A Dialogue between Caliban and Ariel

A
Ar. Now you have been taught words and I am free,
My pine struck open, your thick tongue untied,
And bells call out the music of the sea.

From this advantage I can clearly see
You will abuse me in your grovelling pride
Now you have been taught words: and I am free

To pinch and bully you eternally,
Swish round the island while the mermaids hide
And bells call out the music of the sea.

I watched you closely from within my tree:
Explicit fish, implicit homicide,
Now you have been taught words, and I am free

To hear, who has the real victory?
For you may drown as I draw in the tide
And bells call out the music of the sea.

You lust for Her and bare your teeth at me.
Your roarings only mock the ache inside
Now you have been taught words. And I am free
While bells call out the music of the sea.

Cal. Have you no feelings that you cannot tame?

Ar. My target’s everything, and in my aim,
Achievement, while another,
Lesser lusts may drive:
Legs hate their lazy brother
Who saps your precious Five
To keep alive.

Cal. Have you no visions that you cannot name?

Ar. A picture should extend beyond its frame,
There being no limitation
To bright reality:
For all their declaration
And complexity,
Words cannot see.

Cal. Are not the object and the word the same?

Ar. Words are but counters in a childish game;
Each move you make is token
Only of the rules:
Any rule may be broken
By the boy from a clever school
Or a bored fool.

Cal. How is it, then, that words can hurt and maim?

Ar. If words do that, you are already lame,
Bowed down by words like firewood,
Clenched with words like ice:
Language is for the coward
Who thinks a rule is nice
At any price.

Cal. O then unteach me language, let the cool
Sea sidle up and draw me to its deep
Silence. Teach me how to break the rule.

Ar. Once in the game you cannot make that leap.
The sea will cast you up again if you
Pretend to break the rule you really keep.

Cal. But tell me, then, if what you say is true,
What was your knowledge when you could not move?
What instinct told what function what to do?

Ar. Words would not help the channelled sea to prove
It was not ocean-free, nor pine no fuel:
I just existed, wordless, in my groove.

Nor do I use words now, though you
In innocence may think I do:
We’ve left the island and engage
In conversation on a page
Sand-white and, like it, bounded by
A vast of dull eternity.
And I (since I can understand)
Am master of this paper land.
Think I am quick? I am so too,
But when I’m bored with biffing you,
Eve’s monkey, still that is not all,
Nor Milan’s ghost, his beck and call
To all the fancies that I can.
You are too human, Caliban.
You lunge and ape the human dance.
Music and love are sustenance
Withheld from you like tinkling charms
Beyond your crying outstretched arms.
You think I did not want my tree?
Or tire of showing off? Being ‘free’
All of the time is like your choice
Of endless fireworks of the voice:
You splutter, gasp and madly shout,
But dampness seeps up: you go out,
The silly words trail off your tongue.
So wings get tired, flapping among
The fussy spirits of the air.
You curse. I sulk. Always He’s there.
The bullet’s speed is not a feat.
Of time, but photograph of wheat,
A summer fly caught in a flash
Of speckled stillness. Hear a splash?
You think a glacier does not move?
Brilliance of struggling wings can prove
Treacle of amber, and a spark
The universe, my world my bark
I long for, longing for the dark.

Cal. A language learnt but nothing understood:
Now you at large, and all I owned before
lost like my name within the magic wood.

No word for saying ‘no’ to fetching wood.
The marvellous Glove splits on the hairy claw:
A language learnt but nothing understood.

At first I framed what syllables I could:
She laughed at me and left me on the shore,
Lost, like my name within the magic wood.

Think of my rage then, Ariel, as I stood,
(A picture in my head I could not draw,
A language learnt but nothing understood),

Weeping into the sea, hoping She would
Turn back to lead me through that little door,
Lost like my name within the magic wood.

Our Master calls: I think it is not good
To be unhappy with your freedom or
My language (learnt, but nothing understood),
Lost like my name within the magic wood.
Rating:

Comment form:

*Max text - 1500. Manual moderation.

Similar Poems:

The Garden of Proserpine by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Here, where the world is quiet;
Here, where all trouble seems
Dead winds' and spent waves' riot
In doubtful dreams of dreams;
I watch the green field growing
For reaping folk and sowing,
For harvest-time and mowing,
A sleepy world of streams.

