.

The Hunchback

The belfry beckons. Once again it’s time.
This is my cross, the task I’m forced to bear.
“To the Cathedral! Hear the noon bells chime!”
I summon all of Paris here for prayer.

Monseigneur says this justifies the scraps
Of moldy bread which keep my wounded heart
Alive, though caged in mortal flesh and apse,
Since just a babe raised in this church apart.

As ugly as the gargoyles, how I pine
To flee the horrid features of my face,
These crooked bones, the gross hunch in my spine,
All housed in rancid robes none dare embrace.

Then She appears bright like the evening star!
She twirls her Gypsy dance and I’m on fire—
Deformed no more, a man without a scar,
Yet hidden on this ledge—like my desire.

She does not know I watch her arabesque.
If I appeared before her she would shriek
And I’d be dragged away, a loathed grotesque.
She’d never see the man and not the freak.

Proud Esmeralda! Monseigneur has seen
How she inspires sinful male obsession.
Her lips, her breasts, her eyes—all are obscene,
Unclean and a temptation to transgression.

But as I hear the congregation sing
I watch her spin about and cabriole
And think what joy could Esmeralda bring
To me, her grace like psalms to soothe my soul!

How much I long to stroke her raven hair—
To tell my Gypsy princess that I love her
And give her rings and roses she might wear,
As if she… Ah! Imagine me a lover!

But no. To hope is pain that rends my soul—
A pain so deep it stabs me to the core.
My doom is with these bells which clang and toll;
Which fate demands I ring forever more.

.

.

The White Whale

“He piled upon the whale’s white hump the sum of all
the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from
Adam down; and then, as if his chest had been a
mortar, he burst his hot heart’s shell upon it.”
—from Herman Melville’s description of Captain
Ahab in Moby Dick.

‘Tis more than just the flesh the white whale stole
Or how he mocked me with a demon grunt!
He tasks me from my marrow to my soul,
And nothing in God’s seas can stop this hunt!

As hatred’s venom fuels my sense of wrong,
I burn inside with vengeance unfulfilled.
A hellish pride has made my wrath grow strong
And never shall it ebb till he is killed.

What happens to the Pequod matters not!
My crew will do whatever I command.
I’ll bleed the whale. He’ll be harpooned and shot
Before I let this ship return to land.

My voice no longer serves except to rage.
I blaspheme as this mast becomes my cross.
Revenge is hunger nothing can assuage—
It chokes me like a Coleridge albatross.

O, let my heart with satisfaction burst
As I seek limb for limb and eye for eye!
I live for this! For he and I are cursed,
And I’d drink poison just to watch him die.

.

.

Brian Yapko is a lawyer who also writes poetry. He lives in Wimauma, Florida.

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33 Responses

  1. Warren Bonham

    Hugo and Melville would each be very pleased with the way you’ve distilled their masterpieces. I loved the reference to the Rime of the Ancient Mariner thrown in for good measure. Very enjoyable reads.

    Reply
    • Brian A. Yapko

      Thank you so much, Warren! Herman Melville was greatly influenced by Rime of the Ancient Mariner in the writing of Moby Dick. There are, in fact, multiple allusions to Coleridge’s poem in the novel. I would have felt remiss not to bring his albatross into my own Ahab work!

      Reply
  2. Paul A. Freeman

    Two poignant pieces, what with the cathedral about to reopen this year if I recall rightly.

    And I imagine Moby Dick’s reception in 1851 must have been different back then, before kerosene (sperm oil was used for lighting, I believe), when whales were so much more plentiful, regarded as sea monsters, and hunting them involved a degree of danger.

    Thanks for the reads, Brian.

    Reply
    • Brian A. Yapko

      Thank you very much, Paul. The whole whaling industry strikes me as a most peculiar yet consequential quirk of history. And yet its impact on New England was profound.

      Reply
  3. Roy Eugene Peterson

    These are two marvelous poems constructed by a master poet. I can envisaged the depth of thought in each one as I entranced by the stories each one purveys. These subjects you chose are augmented by fascinating writing reflected in my internal virtual vision from past memories of reading about them and seeing them on film. You continue to entertain us while sharing your great skills and insights. Including the arabesque and the albatross are but two of the trenchant stimulating words that bring these poems to life.

