still life by Willem Clasz Heda‘Cantarella Wine’: A Poem by Brian Yapko The Society April 13, 2025 Culture, Poetry 20 Comments . Cantarella Wine Rome. 1501. Lucrezia Borgia hosts Bishop Giovanni Cavalieri of the Republic of Siena. He is visiting Rome as the leader of a faction of priests intent on pressing the Church to address allegations of materialism and clerical inchastity. Cavalieri’s positions are threatening to Pope Alexander VI—Lucrezia’s father and scion of the Borgia family. Cavalieri and his faction will formally present their demands to the Pope in four days. Lucrezia has been tasked by her father (the Pope) with making the Bishop’s stay comfortable. She has been trained to be a generous and gracious hostess. . Lunedi _Your Grace, you are most welcome in our home. _I trust that you enjoyed the honeyed pheasant? _A rare extravagance in humble Rome— But Father thought it pleasant for a cleric, once a peasant, _Who’s pent and penitent as St. Jerome. _In four short days the priests will shout your will; _Your Grace’s views have gained substantial traction. _Please know the Pope’s affection warms you still. He cares about your faction and the perils of inaction. _But you should rest, Your Grace. Set down your quill. _Some wine, Your Grace. Some Cantarella wine. You’ll find it most relaxing when incitement is too taxing. _It’s said to ease digestion when you dine. Your Grace, may I be candid? Your debate seems heavy-handed. _A pearl is far more pleasing than a swine. In truth, your path is steep. Perhaps some wine will help you sleep. _Your plaints will keep, Your Grace. Enjoy the wine. . Martedi _Your Grace, it’s Tuesday. Friday’s speeches loom. _My Father bids Your Grace to read this missive _‘Ere you adjourn this evening to your room. His words, though unsubmissive, must not strike you as dismissive. _He truly fears you’ll lead the Church to doom! _Cathedrals are built out of more than stone. _They’re made from faith and nerve, with gold and daring _By men of blood and flesh, not from rock grown! You think your points are caring but in truth they’re overbearing— _You’ll flay the Church’s body to the bone! _Forgive me, Grace. Some Cantarella wine? A suitable digestive when you find your thoughts are restive. _You’ve finished yours, Your Grace? Here’s some of mine. It’s scented with the flavor of a bloom we Borgias favor. _The recipe, it’s said, is Byzantine And known to clear up lesions—like Paul’s words to the Ephesians. _Tonight you’ll dream of angels pale and fine. . Mercoledi _Good day, Your Grace. Two days are all that’s left. _The Pope had hoped you’d alter your position _And that you would not leave the council cleft. Franciscans from your mission have now joined your coalition _And wrongly claim His Holiness brooks theft! _You know our Pope is merciful and pure. _He knows a way to end your disputation. _Your diocese is poor. He has a cure: A cash remuneration which he’d trade for your cessation… _Your rage erupts so quickly! Are you sure? _I’ve made you tense. Some Cantarella wine? A man may fight but first he should address the fact he’s thirsty. _Drink this. No, not that vintage from the Rhine— That’s sour as ammonia, like your envoy from Bologna. _This scent? ‘Tis but a hint of columbine. Your Grace, you seem afflicted. Has your breath become constricted? _A good night’s sleep will lessen your decline. . Giovedi _Your delegates confront the Pope tomorrow, _And come with a demand, not a petition. _Reforms are sought which you may well think claro But your naive position is a pathway to perdition _And will not bring improvement—only sorrow. _How rude I am! You’re pale! You must have rest. _Here, let me rub your neck and then your shoulder. Perhaps if we undressed… Have you beheld a woman’s breast? _With flesh exposed although you may feel colder _I’ll warm you with my lips pressed to your chest. _Your Grace, you’ve spilled the Cantarella wine! Fear not! ‘Tis but a ripple. Place your tongue upon my nipple… _You dare say “tart”? You find my deeds malign? A man who’s not known marriage is incautious to disparage _A hostess who gives freely of her wine! Ignore what we erected. Your apology’s accepted. _Let’s drink our truce. Some Cantarella wine! . Venerdi _Your Papal meeting’s set today, Your Grace. _I fear you are not well enough to move. _You’re gravely ill, so I’ll cut to the chase: You’re bound to disapprove since you have grievances to prove— _But I’m to hold you here and take your place. _You’re Grace, what use in reaching for that knife? _You’re far too weak to handle it. That’s better. _Such gasps and shivers! I can feel your strife! As fever sweats you wetter, I’ll set fire to your letter _And see you off to your eternal life. _It’s true, Your Grace. The Cantarella wine! We could not risk defection so you’ll sit out this election— _In fact, within a box made out of pine. Your heresies and treason offered Father ample reason _To supplement the grapes picked from our vine. What folly not to forge a strong alliance with the Borgia _Or think Your Grace’s mind subtler than mine! _Your Grace? No breath! He’s choked his final song. Yes, when the Bishop’s wrong the wine can scarcely be too strong. _His death will cause the rabble to resign; And should they recombine I’ll serve them Cantarella wine— _A vintage which ensures all conflicts cease _And that His Irksome Grace can rest in peace. . Poet’s Note: Cantarella was a poison allegedly used by the Borgias during the papacy of Pope Alexander VI (1492-1503). It is said to have been related to arsenic and came in the shape of a pleasant tasting white powder which was sprinkled on food or wine. . . Brian Yapko is a retired lawyer whose poetry has appeared in over fifty journals. He is the winner of the 2023 SCP International Poetry Competition. Brian is also the author of several short stories, the science fiction novel El Nuevo Mundo and the gothic archaeological novel Bleeding Stone. He lives in Wimauma, Florida. NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets. The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary. ***Read Our Comments Policy Here*** 20 Responses Roy Eugene Peterson April 13, 2025 Brian, your poetic legacy already firmly cemented with profound phrases, you once more have written a poem