-layered and lives way beyond the first reading. Plus, the reader doesn't have to import meaning to find meaning. It's here, maybe too rhetorically expressed, but that's OK, for it arises out of the quarrel with others. And in the end, the universal appeal of this poem is contained in the final note of reconciliation struck at the close: "What is there to fear?"
--Zeus-Boy
(To reply, click here.)
(8/29)