    Reply
    • Brian A. Yapko

      Thank you so much, Roy! I was particularly happy with the arabesque/grotesque and cross/albatross rhymes, so I’m especially pleased that you liked them!

      Reply
  4. Joseph S. Salemi

    These are very sophisticated and well-crafted poems based on literary works, just as the Aeneid is rooted in the Iliad. Characters in the earlier works are given voices to speak again in the new ones.

    The first poem is straightforward, since nothing that Quasimodo says departs from what we as readers know of him from Hugo’s novel: he rings bells, he’s crippled and ugly, and he loves Esmeralda. But the quatrains are like chiseled and pumiced marble — sheer perfection! The rhymes of “scraps” and “apse” and “cabriole” and “soul” are brilliant.

    The second, spoken in the voice of Ahab, is more complex, because the Melville novel is governed by a symbolism that dares not speak its name openly. Who exactly is the White Whale, and what really animates the blistering hatred of Ahab? It is not clearly stated in Melville’s text, but I believe a good case can be made for reading the White Whale as God Himself — the vengeful, demanding Calvinist God of New England Puritanism, while Captain Ahab is a strange hybrid of the unanswered Job, Milton’s Satan, and Prometheus. That is why he represents “the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down.”

    And Brian’s poem seems to confirm this opinion, since the language of Ahab is that of rebellion against authority:

    I burn inside with vengeance unfulfilled.
    A hellish pride has made my wrath grow strong…

    My voice no longer serves except to rage.
    I blaspheme as this mast becomes my cross…

    O let my heart with satisfaction burst
    As I seek limb for limb and eye for eye!

    All these expressions of rage have strong scriptural overtones: “hellish pride,” “I blaspheme,” “eye for eye.” Moreover, when Ahab refers to the ship’s mast as his “cross,” he brings to mind the use of the mast as a symbol of the cross by the early Christian writer Minucius Felix, in his work “Octavius.”

    Brian’s poem maintains the uncertainty of this reading. Is Ahab merely enraged by the loss of his leg? Or is his outrage something much deeper, rooted in the perennial human questioning of the structure of the universe, and the arbitrary will of its Creator?

    Reply
    • Brian A. Yapko

      Thank you very much, Joe, for this generous comment. I appreciate your placing these literary voices in context — I would never have thought of Vergil and Homer! But I enjoy works where literary characters speak beyond the context of their original novel. From my standpoint, it’s a fun andinteresting way of interpreting another writer’s character and is not so different from any theater piece based on history or prior literature.

      As you note, my Quasimodo takes no risks with its source material, The Hunchback of Notre Dame. My goal was simply to allow this character to share one small moment in his life and thoughts before the novel’s dark events take place, before he rescues Esmeralda from the gallows giving her the sanctuary of the Cathedral, before he recognizes the evil of his ecclesiastical benefactor, Frollo.

      The Moby Dick poem is more complex for all of the reasons you describe. I believe that you are right in your interpretation of the White Whale’s symbolism in the novel and I have simply borrowed that symbolism for Ahab as speaker in my work. Your interpretion of the religious references is spot-on. Your mentions of Job and Milton’s Satan are also spot-on. Your reference to Prometheus is instructive to me because he is not a character I would have thought of but he certainly fits here! I should mention that my line “a hellish pride” was originally intended to be “Miltonic pride…” but decided against two over-obvious poet references. Paradise Lost and Rime of the Ancient Mariner were apparently both major influences on Melville’s tale of revenge. I personally think Ahab’ is grappling with far more than vengeance for the loss of his leg. But I am uncertain as to what this means. As you note, I maintained the questions of the novel rather than attempting to answer them. Sometimes a mystery is more interesting if it remains a mystery!

      Reply
  5. Susan Jarvis Bryant

    Brian, I echo the previous commenters in my admiration of your skill. You are truly the master of your craft and never cease to enthrall and entertain me with every poem you write. You have a remarkable gift for tapping into the psyche of characters and bringing them to life. In these poems your words breathe and pulse with the very essence of what it means to be Quasimodo and Captain Ahab.

    The voice of “The Hunchback” is heart-rending. The descriptive language used in stanza two and three paints a powerful and painful image through the eyes of this fascinating figure of ridicule. This exquisitely depicted self-awareness lifts the poem to shining heights. And hats off to some superlative end rhymes, arabesque / grotesque being my favorite.

