are all poems married?
this is a pretty long post so if you're looking to get comments done don't read this one
Among the legends of Porlock, there were none more illustrious (and perhaps controversial) than Ee Ee Cummings’ collection of twenty-nine hundred wives. Holding the title of the king, no one could argue that he wasn’t allowed to have twenty-nine hundred wives, but according to societal axioms and common sense, he wasn’t allowed to have twenty-nine hundred wives.
The common folk spoke of his rumored brutality; Cummings’ palace was rumored to have a ruthless dungeon that lodged his harem, with only wooden shelves as makeshift beds. He would rarely let them out in public; despite the massive number, most people had only seen one or two of his wives, which only served to heighten the speculation.
This was a glaring human rights problem Ezrah Pond was determined to fix.
Taking a carriage to Porlock, Ezrah Pond was a fervent advocate of equality and civil rights (although he had never really expressed his views in public before). As a proponent of feminism and democracy, he was opposed to Cummings’ barbarous treatment of his wives. Therefore, he was planning to march straight up to Cummings’ gated iron palace, demand an audience, and rant his way to victory.
Upon going through four hours of bureaucratic hoop-jumping, Pond was extremely fired up and ready to tear Cummings to shreds. He eagerly hopped behind the door to the throne room, and without missing a beat, threw them open once the bell sounded. It turns out there was no need for theatrics; the doors were automatic.
“King Cummings! Have you ever considered that you’re violating every single human rights principle on the planet?!”
The enigmatic Cummings was sitting on his throne, wearing a monocle and a top hat. Without looking, he muttered: “buffalo bill please save me.”
Cummings was clearly ignoring Pond. “I’ll have you know that one hundred years from now, society will look upon you as a blight upon humanity! You simply stink!”
Cummings did not seem to hear anything Pond said.
Pond was incensed. “Just because you hold power over every peasant and their cow doesn’t mean that you can consider everyone to be inferior to you! Treating your wives so cruelly is simply diabolical! Fascist pig! Misogynist scum!”
Cummings simply smirked.
“I know you are, but what am I?”
Pond was stunned: he had no effective rebuttal for Cummings’ counterclaim.
Cummings sighed. “I believe you are mistaken. Please, have a look around, and peruse my collection.”
“You dare refer to your wives as a ‘collection’? What is this, a library? Objectifying people is not helping your cause!” By now, Pond was considering adding a bit of profanity -- no, that would be too vulgar.
Cummings’ face was blank. “They’re just poems.”
Upon further inspection, Ezrah had to admit that his wives were, in fact, simply pieces of parchment, held individually in glass jars around Cummings’ palace.
While Ezrah was reflecting on how awkward this entire experience was, Cummings strolled around the room, selecting a few delicate pieces from his collection of “wives”.
“Here’s one that might calm you down. ‘[in Just-]’ is a pretty sensual poem. Wouldn’t you like to read about the little lame balloonman?” Cummings softly stroked a sheet of paper.
Ezrah Pond wasn’t known for persistence, but Ezrah Pond wasn’t really known for anything. Therefore, Ezrah was determined to actually make a difference, especially since he had spent the last of his retirement fund to get to Porlock.
“This is unjust. It still seems tragic that you keep them here all locked up, instead of sharing them with the public. In a way, this is worse than being in a marriage with twenty nine hundred others: at least poems are meant to be shared, unlike wives!”
Cummings was visibly shaken; it was obvious he had never considered this concept before.
“But I made them.” he whispered. “These poems are married to me.”
Pond smiled. “There’s your problem. Polygamy was never a sustainable concept. Rather, think of your poems like your children: you’re their loving but harsh father, and you can’t wait to see the day when they all get married and live happily ever after.”
Cummings pondered this for a moment, then suddenly turned to Pond. “Wait. This does not make any sense. Who would the poems marry themselves to? Certainly not the nobles, half of them can’t even read. And don’t get me started on the grubby commoners.”
At this point, Pond knew he had achieved something in his miserable, empty life.
“That’s the point. Not every poem has to be married.” He sighed. “Look, I’m sure some of your poems are decent, but some of them are total garbage, and I’m pretty sure some of them are unfinished or trapped in a pair of trousers somewhere. I’ll say it’s not your fault for abandoning them, but it’s pretty much your fault for abandoning them.”