of historical significance and impact for the ages. Your masterful verses flow like honeyed wine with words that stretch to the sublime. With vivacious knowledge and in great detail, you have amplified this fantastic tale. Your depth of discourse made me drop my jaw, while your imagination left my mind in awe. Reply Brian Yapko April 14, 2025 Roy, your comment is itself fantastic poetry! Subtle, too, as I did not recognize what you had done until I got to your “jaw” and “awe” rhymes and then re-read what you had written! (The “honeyed wine” is a nice touch.) Thank you so much for the kind words about my Borgia poem. I tried to capture the “feeling” of an age in a piece of historical fiction and I tried to make it both serious and darkly entertaining. Believe me, trying to get the tone right was murder. Reply ABB April 13, 2025 There are some wonderful innovations in the monologue form here, Brian. I love the structure here where the stanzas reflect the progression of days of the week. The courtesy masking underlying duplicity is skillfully wrought. And as the pentameter lines extend to fourteeners, so do the Borgia ambitions overreach and exceed moral boundaries. Love the witty turns of ‘a hostess who gives freely of her wine’ as she’s offering her body. You explore themes of power and betrayal in a natural way that neither celebrates nor denigrates, but merely expresses. Which is to say that you are a real artist and not a sanctimonious bore. Reply Brian Yapko April 14, 2025 Your words about “innovation” are really meaningful to me, Andrew, since I consider you a highly innovative poet who has opened a new door on history. I also appreciate your analysis of Borgia ambition overreach and their transgression of moral boundaries. I attempted to write Lucrezia (and her father) in a way wherein rules do not apply to them. She can smilingly commit a murder over the course of 5 days and do so without conscience because (she believes) the end justifies the means. It’s a rather modern view on moral relativism and yet grounded in history. Renaissance politicians (including theological ones) were masters of all of the weapons of statecraft, and that included the Byzantine ones — poison, assassination, seduction. It must have been a very interesting time to be alive! Lastly, thank you so much for letting me know that I am not a bore. I rarely think of myself as an artist but I do indeed strive for my work to be entertaining — I want it to be both read and understood. Art should be enjoyed and should never be a slog. If it turns out to be art, all the better! Your videos and own body of work suggest to me that a love of quality which nonetheless abjures dullness is an aesthetic value which you share. In other words, you are never dull! Reply Joseph S. Salemi April 13, 2025 What a merry-go-round! Five full days of wheedling flattery, gourmet food, smooth argument, proffered sex from a young beauty, and all spiced up with that lethal but delicious wine! Brian, you sure can write a compelling poem on a fascinating subject. I did have to read it over a few times to get a grip on all of it, and analyze the metrics. I see that each day is composed of three stanzas, the first two of five iambic pentameter lines rhyming ABABA, but the fourth line is extended into an iambic heptameter with internal rhyme as well. The third stanza is even more complex, with seven lines alternating iambic pentameter and iambic heptameter. All the heptameters have internal rhyme, while all the pentameters end with an “-ine” rhyme throughout. In fact, the poem has plenty of rhymes for “wine” — dine. swine, Byzantine, mine, Rhine, fine, columbine, malign. There is an exception in the final “Venerdi” segment, where a fourth stanza of six lines is added, which end with an iambic pentameter rhyming couplet of the words “cease” and “peace.” They are somewhat chilling, since they put an end to the intense movement of the poem, and clearly refer to the murdered bishop. Normally I worry about variations in meter within a longer poem, especially if they are overly complex. They might tend to distract from the narrative flow. But I don’t think they make for a problem here, since the length of the piece is relieved by the division into “days,” and those days are split into smaller stanzas. These stanzas impose pauses on the reader, and allow for a clearer grasp of what is happening. The Borgias had no problem murdering political or ecclesiastical opponents, and the “Black Legend” of Lucrezia and her ring with its poisoned chamber has now become fixed in historical memory. There may be arguments over its truth, but that does not matter when we are composing verse. There certainly is enough truth in what we read about the Borgias to make the entire scenario quite plausible. The diction and imagery in your poem are vivid: the “honeyed pheasant,” the ammonia-Bologna rhyme, the “place your tongue on my nipple,” and this absolutely hilarious line: And known to clear up lesions–like Paul’s words to the Ephesians. Calling the troublemaking bishop “His Irksome Grace” makes for a grand conclusion and a final revelation of the speaker’s character. Lucrezia has done all the talking, and Bishop Cavalieri (as the silent interlocutor) is only revealed through her reactions to his unreported words or emotions. This is perfectly in accord with Browning’s practice — we only hear the speaker’s voice, and must deduce our knowledge of the interlocutor from whatever hints the speaker drops. What we have in this dramatic monologue is a sophisticated young woman doing her best to convince an older man to change his mind on an important political-ecclesiastical matter, whether by persuasion or titillation or fleshly solicitation. When these approaches fail, all she can do is drop the veil and carry out the default role of assassin. But what this poem suggests is that the poisoning was planned right from the start, when the Bishop is offered the Cantarella wine in the third stanza of Lunedi. He drinks it all those following days as well, ensuring his death, but Lucrezia argues with him just the same, for her father Pope Alexander VI probably wants a double victory — the Bishop to drop his campaign, and also to be eliminated as a complainer. Lucrezia had a raft