    “The White Whale” is a stunning achievement. I studied “Moby Dick” as a schoolgirl and got swamped by the symbolism. Somehow (all these years later) your poem ties the loose ends together for me. The fourth and fifth stanza tap into ebon labyrinths of bubbling hatred and spit it out in potent lines that have made this reader understand exactly where Captain Ahab was coming from… and it isn’t pretty.

    Quasimodo’s “Oh, all that I ever loved!” springs to mind. In a judgmental world rife with hatred, there’s increasingly little room left for love. These two poems have made me think (deeply) about rash and extreme reactions and their consequences. Brian, thank you very much indeed!

    Also, thank you, Joe, for such an enlightening comment, which (together with Brian’s poem) has made me want to read Melville’s masterpiece for a second time with a learned eye.

    Reply
    • Brian A. Yapko

      Thank you so much, Susan! I’m so glad you enjoy my dramatic monologues since “tapping into the psyche” of historical figures and literary characters is one of the things that gives me great joy as a poet.

      On “Hunchback” I’m pleased that you are moved both by the pathos of the character and thank you for zeroing in on the only French-related rhymes of “arabesque” and “grotesque.” I wish I had included more such but could not make it work. More French would have been agreeable, but I took a real risk here as it is knowing full well that Quasimodo is mostly deaf and relatively inarticulate. I am trusting that in the world of poetry an inner expression of the soul may transcend linguistic ability. (I took a similar risk with the Frankenstein Creature in my “Modern Prometheus” poem last year.) I realize that it would be more problematic to present an articulate Quasimodo writing a letter or engaged in dialog with a silent interlocutor.

      I’m very pleased by your reaction to my “White Whale” poem. I was hoping to make the reader gasp and shudder (at least internally a little) at Ahab’s destructively obsessive mind-set and your words tell me that I got it right. Your words “ebon labyrinths of bubbling hatred” are so good they would fit well into a similarly-themed poem!

      I read “Moby Dick” in college and found it a slog. Of course that was over 40 years ago and my tastes and insights have changed a bit. Still, I retain the impression that a full 50% of the novel was devoted to describing whales and whaling ad nauseam and to the point that the plot and characters got lost. I will be much interested to hear how your rereading of the novel goes. I do not think I have the fortitude! But if you have a good experience, perhaps I’ll give it a go.

      Reply
      • Susan Jarvis Bryant

        Brian, I really love this observation:

        I took a real risk here as it is knowing full well that Quasimodo is mostly deaf and relatively inarticulate. I am trusting that in the world of poetry an inner expression of the soul may transcend linguistic ability.

        Your poignant and powerful words and message in “The Hunchback” remind me of Shakespeare’s portrayal of Caliban in “The Tempest” in that a heartfelt more sensitive side of the savage and grotesque character of Caliban is afforded the audience in his beautiful speeches about the island. These words offer some of the most affecting and haunting imagery of any scene in the play. Shakespeare (very cleverly) reveals a side to Caliban that draws upon our sympathies. You have that same ability.

  6. Cynthia Erlandson

    Brian, your sensitive description of the characters in these two is deeply moving; I really believe the authors of both stories would concur. “And I’d drink poison just to watch him die.” is ultimately insightful. And the musical sound of your poetry is, as always, beautiful.

    Reply
    • Brian A. Yapko

      Thank you so much, Cynthia! I would love to think that I did justice to Victor Hugo and Herman Melville and that they would recognize my deep respect for their work in my own. I’m especially glad you like the “I’d drink poison” line which expands on Ahab’s exploration of blasphemy in the pursuit of vengeance. My speaker’s use of this phrase is a destructive perversion of the original warning by St. Augustine who said “Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.”

