Political Poetry

There is much to read about kingship in Shakespeare; there is also much poetry. In fact, there are two Shakespearean plays written entirely in poetry, and both deal with kingship: This is one (John of Gaunt's words here, in lines 42-51, are especially poignant), and there is another king who received the same treatment elsewhere (bonus question: who is it?).

But the issue of kingship is always one of power, even in lands without kings; the Israelites clamoured for a king and got one, despite warnings as to the meaning and power of such a symbol. One can sense the burning laughter of God at the end of that chapter.

And that brings us to the idea of political poetry - poetry written for the express purpose of saying something about a country, a state, a political entity; often, to infuse or extol qualities in it - sometimes, the reverse. How much of poetry is political in nature? How much of it was successful?

For those of you who haven't seen a merlion, or who haven't read this before, here is the poem which is said to be the 'seminal poem on nation-building'. You be the judge.

ULYSSES BY THE MERLION

(for Maurice Baker)

I have sailed many waters,
Skirted islands of fire,
Contended with Circe
Who loved the squeal of pigs;
Passed Scylla and Charybdis
To seven years with Calypso,
Heaved in battle against the gods.
Beneath it all
I kept faith with Ithaca, travelled,
Travelled and travelled,
Suffering much, enjoying a little;
Met strange people singing
New myths; made myths myself.

But this lion of the sea
Salt-maned, scaly, wondrous of tail,
Touched with power, insistent
On this brief promontory...
Puzzles.

Nothing, nothing in my days
Foreshadowed this
Half-beast, half-fish,
This powerful creature of land and sea.

Peoples settled here,
Brought to this island
The bounty of these seas,
Built towers topless as Ilium's.

They make, they serve,
They buy, they sell.

Despite unequal ways,
Together they mutate,
Explore the edges of harmony,
Search for a centre;
Have changed their gods,
Kept some memory of their race
In prayer, laughter, the way
Their women dress and greet.
They hold the bright, the beautiful,
Good ancestral dreams
Within new visions,
So shining, urgent,
Full of what is now.

Perhaps having dealt in things,
Surfeited on them,
Their spirits yearn again for images,
Adding to the dragon, phoenix,
Garuda, naga those horses of the sun,
This lion of the sea,
This image of themselves.

Edwin Thumboo