of husbands and lovers, and gave birth to ten children. I am always intrigued by the thought of her affair with the humanist scholar and poet Pietro Bembo (later Cardinal Bembo), who wrote some excellent sexual poems, and who is a major figure in the last book of Castiglione’s The Courtier. It is Bembo who gives the final major speech on love in that book. Brian, this is one solid piece of writing. Reply Brian Yapko April 14, 2025 Many thanks for this detailed and appreciative comment and critique, Joe. I particularly hoped that this is a poem that would please and entertain you and I am gratified that it has done so! You have suggested many topics on which I should respond, but I think the most pressing is that of the metrics. I spent a fair amount of time working on an early draft of this poem with a standard ABAB iambic pentameter rhyme-scheme and, although I was able to make it work, it somehow lacked ‘muchness.” It was dull and predictable. And how dare I make Lucrezia Borgia of all people dull and predictable?? I subscribe to the poetic idea that the more sophisticated the speaker, the more likely it is for her to use alliteration, consonance and — especially — internal rhyme. I also considered the character of Lucrezia Borgia herself – a transgressive yet charismatic and powerful person who is both wickedly intelligent and highly devious. Given the character traits that I wanted to present in this poem, it seemed like a good idea to throw in heptameter lines in a structured way – enough alteration in format to make the poem seem to burst out of its normal confines yet respectful enough to the tradition to make it seem true to the spirit of Classical poetry. The extensive internal rhymes coupled with the extra feet in key lines gave me the freedom I felt I needed to allow this astonishing historical character to express herself. On re-reading this poem with its unusual rhyme-scheme, the idea of going back to a stricter, more predictable form now actually feels like it would be a diminishment. But perhaps that is for the critic rather than the poet to say. Still that is my own subjective view. There is one other important aspect to the meter here. Particularly because of the internal rhymes in the heptameter lines, a certain bounciness has been introduced to the rhythm of the piece. This is quite intentional because (I hope) it clues the reader into the fact that this poem is meant to be FUN. This poem may be about murder, but it is the sort of good-natured murder the English used to be so brilliant at – the Arsenic and Old Lace type of sensibility or even Miss Marple or even Sweeney Todd sensibility in which offing an inconvenient witness was all in a day’s work. This is black comedy and though it is of and for the Italian Renaissance it owes as much to Prizzi’s Honor, Sweeney Todd’s “Mrs. Lovett” and the Addams Family as it does to Charles Dickens or Robert Browning. There are other comic elements: the constant repetitions of “Your Grace” which are so numerous they (hopefully) start to feel like a form of overexaggerated respect (which they are.) Cavalieri is no match for Lucrezia Borgia’s intellect. And you nail it when you describe her final reference to him as “His Irksome Grace” as the final reveal of her deviousness and masked condescension towards this unworthy adversary. There was never any question she was going to get the best of him one way or the other. There is a logic to her attempts to get him to change (or bury) his views – she starts with ambassadorial charm, moves on to logic and a play on sympathy, then bribery, finally an attempted seduction, none of which make Cavalieri budge. The assassination by poisoning was, as you observe, a foregone conclusion. But there may have been a point where death was not inevitable, where if he had abandoned his efforts, the poisoning might have stopped. But as you also point out, Pope Alexander might well have been happy to be rid of this “meddlesome priest” (yes, I took some inspiration here from “Becket”) and have both him and his arguments removed. This is a portrait of smiling ruthlessness presented with an attempt at serious poetry infused with comedic techniques. And by understanding the comedic elements to the poem, perhaps you can appreciate how much satisfaction I had writing it! Yes, there were all those “-ine” rhymes which I had fun fleshing out. And there is some deep irony in the idea of Lucrezia Borgia referencing scripture while in the process of slow-murdering an honorable clergyman. It’s actually rather horrible but inevitable given the speaker I present in this poem. Why choose such a speaker? And why not soften her a bit to make the poem less challenging? For some reason I am reminded of the Hyman Roth character in Godfather II (played by the brilliant Lee Strassberg) when he admonishes Michael Corleone for not being thick-skinned enough to overlook a little assassination attempt: “This is the profession we have chosen!” Well, as peculiar as it may sound, that is my view towards writing poetry and other fiction. “This is the profession we have chosen.” And that being the case, we must follow where the Muse directs us – where the character directs us – without fear of offending delicate sensibilities because a character is unpleasant or a sensualist or even murderous. Joe, to some degree I have followed your own venerable example on this. You have presented highly unsavory characters in some of your poetry. Three which come to mind are your Aphrodisiac, Le Pompe Funebre and even Contract Murder. I also learned as much from Robert Browning. Browning threw caution to the wind when he wrote poems like Porphyria’s Lover or My Last Duchess, or The Bishop Orders His Tomb or Soliloquy in a Spanish Cloister. He had to follow where his unbenevolent, sometimes homicidal characters led. And while I’m sure this offended certain Victorian sensibilities, it also helped pull Classical poetry into a new era of fiery creativity. Joe, we cannot always be shackled into poetic subjects that are simply inoffensive or which groom us for sainthood or which describe the moon and the stars and the rivers for the hundredth time. It is deeply important to the future of Classical poetry that we not paint ourselves into a corner of piety