      Reply
  7. Margaret Coats

    I have never read “The Hunchback of Notre Dame.” The topic was repulsive, and thus you can tell me, Brian, whether my reading of your poem is all from Hugo or some from you. Hugo’s title clearly contrasts the supremely beautiful and the grotesque that inspires loathing. The cathedral setting naturally makes this the story of a soul. Quasimodo is thoroughly familiar with religious trappings and practices, and even with morality as he has learned it from Monseigneur. The priest may lack spiritual fervor and/or may be repulsed by Quasimodo’s ugliness, but as Quasimodo presents him here, he is unkind (giving the bell ringer mere scraps for food) and strict (warning harshly about sensual transgression). Quasimodo’s spirituality is intriguing. “She” is unnecessarily capitalized, indicating that he regards Esmeralda as God. But it is impossible to say that the hunchback is entirely focused on the flesh to the exclusion of the spirit, because he is involved in a soul’s search for identity. His desire for Esmeralda makes him feel like “a man without a scar,” having overcome his ugliness. And he wishes to make her gifts of love. These touches show the incarnational nature of man who must live through the body but has hope for the spirit to share in this life. And this seems confirmed by the final stanza, where Quasimodo actually speaks of the incurable pain of his soul (due to hopeless bodily deformity) and of his resignation to fate–in a sort of bravely pagan mode. The only thing he has learned from life close to the church is bellringing skill and how to hide himself from view. This can, of course, have meaning as a tragically extreme case of spiritual failure, to be appreciated by all who necessarily see a certain failure in themselves and yet find their souls and their spiritual potential in better shape than the hunchback’s. Feelingly portrayed, Brian.

    Back later for Ahab and that lost soul.

    Reply
    • Brian A. Yapko

      Thank you for this intriguing comment, Margaret — a comment from one unfamiliar with the Victor Hugo book. The intrigue is in the fact that now I must look at the poem from the standpoint of one who does not know who the heroes and villains are, or the awful things that happen to the characters. That being the case, my poem must seem most unilluminating! I write this poem at a moment in the story where awful back-story things have happened but nothing close to the excitement and tragedy that is yet to come! And I’m reluctant to say in detail too much of how the story turns out lest I spoil it for those who might want to read it.

      I’d say you are correct on spotlighting the contrast of the beautiful and the grotesque – although this is one of those situations where you must not judge a book by its cover. There is Quasimodo who is physically grotesque but inwardly innocent and noble; and there is Frollo, the archdeacon, who is the true grotesque in this story for the way he lustfully hunts the gypsy girl, Esmeralda, has her accused of witchcraft when she rejects his inappropriate advances, then has her sentenced to hang despite her obvious innocence. It is at that moment that Quasimodo famously leaps via rope from the ledge of Notre Dame, rescues Esmeralda and spirits her back to the Cathedral claiming “sanctuary” for her. And this, of course, leads to other plot developments which further reveal that Frollo is not a nice man or a good representative of the Church. Frollo is indeed unkind and impious, though Quasimodo in my poem is mild in his condemnation. For it is Frollo who has condemned a gentle soul laid on his doorstep to be forever kept apart from humanity, trapped in the church and expected to do nothing for the rest of his life but ring the church bells into deafness.

      The capitalization of She was not intended to have Esmeralda take on literal divine attribution but I would think in Quasimodo’s loneliness and lack of sophisticated spiritual understanding that Esmeralda would be larger than life — a real symbol of something beautiful and feminine. As for the hunchback’s spiritual failure, here he really must be contrasted with Monseigneur who has all the knowledge and experience to be a good man and yet fails. Quasimodo has neither of these things yet a gentility of soul which somehow befits the inner beauty of Notre Dame. And, of course, my poem is poised at the jumping off point before Quasimodo takes enormous risks to rescue the unjustly accused Esmeralda. Any final judgment of Quasimodo must really wait for the end of the story.

      Although the subject matter may seem repulsive, it is not a mere monster story but one with deep heart. Also, this novel is quite consequential to something I know you care about deeply: this novel is one of the reasons Notre Dame de Paris was preserved. According to my research, at the time of publication in 1831 France was in a great deal of upheaval and Notre Dame was in a state of mortal decay. But Hugo’s work championed the architecture of the great cathedral as a national icon (he devoted two full chapters to its architecture) which led to national efforts to restore and preserve it. Hugo’s novel Notre-Dame de Paris (no “hunchback” in its original French title), not only served as a tribute to the nearly forgotten cathedral but became so popular among the French public that a 25-year restoration project was launched, and Notre-Dame Cathedral was transformed into what we see today. You might want to look at the following: https://www.washingtonpost.com/history/2019/04/15/notre-dame-was-ruins-victor-hugos-novel-about-hunchback-saved-it/

      Reply
      • Margaret Coats

        Brian, thanks for this information. Notre Dame was in bad shape at the time of Hugo’s writing mainly due to desecrations committed in the abominable times of Revolution. Restoration could have started for the coronation of Napoleon by the pope at Notre Dame in 1804, but that event was so hastily arranged that the facade was decorated with fine cloth to disguise obvious structural cracks! And there were still the Napoleonic wars to pay for. Still, thanks to Hugo’s book and the 25-year effort it inspired, Paris was ready by 1875 for a new and longer glorious building project, Sacre Coeur de Montmartre. A girl named Therese Martin (about whom you have written) gave a gold bracelet to the fund raising.