Cummings seemed lost in thought, but Pond wasn’t sure if he was actually thinking or just wasn’t paying attention, so he knew he had to wrap it up soon.
“Some poems are destined to find marriages: masterpieces are beloved by many and treasured by few. Those one-of-a-kind poems are truly special: they constitute the very essence of being human, and there’s always someone out there who really cherishes one and holds it dear. However, there are also orphan poems: ones that have not found a home or a partner to share their experiences with. It’s sad, but not every poem has to be a special one, and I’ll even say that not every poem deserves to be married. It’s all up to their parent and how much effort is put into their upbringing. Out of your twenty-nine hundred poems, you might love each and every one of them and think they deserve a nice future, but not all of them will find happiness. It's a fact you'll have to live with.” Pond was sure that if there was a heaven, he’d make it into the VIP areas.
Cummings looked at him, a newfound enthusiasm blazing in his eyes. “Interesting. I’ll get back to you on that.”
And so, social progress was made.
Among the legends of Porlock, there were none more illustrious (and perhaps controversial) than Ee Ee Cummings’ collection of twenty-nine hundred wives. Holding the title of the king, no one could argue that he wasn’t allowed to have twenty-nine hundred wives, but according to societal axioms and common sense, he wasn’t allowed to have twenty-nine hundred wives.
The common folk spoke of his rumored brutality; Cummings’ palace was rumored to have a ruthless dungeon that lodged his harem, with only wooden shelves as makeshift beds. He would rarely let them out in public; despite the massive number, most people had only seen one or two of his wives, which only served to heighten the speculation.
This was a glaring human rights problem Ezrah Pond was determined to fix.
Taking a carriage to Porlock, Ezrah Pond was a fervent advocate of equality and civil rights (although he had never really expressed his views in public before). As a proponent of feminism and democracy, he was opposed to Cummings’ barbarous treatment of his wives. Therefore, he was planning to march straight up to Cummings’ gated iron palace, demand an audience, and rant his way to victory.
Upon going through four hours of bureaucratic hoop-jumping, Pond was extremely fired up and ready to tear Cummings to shreds. He eagerly hopped behind the door to the throne room, and without missing a beat, threw them open once the bell sounded. It turns out there was no need for theatrics; the doors were automatic.
“King Cummings! Have you ever considered that you’re violating every single human rights principle on the planet?!”
The enigmatic Cummings was sitting on his throne, wearing a monocle and a top hat. Without looking, he muttered: “buffalo bill please save me.”
Cummings was clearly ignoring Pond. “I’ll have you know that one hundred years from now, society will look upon you as a blight upon humanity! You simply stink!”
Cummings did not seem to hear anything Pond said.
Pond was incensed. “Just because you hold power over every peasant and their cow doesn’t mean that you can consider everyone to be inferior to you! Treating your wives so cruelly is simply diabolical! Fascist pig! Misogynist scum!”
Cummings simply smirked.
“I know you are, but what am I?”
Pond was stunned: he had no effective rebuttal for Cummings’ counterclaim.
Cummings sighed. “I believe you are mistaken. Please, have a look around, and peruse my collection.”
“You dare refer to your wives as a ‘collection’? What is this, a library? Objectifying people is not helping your cause!” By now, Pond was considering adding a bit of profanity -- no, that would be too vulgar.
Cummings’ face was blank. “They’re just poems.”
Upon further inspection, Ezrah had to admit that his wives were, in fact, simply pieces of parchment, held individually in glass jars around Cummings’ palace.
While Ezrah was reflecting on how awkward this entire experience was, Cummings strolled around the room, selecting a few delicate pieces from his collection of “wives”.
“Here’s one that might calm you down. ‘[in Just-]’ is a pretty sensual poem. Wouldn’t you like to read about the little lame balloonman?” Cummings softly stroked a sheet of paper.
Ezrah Pond wasn’t known for persistence, but Ezrah Pond wasn’t really known for anything. Therefore, Ezrah was determined to actually make a difference, especially since he had spent the last of his retirement fund to get to Porlock.