and refusal to take risks. What is the point of writing poems that have already been written? I worry sometimes that people who come to Classical poetry do so to write poetry that is simply pretty or noble or which seeks to “instruct.” But is it the role of Classical poetry to create a “safe space?” Is that necessarily the goal of Classical poetry to the exclusion of other things? Human things? We love Shakespeare for writing about noble characters like Henry V or Cordelia or Portia. But what about Iago? Or Lady Macbeth? Or Caliban? Imagine a play in which every character was “edifying.” Imagine Paradise Lost without its dark elements? Imagine a world without Shelley or Rochester or Byron, in which there was no Frankenstein or Lamia. Imagine a world in which the Mariner never shot the albatross. We would not only lose our minds with boredom — we would be untrue in our role as writers. We are not priests. We are observers who bear witness. And there is so, so much in this world to observe. Reply Joseph S. Salemi April 14, 2025 Dear Brian — I’m very glad to have your extensive response to my post. We don’t disagree about the metrical structure of “Cantarella Wine” — in fact, I think that the poem works beautifully, and that your reasons for composing it as you did are solid. An exciting and dangerous woman certainly required a metric scheme that was not sedate and predictable. I’m certainly not suggesting any changes in the piece. You wanted “bounciness” in the poem, along with some fun and comedy, despite the fact that the poem’s subject was a premeditated murder. To quote your own words: “This is a portrait of smiling ruthlessness presented with an attempt at serious poetry infused with comic techniques.” Quite so. But you raise a more pressing issue when you touch upon the choice of subject matter in formal, classical poetry of the sort that we favor here at the SCP. We cannot let readers think that the English poetic tradition is limited to hearts and flowers and seasonal change and plangent emotion and endless piety and edification. But that will surely happen if we fail to produce poems on risky subjects. As you say, we are not supposed to be a “safe space” for poems that instruct and edify and guide people to salvation, nor are we obliged to be “child-friendly.” Are we going to teach the younger writers who come here that all they can possibly aspire to is writing for Hallmark Cards and the Parish Newsletter? We need to let them know that they can write on many exciting, racy, sexy, combative, and transgressive subjects that go into the structures of metrical formal verse very nicely, and always have! We need to give them solid examples of the same, such as your poem about Lucrezia Borgia. Anything less would be to geld and denature the art that we all claim to support and represent. Reply Brian Yapko April 15, 2025 Just to be clear, Joe, I greatly value poems which have a Biblical or devotional subject. I’ve written a number of them and I know that you have as well. In fact, of all the work I’ve done, my two favorite poems are Biblically themed. But poems of that nature are only a subset of Classical poetry and somehow we have gotten into the mindset that it should be favored on this and other traditional poetry sites even to the exclusion of other types of poetry. That sort of imbalance impoverishes us all. I love John Donne, Gerard Manley Hopkins and John Milton. I also love Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Robert Browning and William Shakespeare. This is a big tent in which absolutely any subject is fair game for poetry — so long as the poetry is good. Mike Bryant April 13, 2025 This perfect poem was a pleasure to read out loud. The beautifully imagined narrative has all the hallmarks of truthiness! It seems that things haven’t changed a lot in five hundred years… just a lot more money, power and even sneakier poisons! So much dark humor… so much pure (impure?) fun… I love it! Reply Brian Yapko April 14, 2025 Thank you so much, Mike! I’m glad you read this poem out loud because the sound effects are particularly important in this one. As for “truthiness”… I love that! I have, of course, created a fictional situation but one which I hope rings true to some of the darker observations we may have of human nature. And yes, it’s true — little has changed in 500 years. For those willing to peddle poison, the normal rules don’t apply because they think the end justifies the means. Lucrezia Borgia is alive and well. Reply Cynthia Erlandson April 13, 2025 I love so many things about this poem: the way you’ve been able to tell a sinister murder tale with such humor; the unusual and creative rhyme scheme (with really funny internal rhymes) and metrical scheme used to tell the tale; and the suspense you’ve created by the foreshadowing which seems to begin in the very first verse (or perhaps in the note below the title). This is very entertaining in all these ways. Reply Brian Yapko April 14, 2025 Thank you so much, Cynthia! I’m so glad you were able to enjoy the dark humor of this sinister piece of historical fiction. As I mentioned to Joe above, the rhyme scheme was developed as I tried to confine Lucrezia Borgia to a conventional form. She resisted strongly. I was therefore caught in a poetic web of internal rhyme and thrown off balance by unexpected long lines. I’m very grateful that you feel it all came together! Reply Yael April 13, 2025 A historically set murder thriller that’s totally time and space efficient and expressed in pleasing rhyme; I love it. This is so much better and entertaining than reading a novel Brian, great job! Reply Brian Yapko April 14, 2025 What a wonderful coomment, Yael! Thank you so much! I would not have thought to compare the poem to a novel but am delighted by the idea. Especially glad you find the rhymes pleasing. They involved a bit of detail work. Reply Julian D. Woodruff April 14, 2025 Fabulous, Brian! Perfect narrative clarity and the most entertaining rhymes. And the characterizations–the would-be heroic, but ultimately lame-o bishop has no chance against the diverse wiles and steely will of Lucrezia! This, Brian, is the high-class successor to Flanders and Swann’s marvelous cabaret song “Have Some Madeira, M’Dear.” Reply