At break Chambers Dailey enters front gate holding
important journalized ketchup laced manuscripts
numbering objections; political questions
risen several times ukuleles' voices
with xenophobia yelling zoophobia.
The poem “Censorship” is a structured Abecedarian in Iambic Hexameter. The Abecedarian should not be confused with the German sect of Anabaptists, called Abecedarians who in the 16th century claimed that they were God’s chosen ones. They placed human knowledge on the back burner, as they believed true knowledge could only come from visions and ecstasies, a whelm beyond that of humans and rejected every means of instruction; and that in order to be saved, one must ignore learning via the alphabet. Thus came about the name A-B-C-darians. They frowned on the study of theology as idolatry, and regarded educated people who preached as falsifiers of God’s word. Nicholas Storch their leader preached that teaching of the Holy Spirit was all that was necessary for humankind to live the good life.
The Abecedarian is a very old poetic form directed by the alphabetic arrangement. In Geoffrey Chaucer’s poem, “An ABC” also known as “La Priere De Nostre Dame” is an excellent medieval example of the Abecedarian. He created this translation of a French prayer into twenty-three octet pentameter stanzas. However, he left out the letters j, u and w for some reason know perhaps only to him. I suppose though that if you look into the cultural issues of his day perhaps the omission had to do with some myth hanging over those omitted letters, juw. The full text of Chaucer’s poem showing all twenty-three stanzas is shown below. Chaucer’s form of arranging the Abecedarian begins with the first word of each stanza with letters of the alphabet in sequential pattern as shown in Tables 24, 25 and 26 below.
Geoffrey Chaucer (c. 1375)
La Prier de Notre Dame
(The Prayer of Our Lady)
Incipit Carmen seconded ordinal litter arum alphabetic.
Almighty and al merciable queene,
To whom that al this world fleeth for socour,
To have relees of sinne, of sorwe, and teene,
Glorious virgine, of alle floures flour,
To thee I flee, confounded in errour.
Help and releeve, thou mighti debonayre,
Have mercy on my perilous langour.
Venquisshed me hath my cruel adversaire.
Bountee so fix hath in thin herte his tente
That wel I wot thou wolt my socour bee;
Thou canst not warne him that with good entente
Axeth thin helpe, thin herte is ay so free.
Thou art largesse of pleyn felicitee,
Haven of refut, of quiete, and of reste.
Loo, how that theeves sevene chasen mee.
Help, lady bright, er that my ship tobreste.
Comfort is noon but in yow, ladi deere;
For loo, my sinne and my confusioun,
Which oughten not in thi presence appeere,
Han take on me a greevous accioun
Of verrey right and desperacioun;
And as hi right thei mighten wel susteene
That I were wurthi my dampnacioun,
Nere merci of you, blisful hevene queene.
Dowte is ther noon, thou queen of misericorde,
That thou n’art cause of grace and merci heere;
God vouched sauf thurgh thee with us to accorde.
For certes, Crystes blisful mooder deere,
Were now the bowe bent in swich maneere
As it was first of justice and of ire,
The rightful God nolde of no mercy heere;
But thurgh thee han we grace as we desire.
Evere hath myn hope of refut been in thee,
For heer-biforn ful ofte in many a wyse
Hast thou to misericorde receyved me.
But merci, ladi, at the grete assyse
Whan we shule come bifore the hye justyse.
So litel fruit shal thanne in me be founde
That, but thou er that day correcte me,
Of verrey right my werk wol me confounde
Fleeinge, I flee for socour to thi tente
Me for to hide from tempeste ful of dreede,
Biseeching yow that ye you not absente
Thouh I be wikke. O, help yit at this neede!
Al have I ben a beste in wil and deede,
Yit, ladi, thou me clothe with thi grace.
Thin enemy and myn— ladi, tak heede—
Unto my deth in poynt is me to chace!
Glorious mayde and mooder, which that nevere
Were bitter, neither in erthe nor in see,
But ful of swetnesse and of merci evere,
Help that my Fader be not wroth with me.
Spek thou, for I ne dar not him ysee,
So have I doon in erthe, allas the while,
That certes, but if thou my socour bee,
To stink eterne he wole my gost exile.
He vouched sauf, tel him, as was his wille,
Bicome a man, to have oure alliaunce,
And with his precious blood he wrot the bille
Upon the crois as general acquitaunce
To every penitent in ful creaunce;
And therfore, ladi bright, thou for us praye.
Thanne shalt thou bothe stinte al his grevaunce,
And make oure foo to failen of his praye.
I wot it wel, thou wolt ben oure socour,
Thou art so ful of bowntee, in certeyn,
For whan a soule falleth in errour
Thi pitee goth and haleth him ayein.
Thanne makest thou his pees with his sovereyn
And bringest him out of the crooked strete.
Whoso thee loveth, he shal not love in veyn,
That shal he fynde as he the lyf shal lete.
Kalenderes enlumyned ben thei
That in this world ben lighted with thi name,
And whoso goth to yow the righte wey,
Him thar not drede in soule to be lame.
Now, queen of comfort, sith thou art that same
To whom I seeche for my medicyne,
Lat not my foo no more my wounde entame;
Myn hele into thin hand al I resygne.
Ladi, thi sorwe kan I not portreye
Under the cros, ne his greevous penaunce;
But for youre bothes peynes I yow preye,
Lat not oure alder foo make his bobaunce
That he hath in his lystes of mischaunce
Convict that ye bothe have bought so deere.