“This is unjust. It still seems tragic that you keep them here all locked up, instead of sharing them with the public. In a way, this is worse than being in a marriage with twenty nine hundred others: at least poems are meant to be shared, unlike wives!”
Cummings was visibly shaken; it was obvious he had never considered this concept before.
“But I made them.” he whispered. “These poems are married to me.”
Pond smiled. “There’s your problem. Polygamy was never a sustainable concept. Rather, think of your poems like your children: you’re their loving but harsh father, and you can’t wait to see the day when they all get married and live happily ever after.”
Cummings pondered this for a moment, then suddenly turned to Pond. “Wait. This does not make any sense. Who would the poems marry themselves to? Certainly not the nobles, half of them can’t even read. And don’t get me started on the grubby commoners.”
At this point, Pond knew he had achieved something in his miserable, empty life.
“That’s the point. Not every poem has to be married.” He sighed. “Look, I’m sure some of your poems are decent, but some of them are total garbage, and I’m pretty sure some of them are unfinished or trapped in a pair of trousers somewhere. I’ll say it’s not your fault for abandoning them, but it’s pretty much your fault for abandoning them.”
Cummings seemed lost in thought, but Pond wasn’t sure if he was actually thinking or just wasn’t paying attention, so he knew he had to wrap it up soon.
“Some poems are destined to find marriages: masterpieces are beloved by many and treasured by few. Those one-of-a-kind poems are truly special: they constitute the very essence of being human, and there’s always someone out there who really cherishes one and holds it dear. However, there are also orphan poems: ones that have not found a home or a partner to share their experiences with. It’s sad, but not every poem has to be a special one, and I’ll even say that not every poem deserves to be married. It’s all up to their parent and how much effort is put into their upbringing. Out of your twenty-nine hundred poems, you might love each and every one of them and think they deserve a nice future, but not all of them will find happiness. It's a fact you'll have to live with.” Pond was sure that if there was a heaven, he’d make it into the VIP areas.
Cummings looked at him, a newfound enthusiasm blazing in his eyes. “Interesting. I’ll get back to you on that.”
And so, social progress was made.
-robert
I loved the plot twist where the wives were actually poems! This is a really creative post! I am a fan of the line "Ezrah Pond wasn’t known for persistence, but Ezrah Pond wasn’t really known for anything." It's interesting how you made Ezrah Pond "woke" and modern, is it because he is a modernist? Your conclusion wraps up the story well by leaving Cummings pondering something, and Pond sort of achieving his goal. This is a really creative post!
ReplyDeleteVery engaging and inventive story, Robert. I like that one of the morals of this story is that some poems are more worthy of love and devotion than others, and that that's OK. It's also funny that Pound is a crusader for human rights and calls Cummings a "fascist pig," flipping the historical script. It was considerate of you to give a heads-up about your post's length.
ReplyDeleteLike Tori said, the "twist" was good. It's impressive that you made a thoughtful comment on the final state of poems while keeping the story consistently funny. The line "Pond was sure that if there was a heaven, he'd make it into the VIP areas" after his answer to the problem prevented the story from getting too heavy without diminishing the point. An interesting solution!
ReplyDeleteWOW this post was really creative and interesting. The story is really intricate and I love the twist as others have said before me. I think the whole thing is really impressive and I like how the end really ties your points together.
ReplyDeleteThank you for the warning at the top, somehow that only intrigued me to read your post more though. Great job overall, you kept me engaged throughout with dynamic dialogue and progressions. As others have said, the twist at the end was unexpected but awesome, and I thought it did well to finish your story in a cohesive manner.
ReplyDeleteThe ending is amazing. I love how the story all comes together in the end. Never would I have thought that you would answer this problems blog like this. “And so, social progress was made”. I love that. Very nice bobert!
ReplyDeleteThis was a very fun story to read! I love how you chose to name the defender of women's rights Ezrah Pond, a name so close to Ezra Pound, but made him have such a different beliefs from his namesake. I also like how you blended childcare advice with humor in your conclusion ("Out of your twenty-nine hundred poems, you might love each and every one of them and think they deserve a nice future, but not all of them will find happiness. It's a fact you'll have to live with.” Pond was sure that if there was a heaven, he’d make it into the VIP areas. ").
ReplyDelete