Brian Yapko April 14, 2025 Thank you for this generous comment, Julian! I’m glad you got in the spirit of the piece and found the rhymes to be entertaining! No, the bishop didn’t stand a chance against Lucrezia. She is the Professor Moriarty of the Renaissance. I’d never before heard Flanders and Swann’s song before. “Have Some Madeira, M’Dear” is a hilarious song which sounds to me like it comes from the Music Hall tradition. A not dissimilar premise to Cantarella Wine but far less malign in intent and deed. Thank you for the introduction! Reply C.B. Anderson April 14, 2025 Magnificent, Brian, but where can I find some of this wine? It would be useful here in Massachusetts. Reply Brian Yapko April 15, 2025 Thank you so much, C.B. I should be shocked but find myself smiling in agreement. Some of that wine would be useful in a bunch of places. I’ve got a little list. Reply Joseph S. Salemi April 14, 2025 I did some quick checking on the internet and discovered that “cantarella” is probably a derivative of the Greek “kantharos” (a small drinking cup). The Greek term very likely entered into Latin via the Greek dialects of Sicily or lower Italy, and became Latinized as “cantharellus” (also meaning a small cup), and later on went through a gender shift to cantarella, losing its internal aspiration. In all these cases it did not mean a wine or any drink at all, but simply a container for serving liquids. It eventually became associated with a particular drink by the normal process of metonymy, whereby some object becomes the term for that which is associated with it, as when the command “All hands on deck” means “all sailors” and “the ship.” We can see such metonymy in English words associated with drinking: a “dram” or a “pint” or a”cup” or a “stein” or a “dose.” It must have been easy for “cantarella” to go from meaning “a small cup” to a dose of poison. It’s similar to saying that someone marked for murder is “going to catch some lead.” Reply Brian Yapko April 15, 2025 Thank you for doing this etymological detective work, Joe! It never occurred to me to analyze the history of the poison’s name. I was just thrilled to find out about it as I was researching Lucrezia Borgia. Thrilled because it fit my idea for a poem so perfectly and because the word itself has a lovely musical sound to it which scans nicely. It sounds so innocuous. Like sleeping with the fishes. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Δ This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.
Roy Eugene Peterson April 13, 2025 Brian, your poetic legacy already firmly cemented with profound phrases, you once more have written a poem of historical significance and impact for the ages. Your masterful verses flow like honeyed wine with words that stretch to the sublime. With vivacious knowledge and in great detail, you have amplified this fantastic tale. Your depth of discourse made me drop my jaw, while your imagination left my mind in awe. Reply
Brian Yapko April 14, 2025 Roy, your comment is itself fantastic poetry! Subtle, too, as I did not recognize what you had done until I got to your “jaw” and “awe” rhymes and then re-read what you had written! (The “honeyed wine” is a nice touch.) Thank you so much for the kind words about my Borgia poem. I tried to capture the “feeling” of an age in a piece of historical fiction and I tried to make it both serious and darkly entertaining. Believe me, trying to get the tone right was murder. Reply
ABB April 13, 2025 There are some wonderful innovations in the monologue form here, Brian. I love the structure here where the stanzas reflect the progression of days of the week. The courtesy masking underlying duplicity is skillfully wrought. And as the pentameter lines extend to fourteeners, so do the Borgia ambitions overreach and exceed moral boundaries. Love the witty turns of ‘a hostess who gives freely of her wine’ as she’s offering her body. You explore themes of power and betrayal in a natural way that neither celebrates nor denigrates, but merely expresses. Which is to say that you are a real artist and not a sanctimonious bore. Reply
Brian Yapko April 14, 2025 Your words about “innovation” are really meaningful to me, Andrew, since I consider you a highly innovative poet who has opened a new door on history. I also appreciate your analysis of Borgia ambition overreach and their transgression of moral boundaries. I attempted to write Lucrezia (and her father) in a way wherein rules do not apply to them. She can smilingly commit a murder over the course of 5 days and do so without conscience because (she believes) the end justifies the means. It’s a rather modern view on moral relativism and yet grounded in history. Renaissance politicians (including theological ones) were masters of all of the weapons of statecraft, and that included the Byzantine ones — poison, assassination, seduction. It must have been a very interesting time to be alive! Lastly, thank you so much for letting me know that I am not a bore. I rarely think of myself as an artist but I do indeed strive for my work to be entertaining — I want it to be both read and understood. Art should be enjoyed and should never be a slog. If it turns out to be art, all the better! Your videos and own body of work suggest to me that a love of quality which nonetheless abjures dullness is an aesthetic value which you share. In other words, you are never dull! Reply