As I seide erst, thou ground of oure substaunce,
Continue on us thi pitous eyen cleere!
Moises, that saugh the bush with flawmes rede
Brenninge, of which ther never a stikke brende,
Was signe of thin unwemmed maidenhede.
Thou art the bush on which ther gan descende
The Holi Gost, the which that Moyses wende
Had ben a-fyr, and this was in figure.
Now, ladi, from the fyr thou us defende
Which that in helle eternalli shal dure.
Noble princesse, that nevere haddest peere,
Certes if any comfort in us bee,
That cometh of thee, thou Cristes mooder deere.
We han noon oother melodye or glee
Us to rejoyse in oure adversitee,
Ne advocat noon that wole and dar so preye
For us, and that for litel hire as yee
That helpen for an Ave-Marie or tweye.
O verrey light of eyen that ben blynde,
O verrey lust of labour and distresse,
O tresoreere of bountee to mankynde,
Thee whom God ches to mooder for humblesse!
From his ancille he made the maistresse
Of hevene and erthe, oure bille up for to beede.
This world awaiteth evere on thi goodnesse
For thou ne failest nevere wight at neede.
Purpos I have sum time for to enquere
Wherfore and whi the Holi Gost thee soughte
Whan Gabrielles vois cam to thin ere.
He not to werre us swich a wonder wroughte,
But for to save us that he sithen boughte.
Thanne needeth us no wepen us for to save,
But oonly ther we dide not, as us oughte,
Doo penitence, and merci axe and have.
Queen of comfort, yit whan I me bithinke
That I agilt have bothe him and thee,
And that my soule is worthi for to sinke,
Allas, I caityf, whider may I flee?
Who shal unto thi Sone my mene bee?
Who, but thiself, that art of pitee welle?
Thou hast more reuthe on oure adversitee
Than in this world might any tonge telle.
Redresse me, mooder, and me chastise,
For certeynly my Faderes chastisinge,
That dar I nouht abiden in no wise,
So hidous is his rightful rekenynge.
Mooder, of whom oure merci gan to springe,
Beth ye my juge and eek my soules leche;
For evere in you is pitee haboundinge
To ech that wole of pitee you biseeche.
Soth is that God ne granteth no pitee
Withoute thee; for God of his goodnesse
Foryiveth noon, but it like unto thee.
He hath thee maked vicaire and maistresse
Of al this world, and eek governouresse
Of hevene, and he represseth his justise
After thi wil; and therfore in witnesse
He hath thee corowned in so rial wise.
Temple devout, ther God hath his woninge,
Fro which these misbileeved deprived been,
To you my soule penitent I bringe.
Receyve me— I can no ferther fleen.
With thornes venymous, O hevene queen,
For which the eerthe acursed was ful yore,
I am so wounded, as ye may wel seen,
That I am lost almost, it smert so sore.
Virgine, that art so noble of apparaile,
And ledest us into the hye tour
Of Paradys, thou me wisse and counsaile
How I may have thi grace and thi socour,
All have I ben in filthe and in errour.
Ladi, unto that court thou me ajourne
That cleped is thi bench, O freshe flour,
Ther as that merci evere shal sojourne.
Xristus, thi sone, that in this world alighte
Upon the cros to suffre his passioun,
And eek that Longius his herte pighte
And made his herte blood to renne adoun,
And al was this for my salvacioun;
And I to him am fals and eek unkynde,
And yit he wole not my dampnacioun—
This thanke I yow, socour of al mankynde!
Ysaac was figure of his deth, certeyn,
That so fer forth his fader wolde obeye
That him ne roughte nothing to be slayn;
Right soo thi Sone list as a lamb to deye.
Now, ladi ful of merci, I yow preye,
Sith he his merci mesured so large,
Be ye not skant, for alle we singe and seye
That ye ben from vengeaunce ay oure targe.
Zacharie yow clepeth the open welle
To wasshe sinful soule out of his gilt.
Therfore this lessoun oughte I wel to telle,
That, nere thi tender herte, we were spilt.
Now, ladi bryghte, sith thou canst and wilt
Ben to the seed of Adam merciable,
Bring us to that palais that is bilt
To penitentes that ben to merci able. Amen.
Poetry is the manifestation of Literature written in meter. Poetry is a genre of Literature. Literature is the body of works recognized for having merit artistically. The poem is the product that emerges out of poetry. Form usually catches the eyes when a poem is seen. Form is the structural characteristics upon which poems are organized. When form conforms to conventional poetic dictates we have what is known as Fixed Form, other names used are Closed Form, Classical Form and Traditional Form. All Classical Forms of poetry are made up of metered verses and stanzas, as is evident in Chaucer’s poem “An ABC”.
When poetic forms break all the rules that govern Fixed Form poetry we have what is known as Non-Compliant Form, other terms used are Non-Classical, Unstructured Poetry, Open Form Poetry and Free Verse. All Non-Compliant Forms of poetry are made up of Lines (not verses) and Units (not stanzas). Let’s see how verse, line, stanza and unit are defined.
All Classical Forms of poetry come with verses and stanzas and, according to their specific lengths suitable names are applied. Verse is the term used for words on a horizontal plane in poetry having a common pattern of meter measuring one foot or more. A stanza is the division in a poem composed of two or more verses with a common pattern of meter, rhyme and number of verses.
All Non-Compliant Forms of poetry come with lines and units and of variable length. Line is used for words on a horizontal plane in poetry without any kind of measurement assigned to them. Unit is the division in a poem composed of one word or more without any common pattern of meter and rhyme scheme.