        Now, Brian, you have told me a great deal about the character Quasimodo from Hugo’s novel, but didn’t answer the question about whether I found anything of your own in this poem. I didn’t see the gentility and nobility. At the moment you chose to depict him, both these characteristics may have been developing from the vulnerability you reveal–especially in the actual pain he feels at the end of your poem. Still, I will pride myself on seeing self-awareness, with potential for compassion and chivalry, in what I earlier considered Quasimodo’s search for human and masculine identity. Your telling that love made him feel like “a man without a scar” displays an important stage in his ascent from what could have been ignoble modern victimhood.

      • Brian A. Yapko

        My apologies, Margaret. I’m a bit under the weather and didn’t answer that question which I sort of breezed over. The question is one of Quasimodo’s “gentility” and nobility — are these my attributions to his character or are they embedded in the novel. Well, first of all I would not use the term “gentility” for him other than in terms of “gentleness of soul” — most often he comes across as brutish and frightening. He cannot be considered a “gentleman” in any sense of the word either in Hugo or my poem. “Nobility” is a bit more difficult. His actions in saving Esmeralda are chivalrous and bespeak a nobility of spirit that has been buried under grotesque flesh and the horrid circumstances of his loveless upbringing. I believe this appears in Hugo but is mostly absent from my poem. What I’ve tried to convey at this particular moment in the story is the possibility of something greater than he has known. And I’ve tried to convey a heart that is capable of love, of yearning and of a rudimentary spirituality. He is far more an orphan of the church rather than a servant to the church. He calls the people of Paris to prayer but does not join them. He is not part of the congregation attending mass but, instead, focuses on the dancing of Esmeralda in the square. And yet…I offer up the lines “…what joy could Esmeralda bring/To me, her grace like psalms to soothe my soul!” The imagery he chooses is not about lust. It’s about solace. The imagery he chooses is not critical of religion — it is unironically religious with the words grace, psalms and soul concentrated in one line. This is NOT Hugo, this is my own interpretation of Hugo and here, in this line, is the liberty I have taken with Quasimodo — I have given him an inner voice that may be more overtly sophisticated and spiritually yearning than what appears in “Hunchback.” Hoping these thoughts clarify my intent and better answer your question, Margaret!

  8. Joshua C. Frank

    Brian, these are both great! I find it interesting that you were able to use the same form for two wildly different speakers.

    I like the concepts of the two novels compressed into these two poems better than having to take all that time to read entire novels to get them. This is one of many reasons I’ve drifted from novels to poetry in my reading.

    I know Victor Hugo more from his poetry (you may remember that I translated his poems “Guitar” and “Highness” into English) than from his novels, but I read the Great Illustrated Classics version of The Hunchback in childhood. Quasimodo was not (as far as I recall) called to be a priest or monk, so of course he had a natural vocation to marriage, but his appearance repelled women from considering marriage to him. How could he not react in this way to Esmeralda after she showed a bit of interest in him? It wasn’t like King David, who already had a bunch of wives and sinned because he coveted one more.

    I remember the epigraph of the second one from Star Trek: First Contact, except that it was heavily bowdlerized to remove Christian content and dumb down the vocabulary for the movie. This is in itself interesting. Also, I like the allusions to Rime of the Ancient Mariner, the Biblical command of “an eye for an eye” (which was really a maximum rather than the minimum people think it was—pagans exacted the death penalty for an eye), and the saying that refusal to forgive is like taking poison hoping someone else will die.

    Reply
    • Brian A. Yapko

      Thank you very much, Josh. I was wondering if anyone would notice that the forms of the two poems are identical and am glad to see your keen eye on it! Yes, for me the abab in quatrains is the most neutral form of poetry — neutral and therefore most malleable. That allows for a wide variety of speakers and a wide variety of thought.