Joseph S. Salemi April 13, 2025 What a merry-go-round! Five full days of wheedling flattery, gourmet food, smooth argument, proffered sex from a young beauty, and all spiced up with that lethal but delicious wine! Brian, you sure can write a compelling poem on a fascinating subject. I did have to read it over a few times to get a grip on all of it, and analyze the metrics. I see that each day is composed of three stanzas, the first two of five iambic pentameter lines rhyming ABABA, but the fourth line is extended into an iambic heptameter with internal rhyme as well. The third stanza is even more complex, with seven lines alternating iambic pentameter and iambic heptameter. All the heptameters have internal rhyme, while all the pentameters end with an “-ine” rhyme throughout. In fact, the poem has plenty of rhymes for “wine” — dine. swine, Byzantine, mine, Rhine, fine, columbine, malign. There is an exception in the final “Venerdi” segment, where a fourth stanza of six lines is added, which end with an iambic pentameter rhyming couplet of the words “cease” and “peace.” They are somewhat chilling, since they put an end to the intense movement of the poem, and clearly refer to the murdered bishop. Normally I worry about variations in meter within a longer poem, especially if they are overly complex. They might tend to distract from the narrative flow. But I don’t think they make for a problem here, since the length of the piece is relieved by the division into “days,” and those days are split into smaller stanzas. These stanzas impose pauses on the reader, and allow for a clearer grasp of what is happening. The Borgias had no problem murdering political or ecclesiastical opponents, and the “Black Legend” of Lucrezia and her ring with its poisoned chamber has now become fixed in historical memory. There may be arguments over its truth, but that does not matter when we are composing verse. There certainly is enough truth in what we read about the Borgias to make the entire scenario quite plausible. The diction and imagery in your poem are vivid: the “honeyed pheasant,” the ammonia-Bologna rhyme, the “place your tongue on my nipple,” and this absolutely hilarious line: And known to clear up lesions–like Paul’s words to the Ephesians. Calling the troublemaking bishop “His Irksome Grace” makes for a grand conclusion and a final revelation of the speaker’s character. Lucrezia has done all the talking, and Bishop Cavalieri (as the silent interlocutor) is only revealed through her reactions to his unreported words or emotions. This is perfectly in accord with Browning’s practice — we only hear the speaker’s voice, and must deduce our knowledge of the interlocutor from whatever hints the speaker drops. What we have in this dramatic monologue is a sophisticated young woman doing her best to convince an older man to change his mind on an important political-ecclesiastical matter, whether by persuasion or titillation or fleshly solicitation. When these approaches fail, all she can do is drop the veil and carry out the default role of assassin. But what this poem suggests is that the poisoning was planned right from the start, when the Bishop is offered the Cantarella wine in the third stanza of Lunedi. He drinks it all those following days as well, ensuring his death, but Lucrezia argues with him just the same, for her father Pope Alexander VI probably wants a double victory — the Bishop to drop his campaign, and also to be eliminated as a complainer. Lucrezia had a raft of husbands and lovers, and gave birth to ten children. I am always intrigued by the thought of her affair with the humanist scholar and poet Pietro Bembo (later Cardinal Bembo), who wrote some excellent sexual poems, and who is a major figure in the last book of Castiglione’s The Courtier. It is Bembo who gives the final major speech on love in that book. Brian, this is one solid piece of writing. Reply
Brian Yapko April 14, 2025 Many thanks for this detailed and appreciative comment and critique, Joe. I particularly hoped that this is a poem that would please and entertain you and I am gratified that it has done so! You have suggested many topics on which I should respond, but I think the most pressing is that of the metrics. I spent a fair amount of time working on an early draft of this poem with a standard ABAB iambic pentameter rhyme-scheme and, although I was able to make it work, it somehow lacked ‘muchness.” It was dull and predictable. And how dare I make Lucrezia Borgia of all people dull and predictable?? I subscribe to the poetic idea that the more sophisticated the speaker, the more likely it is for her to use alliteration, consonance and — especially — internal rhyme. I also considered the character of Lucrezia Borgia herself – a transgressive yet charismatic and powerful person who is both wickedly intelligent and highly devious. Given the character traits that I wanted to present in this poem, it seemed like a good idea to throw in heptameter lines in a structured way – enough alteration in format to make the poem seem to burst out of its normal confines yet respectful enough to the tradition to make it seem true to the spirit of Classical poetry. The extensive internal rhymes coupled with the extra feet in key lines gave me the freedom I felt I needed to allow this astonishing historical character to express herself. On re-reading this poem with its unusual rhyme-scheme, the idea of going back to a stricter, more predictable form now actually feels like it would be a diminishment. But perhaps that is for the critic rather than the poet to say. Still that is my own subjective view. There is one other important aspect to the meter here. Particularly because of the internal rhymes in the heptameter lines, a certain bounciness has been introduced to the rhythm of the piece. This is quite intentional because (I hope) it clues the reader into the fact that this poem is meant to be FUN. This poem may be about murder, but it is the sort of good-natured murder the English used to be so brilliant at – the Arsenic and Old Lace type of sensibility or even Miss Marple or even Sweeney Todd sensibility in which offing an inconvenient witness was all in a day’s work. This is black comedy and though it is of and for the Italian Renaissance it owes as much to Prizzi’s Honor, Sweeney Todd’s “Mrs. Lovett” and the Addams Family as it does to Charles Dickens or Robert Browning. There are other comic elements: the constant repetitions of “Your Grace” which are so numerous they (hopefully) start to feel like a form of overexaggerated respect (which they are.) Cavalieri is no match for Lucrezia Borgia’s intellect. And you nail it when you describe her final reference to him as “His Irksome Grace” as the final reveal of her deviousness and masked condescension towards this unworthy adversary. There was never any question she was going to get the best of him one way or the other. There is a logic to her attempts to get him to change (or bury) his views – she starts with ambassadorial charm, moves on to logic and a play on sympathy, then bribery, finally an attempted seduction, none of which