Last year (as those of you who have been tolerating me
for an extended period of time may recall) I felt that my annual holiday letter
needed a fresh, untrammeled narrative form. After giving the issue some
deep literary thought, I penned the resultant work as a “Choose Your Own
Adventure”.
Having tapped that genre for all it was worth (about
$1.49), this year I decided to switch things up again. Thus, for 2013 In
Review, we’re going with “epic poem”.
Hey! Wait! Where are you going?
According to Wikipedia, the ten main characteristics of
an epic are as follows:
1. Begins in
medias res.
2. Features a
vast setting, covering many nations, the world, or the universe. (Does a
single passing reference to the Hubble Space Telescope count?).
3. Begins with
an invocation to a muse.
4. Begins with
a statement of the theme.
5. Includes
the use of epithets (e.g.“Foul Incubus”, “Lord of Javascript”, “He of the
Monstrous Nether Regions”, etc.).
6. Contains
long lists, called an epic catalogue.
7. Features
long and formal speeches (not included in the CliffsNotes).
8. Shows
divine intervention in human affairs. (Blame Apollo; it’s totally his fault).
9. Features
heroes that embody the values of the civilization. (Would that be rampant
consumerism, or adulation of vacuous celebrities?).
10. Often features the tragic hero's
descent into the underworld or hell.
Since all these requirements overlap nicely with what
one ought to find in a holiday letter – I already get a lot of epic catalogues
in the mail at this time of year -- I felt I was on the right track. However,
my Muse was lacking. Which classic epics could I call upon for
inspiration?
The Odyssey has some good elements to work with,
offering verisimilitude in the form of an impossibly ancient dog – but the older of our own canines is characterized more by crotchetiness than enduring faithfulness.
And, while I undoubtedly feel some affinity for Polyphemus based on our shared
monocularity, he’s not precisely the main character in Homer’s classic.
In fact, he comes off rather badly, what with his rude habit of eating his
guests and all.
What about the tale of Gilgamesh (king of Uruk) and his
good buddy Enkidu (a wild man created by the gods to be Gilgamesh’s peer, and
to distract him from oppressing the people of Uruk)? That one works
really well, inasmuch as my life is indeed a thinly veiled gay male love story
full of odd power dynamics and endless drama. (Lemme tell you, my
“friend” and I often “journey to the Cedar Mountain” to “defeat Humbaba, its
monstrous guardian.”) In truth, the Epic of Gilgamesh is an awesome tale,
and I do relate to all the perilous journeys and bonds of love and whatnot, but
the ending is just too heart-breakingly Brokeback Mountain for me to embrace it
entirely.
The Faerie Queen? Oh., good lord, no. And
while Beowulf offers some gripping stanzas (“Hrothgar Moralizes”: XXVI; “Reminiscences (continued)”: XXXV),
I find that once I’ve killed a terrible beast feared throughout the land, I
hardly ever want to have to go
back after all the feasting and kill its mother.
Ultimately, I realized I would have to, as they say,
“draw upon a broad range of literary references”. As for the iambic
pentameter and ABAB rhyme scheme, those are most likely merely a side-effect of
translation of my life from the original Mesopotamian.
Ready? Ready.
In which we find the
Protagonist in media res in the underworld, which, let’s face it, is more of a
Zamhareer, really, because it’s just stupidly dark and cold.
O Muse -- where are you,
gods-forsaken Sun?
Help craft this tale of travels far
and near,
Of petty strife, and battles lost
and won,
And random crap that happened this
past year.
For hark! Protag’nist’s foot
with beads impaled,
She finds no solace in the handiwork
Of two Young Acolytes. Her sanity
assailed,
Her epic quest is Not To Be A Jerk.
In which Our Heroes travel to
a land of mighty chasms
Twelve full-moons past, cold winter
gripped their hearts
When forth Protag’nist went with
Kinfolk Band,
And thus this tale of epic rambling
starts
With journey to a fabled Canyon
(Grand).
Chance strangers met did oftimes
deem them fools
For braving precipice and frosty
tent.
Small Hikers, fearless, tamed
Voracious Mules
By sharing Tasty Grass where’er they
went.
In which the Protagonist’s
spouse does a prodigiously magnificent amount of snow biking while the
Protagonist limits herself to only a slightly unreasonable amount
When icy dark portended slothful
doom
Protag’nist’s Stalwart Comrade
groomed his steed
By dripping chain-oil in the
living-room
(The grease goes nicely with those
star-shaped beads…)
He harkened hence, with Gu and Gummi
Worms;
“Iditarod” the trail was named, by
Lords of Ice.
Protag’nist praised his deeds, yet
still confirms:
For her, a hundred-miler will
suffice.
In which the Young Acolytes
try to spell “elephant”, earn actual money, and produce lumpy clay objects
With fearlessness of duct tape, wood,
and yarn
The Daughters of the Clan did hone
their minds
Reading heavy tomes (“Pa built a
barn!”)
And crafting Things of many useless
kinds.
O Second Grade! O wondrous new
hijinks!
Your fourteen questions asked all in
a row,
Your knock-knock jokes too subtle
for a Sphinx,
And troweling sled-dog poop to make
some dough.
In which Our Heroes travel to
a land of wind, ice, geysers, and adorable equines
Forth once more, as fickle summer
waned,
Protag’nist went with all her tribe,
plus one --
The Fearsome Tom -- to country where
it rained
And blew, but yet was Mighty Fun.
By bicycle the Ped’ling Pentad went
From geyser’s plume to coast to
water chute.
Yea! Iceland could not slay the
Mighty Tent!
And lo! The ponies were so very
cute!
In which the Protagonist
produces epic catalogues and formal speeches -- but probably not enough
Though online comments presaged
flying fruit,
Protag’nist gave her talks on
climate change,
And found the crowds remarkably
astute.
The weather -- not the public -- was
deranged.
Reports were written (Hark!
The passive tense!)
For use as ballast, steps, or
booster seats.
Protag’nist strove to muster common
sense,
Yet failed in sundry academic feats.
In which Our Heroes travel to
many other lands replete with mud, snow, hot water, and eight-headed monsters
Their journeys not complete, Young
Acolytes
Soon found among their youthful
hardy peers
Brave Warrior Kids possessing of a
might
Beyond the reach of stature or of
years.
Thus reinforced, the Robust Group
assailed
Divers trails and hot springs most
sublime,
Despite the Fearsome Mud such quests
entailed.
So many Acolytes, so little time.
In which the Fair Reader
returns to the underworld, where several deities may be necessary to vanquish
the cold and darkness and general squabbling
At last, bone-weary, so Protag’nist
fell
Through storm of paper-snowflake
snipped-up chaff
To sniping, griping,
tinsel-scattered hell.
The Sirens coaxed, “Eat gingerbread,
and laugh.”
O Sun -- Apollo, Helios, Sol, or Ra
--
Invoke yourself with this
full-spectrum light!
Drive back the Scrooge-like
Grinchiness of “Bah,”
And let us hear the sleighbells in
the night!
“Minerva raised her voice aloud,
and made everyone pause… 'Cease this dreadful war, and settle the matter at
once without further bloodshed.’ …Then Minerva assumed the form and voice
of Mentor, and presently made a covenant of peace between the two contending
parties”
–The Oddyssey, Book XXIV (Homer, 800BCE)
Peace on Earth, a happy Saturnalia
to all, and to all a good night.
[You’ll be glad to know that my goal
for 2014 is to live the entire year in the form of a single haiku.]