      I remember your Victor Hugo translations which I enjoyed very much. It’s interesting that you see him as a poet whereas for me he will always be the novelist who wrote Les Miserables. As for poor Quasimodo — so hideous in form he could only elicit disgust from most people — I don’t see marriage in his future. Certainly I don’t think he did either, though he is allowed a brief reverie…

      I forgot all about the Moby Dick in Start Trek: First Contact. I looked it up on Youtube. How ridiculous that the director/producer/writer/whoever decided that any reference to religion had to be redacted from the quote about Captain Ahab! More proof that Hollywood has trended anti-religious for decades. As for the “poison” quote — as I mentioned to Cynthia above — that is a perverse Ahabian response to a quote from St. Augustine of Hippo back in the early 5th Century! The more things change, the more they stay the same. Augustine’s wisdom is as valid today as it ever was.

      Reply
      • Joshua C. Frank

        That’s interesting, the idea of abab quatrains as neutral. I’d love to gain a greater understanding of how form fits subject and speaker; I mostly go with what looks good and makes the first stanza work. I think of abab as suitable for someone who’s reasonably educated, so I found your comment “I am trusting that in the world of poetry an inner expression of the soul may transcend linguistic ability” interesting. I tend to vary form with the speaker’s linguistic ability (examples: couplets for a man with little education, Italian octaves for a great theologian).

        I became interested in Hugo’s poetry because of “Guitar” (one of the poems I translated). I first heard it sung in French (a clip is available where my translation is published) and loved it because I was at the age where I was starting to understand that life is not a Disney movie. Contrary to movies like Aladdin, where a poor man falls in love with the princess and ends up marrying her thanks to some magic and unrealistic characterization, “Guitar” featured a poor soldier who fell in love with a noblewoman, who ended up marrying the count instead for a more realistic ending. It’s interesting to see a similar theme in “The Hunchback.”

        Yes, it’s no secret that Hollywood has been anti-Christian for a long time. That’s one reason I don’t pay much attention to them and only watch movies and television as a social activity.

  9. Jeff Eardley

    Brian, I love how you get under the skin of a character with your most enjoyable poetry. I was reminded of the great English actor, Charles Laughton in the first, and that great and recent whaling movie, “In the heart of the sea” in the second. I remember my one and only reading of Moby Dick. A feat of endurance that I have no desire to repeat.

    Reply
    • Joseph S. Salemi

      Melville packed so much nautical, cetological, and flensing information into the novel that the central story could easily be lost. There was an excellent film version of “Moby Dick” made in the 1950s, starring Gregory Peck as Ahab, and Richard Basehart as Ishmael. Naturally it omitted a great deal of the extraneous stuff, but it did have excellent scenes of the chasing, harpooning, and flensing of a whale — the real thing, not computer-generated. The film is not shown today, because it would send our environmentalist crackpots into cardiac arrest.

      Reply
      • Daniel Kemper

        Hey Joe,

        your mention of all the information packed into Moby Dick sparked the thought that Melville’s Novel is sort of like the first Tom Clancy novel.

      • Brian A. Yapko

        It was my impression as a young reader that 50% of the novel was a discussion of whales, whale-lore, whale anatomy, whale hunting techniques, and on and on took over the book to the point where the characters and plot were lost. That has made it difficult for me to find the motivation for me to go back and re-read it even though I know it’s a classic.

        Funny you should mention the Gregory Peck film of “Moby Dick.” Maybe it’s cancelled on network TV or wherever, but I actually just watched it about a month ago on YouTube. It was great, although whale-harvesting makes it difficult to watch a movie while eating. Gregory Peck was very good though he made a more thoughtful Ahab than I would have liked. I think there should be something egomaniacal and irrational about Ahab that struck me as lacking from Peck’s cerebral performance. An interesting bit of trivia regarding this movie — the screenplay was one of the few written by my favorite science fiction author, Ray Bradbury.

      • Joseph S. Salemi

        Brian, the Gregory Peck film version (1956) did show a rather intellectual Ahab, but I think that was the style one would expect from the kind of actor Peck was. There was always a quiet restraint in his roles (see him in “The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit,” for instance — one of the best films about post-World War II battle stress).

        There were quite a few excellent players in the cast of “Moby Dick” — Orson Welles, Leo Genn, Mervyn Johns, Royal Dano, and Friedrich von Ledebur as a truly scary Queequeg. Like many seafaring films, it is tightly wound, emotionally tense, and totally male.