make Cavalieri budge. The assassination by poisoning was, as you observe, a foregone conclusion. But there may have been a point where death was not inevitable, where if he had abandoned his efforts, the poisoning might have stopped. But as you also point out, Pope Alexander might well have been happy to be rid of this “meddlesome priest” (yes, I took some inspiration here from “Becket”) and have both him and his arguments removed. This is a portrait of smiling ruthlessness presented with an attempt at serious poetry infused with comedic techniques. And by understanding the comedic elements to the poem, perhaps you can appreciate how much satisfaction I had writing it! Yes, there were all those “-ine” rhymes which I had fun fleshing out. And there is some deep irony in the idea of Lucrezia Borgia referencing scripture while in the process of slow-murdering an honorable clergyman. It’s actually rather horrible but inevitable given the speaker I present in this poem. Why choose such a speaker? And why not soften her a bit to make the poem less challenging? For some reason I am reminded of the Hyman Roth character in Godfather II (played by the brilliant Lee Strassberg) when he admonishes Michael Corleone for not being thick-skinned enough to overlook a little assassination attempt: “This is the profession we have chosen!” Well, as peculiar as it may sound, that is my view towards writing poetry and other fiction. “This is the profession we have chosen.” And that being the case, we must follow where the Muse directs us – where the character directs us – without fear of offending delicate sensibilities because a character is unpleasant or a sensualist or even murderous. Joe, to some degree I have followed your own venerable example on this. You have presented highly unsavory characters in some of your poetry. Three which come to mind are your Aphrodisiac, Le Pompe Funebre and even Contract Murder. I also learned as much from Robert Browning. Browning threw caution to the wind when he wrote poems like Porphyria’s Lover or My Last Duchess, or The Bishop Orders His Tomb or Soliloquy in a Spanish Cloister. He had to follow where his unbenevolent, sometimes homicidal characters led. And while I’m sure this offended certain Victorian sensibilities, it also helped pull Classical poetry into a new era of fiery creativity. Joe, we cannot always be shackled into poetic subjects that are simply inoffensive or which groom us for sainthood or which describe the moon and the stars and the rivers for the hundredth time. It is deeply important to the future of Classical poetry that we not paint ourselves into a corner of piety and refusal to take risks. What is the point of writing poems that have already been written? I worry sometimes that people who come to Classical poetry do so to write poetry that is simply pretty or noble or which seeks to “instruct.” But is it the role of Classical poetry to create a “safe space?” Is that necessarily the goal of Classical poetry to the exclusion of other things? Human things? We love Shakespeare for writing about noble characters like Henry V or Cordelia or Portia. But what about Iago? Or Lady Macbeth? Or Caliban? Imagine a play in which every character was “edifying.” Imagine Paradise Lost without its dark elements? Imagine a world without Shelley or Rochester or Byron, in which there was no Frankenstein or Lamia. Imagine a world in which the Mariner never shot the albatross. We would not only lose our minds with boredom — we would be untrue in our role as writers. We are not priests. We are observers who bear witness. And there is so, so much in this world to observe. Reply
Joseph S. Salemi April 14, 2025 Dear Brian — I’m very glad to have your extensive response to my post. We don’t disagree about the metrical structure of “Cantarella Wine” — in fact, I think that the poem works beautifully, and that your reasons for composing it as you did are solid. An exciting and dangerous woman certainly required a metric scheme that was not sedate and predictable. I’m certainly not suggesting any changes in the piece. You wanted “bounciness” in the poem, along with some fun and comedy, despite the fact that the poem’s subject was a premeditated murder. To quote your own words: “This is a portrait of smiling ruthlessness presented with an attempt at serious poetry infused with comic techniques.” Quite so. But you raise a more pressing issue when you touch upon the choice of subject matter in formal, classical poetry of the sort that we favor here at the SCP. We cannot let readers think that the English poetic tradition is limited to hearts and flowers and seasonal change and plangent emotion and endless piety and edification. But that will surely happen if we fail to produce poems on risky subjects. As you say, we are not supposed to be a “safe space” for poems that instruct and edify and guide people to salvation, nor are we obliged to be “child-friendly.” Are we going to teach the younger writers who come here that all they can possibly aspire to is writing for Hallmark Cards and the Parish Newsletter? We need to let them know that they can write on many exciting, racy, sexy, combative, and transgressive subjects that go into the structures of metrical formal verse very nicely, and always have! We need to give them solid examples of the same, such as your poem about Lucrezia Borgia. Anything less would be to geld and denature the art that we all claim to support and represent. Reply
Brian Yapko April 15, 2025 Just to be clear, Joe, I greatly value poems which have a Biblical or devotional subject. I’ve written a number of them and I know that you have as well. In fact, of all the work I’ve done, my two favorite poems are Biblically themed. But poems of that nature are only a subset of Classical poetry and somehow we have gotten into the mindset that it should be favored on this and other traditional poetry sites even to the exclusion of other types of poetry. That sort of imbalance impoverishes us all. I love John Donne, Gerard Manley Hopkins and John Milton. I also love Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Robert Browning and William Shakespeare. This is a big tent in which absolutely any subject is fair game for poetry — so long as the poetry is good.
