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Sunday, 20 August 2017

All in Green

Lucas Cranach the Elder, "The Stag Hunt of Elector Frederick the Wise"

All in Green Went My Love Riding

All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the merry deer ran before.
Fleeter be they than dappled dreams
the swift sweet deer
the red rare deer.
Four red roebuck at a white water
the cruel bugle sang before.
Horn at hip went my love riding
riding the echo down
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the level meadows ran before.
Softer be they than slippered sleep
the lean lithe deer
the fleet flown deer.
Four fleet does at a gold valley
the famished arrow sang before.
Bow at belt went my love riding
riding the mountain down
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the sheer peaks ran before.
Paler be they than daunting death
the sleek slim deer
the tall tense deer.
Four tall stags at the green mountain
the lucky hunter sang before.
All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.
Four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
my heart fell dead before.

e.e. cummings

If this poem scrapbook has had a theme recently, it would probably be the colour green. We've had the green delerium of Spring, that First Green of Eden, blood that sings green, a green amnesia, a green thought, strong, silent greens, climbing lime-green vines,  impossible greens...such greens! Green seems to be a symbol for everything young and growing, for hope and healing. And then there's this poem - green, gold, silver, red - what do the colours signify here? It's like youth and glory and eternity and that ominous red (which somehow always portends blood and violence) all rolled up into a heart-racing chase. People say this poem is about the Greek myth of Actaeon and Diana - A is out hunting with his hounds and accidentally surprises D having a bath in a stream, whereupon she is so angered that she turns him into a stag, and his hounds tear him to pieces. Not very nice at all. I'm sure the experts are right about the poem's subject, except that it seems more like someone who loves Actaeon watching him go out on that hunt and having an inkling, a premonition even, that he will not return. The violence hasn't occurred yet, but the sense of it already is with the one who loves him. The rhythm, the colours, the assonance, the tapestry-feel of it appeals to me, even if it is sad.




 

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