      • Brian A. Yapko

        Despite my carping, I agree with you fully that it’s a great movie. It kept me riveted. Directed by John Huston, who knew a thing or two about making exciting character-driven action films. His African Queen is a favorite of mine. As for Gregory Peck — his Atticus Finch is one of the inspirations that made me want to become a lawyer in the first place. I know of no actor who has done a better job of portraying rectitude and authentic decency. Idealism in those days actually meant something constructive.

    • Brian A. Yapko

      Thank you very much, Jeff! I remember Charles Laughton well but have never seen him as the Hunchback! For me his two standout roles are Henry VIII (The Private Life of Henry VIII) and the barrister, Sir Wilfred in Witness for the Prosecution. I must seek out his version of the Hunchback of Notre Dame! I did see “In the Heart of the Sea” which recounts the true story that apparently led Melville to write Moby Dick. A fine, suspenseful film. But I’m with you on the Moby Dick front. Unless someone makes a very persuasive pitch as to why I should, I don’t wish to re-read it.

      Reply
  10. Daniel Kemper

    Hellooo!

    Long ago I had an undergraduate English course in which we read Moby Dick. The final assignment was to read Moby Dick in ten years and either report back or write something about it. What a fantastic assignment! How that book opens up after some years of experience and struggle.

    To try not to repeat all that’s been said, I’ll focus on the final two lines,
    “I live for this! For he and I are cursed,
    And I’d drink poison just to watch him die.”

    It’s common currency in Christianity these days that unforgiveness is like drinking poison and hoping someone else will die, so I really like the way you show that. It also pinged me over to Blake’s, “A Poison Tree.” Was that intentional? Or just bonus footage? 🙂

    Finally, I’ve been around a lot of guys praising, “The Three Hundred,” recently. They love the manliness of throwing oneself entirely into a lost cause. This poem echoes that in a way that shows its foolhardiness. I prefer Gideon’s three hundred. 🙂

    Reply
    • Brian A. Yapko

      Helloooo, Daniel! Thank you for your wonderful comment. Your experience with the novel of Moby Dick makes me wonder if it isn’t introduced too early to literature students. That ten year gap to really give it a chance to marinate sounds good. But, of course, you’ll still have more than you ever wanted to know about whales, whale-lore, whale-hunting, the uses of blubber, the uses of sperm oil, etc.

      I’m glad you liked those final lines that I’ve discussed in a couple of other comments — they come from St. Augustine who described resentment as drinking poison and hoping the other person would die. That seemed like exactly the kind of thing Ahab would do and, in fact, he… Ah. I don’t want to spoil the ending.

      Thank you for connecting this poem to Blake’s “Poison Tree.” No, that was not at all intentional, but I’m delighted by the association. “Bonus footage” as you put it.

      As for “The Three Hundred” are you referring to the Spartans holding off the Persians? I don’t know the specific film or story you’re referring to but the 300 Spartans fighting to the death at Thermopylae is indeed a great story — which may well deserve a modern poetic treatment!

      Having recently read the Book of Judges on my marathon read through the Bible (I’m up to First Kings) I also prefer Gideon’s three hundred. I must have been 8 when I learned the story of how smart soldiers are supposed to drink river water.

      Reply
      • Daniel Kemper

        It’s been a few years since I read the bible directly cover to cover. But I did so several times. My motto at the time was, “It’s not insomnia if you’re busy doing something.” Heh. It is a great exercise. Maybe time to do it again.

        I was indeed referring to Thermopylae. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/300_(film)

        You know, the story is great and the deeds manly, but more and more I’ve been thinking, “Hm. Bunch of pagans killing another bunch of pagans. Guess death really is the only thing they have to offer.” And as for “glory” outside of Christ, well, ultimately, I guess I’m taken over by a “Princess Bride” movie voice. “Glory. You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

  11. Michael Vanyukov

    Now I must go and reread the sources, despite having no time! Even though the poems revive them in memory – not just the content but the emotional atmosphere as well.

    Reply
    • Brian A. Yapko

      Thank you for commenting, Michael! I’m glad my work invoked the emotional atmosphere of the originals. I hope you do go back and reread them — I’d be curious what you think. I may go back to Hunchback which I read decades ago. Moby Dick is less likely.

      Reply
      • Michael Vanyukov

        Thank you!. I believe in no coincidences, and “moldy bread” made me jump in my seat- I will email you the reason.

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