Mike Bryant April 13, 2025 This perfect poem was a pleasure to read out loud. The beautifully imagined narrative has all the hallmarks of truthiness! It seems that things haven’t changed a lot in five hundred years… just a lot more money, power and even sneakier poisons! So much dark humor… so much pure (impure?) fun… I love it! Reply
Brian Yapko April 14, 2025 Thank you so much, Mike! I’m glad you read this poem out loud because the sound effects are particularly important in this one. As for “truthiness”… I love that! I have, of course, created a fictional situation but one which I hope rings true to some of the darker observations we may have of human nature. And yes, it’s true — little has changed in 500 years. For those willing to peddle poison, the normal rules don’t apply because they think the end justifies the means. Lucrezia Borgia is alive and well. Reply
Cynthia Erlandson April 13, 2025 I love so many things about this poem: the way you’ve been able to tell a sinister murder tale with such humor; the unusual and creative rhyme scheme (with really funny internal rhymes) and metrical scheme used to tell the tale; and the suspense you’ve created by the foreshadowing which seems to begin in the very first verse (or perhaps in the note below the title). This is very entertaining in all these ways. Reply
Brian Yapko April 14, 2025 Thank you so much, Cynthia! I’m so glad you were able to enjoy the dark humor of this sinister piece of historical fiction. As I mentioned to Joe above, the rhyme scheme was developed as I tried to confine Lucrezia Borgia to a conventional form. She resisted strongly. I was therefore caught in a poetic web of internal rhyme and thrown off balance by unexpected long lines. I’m very grateful that you feel it all came together! Reply
Yael April 13, 2025 A historically set murder thriller that’s totally time and space efficient and expressed in pleasing rhyme; I love it. This is so much better and entertaining than reading a novel Brian, great job! Reply
Brian Yapko April 14, 2025 What a wonderful coomment, Yael! Thank you so much! I would not have thought to compare the poem to a novel but am delighted by the idea. Especially glad you find the rhymes pleasing. They involved a bit of detail work. Reply
Julian D. Woodruff April 14, 2025 Fabulous, Brian! Perfect narrative clarity and the most entertaining rhymes. And the characterizations–the would-be heroic, but ultimately lame-o bishop has no chance against the diverse wiles and steely will of Lucrezia! This, Brian, is the high-class successor to Flanders and Swann’s marvelous cabaret song “Have Some Madeira, M’Dear.” Reply
Brian Yapko April 14, 2025 Thank you for this generous comment, Julian! I’m glad you got in the spirit of the piece and found the rhymes to be entertaining! No, the bishop didn’t stand a chance against Lucrezia. She is the Professor Moriarty of the Renaissance. I’d never before heard Flanders and Swann’s song before. “Have Some Madeira, M’Dear” is a hilarious song which sounds to me like it comes from the Music Hall tradition. A not dissimilar premise to Cantarella Wine but far less malign in intent and deed. Thank you for the introduction! Reply
C.B. Anderson April 14, 2025 Magnificent, Brian, but where can I find some of this wine? It would be useful here in Massachusetts. Reply
Brian Yapko April 15, 2025 Thank you so much, C.B. I should be shocked but find myself smiling in agreement. Some of that wine would be useful in a bunch of places. I’ve got a little list. Reply
Joseph S. Salemi April 14, 2025 I did some quick checking on the internet and discovered that “cantarella” is probably a derivative of the Greek “kantharos” (a small drinking cup). The Greek term very likely entered into Latin via the Greek dialects of Sicily or lower Italy, and became Latinized as “cantharellus” (also meaning a small cup), and later on went through a gender shift to cantarella, losing its internal aspiration. In all these cases it did not mean a wine or any drink at all, but simply a container for serving liquids. It eventually became associated with a particular drink by the normal process of metonymy, whereby some object becomes the term for that which is associated with it, as when the command “All hands on deck” means “all sailors” and “the ship.” We can see such metonymy in English words associated with drinking: a “dram” or a “pint” or a”cup” or a “stein” or a “dose.” It must have been easy for “cantarella” to go from meaning “a small cup” to a dose of poison. It’s similar to saying that someone marked for murder is “going to catch some lead.” Reply
Brian Yapko April 15, 2025 Thank you for doing this etymological detective work, Joe! It never occurred to me to analyze the history of the poison’s name. I was just thrilled to find out about it as I was researching Lucrezia Borgia. Thrilled because it fit my idea for a poem so perfectly and because the word itself has a lovely musical sound to it which scans nicely. It sounds so innocuous. Like sleeping with the fishes. Reply