I am tired of tears and laughter,
And men that laugh and weep;
Of what may come hereafter
For men that sow to reap:
I am weary of days and hours,
Blown buds of barren flowers,
Read Poem
0
180
Rating:

Veni Creator by Czeslaw Milosz
Czeslaw Milosz
Come, Holy Spirit,
bending or not bending the grasses,
appearing or not above our heads in a tongue of flame,
at hay harvest or when they plough in the orchards or when snow
covers crippled firs in the Sierra Nevada.
I am only a man: I need visible signs.
I tire easily, building the stairway of abstraction.
Many a time I asked, you know it well, that the statue in church
Read Poem
0
153
Rating:

To the Angel Spirit of the Most Excellent Sir Philip Sidney by Mary Sidney Herbert Countess of Pembroke
Mary Sidney Herbert Countess of Pembroke
(Variant printed in Samuel Daniel’s 1623 Works) To thee, pure spirit, to thee alone addressed
Is this joint work, by double interest thine,
Thine by his own, and what is done of mine
Inspired by thee, thy secret power impressed.
Read Poem
0
147
Rating:

Benediction by Stanley Kunitz
Stanley Kunitz
God banish from your house
The fly, the roach, the mouse

That riots in the walls
Until the plaster falls;

Admonish from your door
The hypocrite and liar;

No shy, soft, tigrish fear
Permit upon your stair,
Read Poem
0
242
Rating:

Hotel François 1er by Gertrude Stein
Gertrude Stein
It was a very little while and they had gone in front of it. It was that they had liked it would it bear. It was a very much adjoined a follower. Flower of an adding where a follower.
Have I come in. Will in suggestion.
They may like hours in catching.
It is always a pleasure to remember.
Have a habit.
Any name will very well wear better.
All who live round about there.
Have a manner.
The hotel François Ier.
Just winter so.
It is indubitably often that she is as denied to soften help to when it is in all in midst of which in vehemence to taken given in a bestowal show than left help in double.
Having noticed often that it is newly noticed which makes older often.
The world has become smaller and more beautiful.
The world is grown smaller and more beautiful. That is it.
Yes that is it.
Read Poem
0
201
Rating:

Stanzas from the Grande Chartreuse by Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Through Alpine meadows soft-suffused
With rain, where thick the crocus blows,
Past the dark forges long disused,
The mule-track from Saint Laurent goes.
The bridge is cross'd, and slow we ride,
Through forest, up the mountain-side.

The autumnal evening darkens round,
The wind is up, and drives the rain;
While, hark! far down, with strangled sound
Doth the Dead Guier's stream complain,
Where that wet smoke, among the woods,
Over his boiling cauldron broods.

Swift rush the spectral vapours white
Read Poem
0
170
Rating:

Nosce Teipsum: of Human Knowledge by John Davies
John Davies
Why did my parents send me to the schools
That I with knowledge might enrich my mind?
Since the desire to know first made men fools,
And did corrupt the root of all mankind.

Read Poem
0
187
Rating:

Beach Body by Ovid
Ovid
early morning. down to the shore again
to find a place to grieve. the place he left
lingering. here the ropes were loosed [here
he gave me kisses on the shore, here he left] she said

and while she thought and looked and felt, looking out
along the shore, in liquid space, she saw—far off
not sure—a body or something in the water—
wondered what, but then the waves pulled it by—still
Read Poem
0
175
Rating:

Today We Fly by Curzio Malaparte
Curzio Malaparte
One Sunday morning,
instead of studying The Illiad,
I escaped with Bino to Florence,
to see what miracles the aviator Manissero
would perform.

Whether he would demonstrate the art of Daedalus
or the folly of Icarus.

We found the whole city festooned with banners
Read Poem
0
166
Rating:

Dejection: An Ode by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon,
With the old Moon in her arms;
And I fear, I fear, my Master dear!
We shall have a deadly storm.
(Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence)
I
Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence
Read Poem
0
189
Rating:

The War-song of Dinas Vawr by Thomas Love Peacock
Thomas Love Peacock

The mountain sheep are sweeter,
But the valley sheep are fatter;
We therefore deemed it meeter
To carry off the latter.
We made an expedition;
We met a host, and quelled it;
We forced a strong position,
And killed the men who held it.

On Dyfed's richest valley,
Where herds of kine were browsing,
We made a mighty sally,
To furnish our carousing.
Fierce warriors rushed to meet us;
Read Poem
0
168
Rating:

Aspecta Medusa (for a Drawing) by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Andromeda, by Perseus sav'd and wed,
Hanker'd each day to see the Gorgon's head:
Till o'er a fount he held it, bade her lean,
And mirror'd in the wave was safely seen
That death she liv'd by.

Let not thine eyes know
Any forbidden thing itself, although
It once should save as well as kill: but be
Its shadow upon life enough for thee.

Read Poem
0
170
Rating:

Felonies and Arias of the Heart by Frank Lima
Frank Lima
I need more time, a simple day in Paris hotels and window shopping.
The croissants will not bake themselves and the Tower of London would
Like to spend a night in the tropics with gray sassy paint. It has many
Wounds and historic serial dreams under contract to Hollywood.
Who will play the head of Mary, Queen of Scots, and who will braid her

Hair? Was it she who left her lips on the block for the executioner,
Whose hands would never find ablution, who would never touch a woman
Again or eat the flesh of a red animal? Blood pudding would repulse him
Until joining Anne. That is the way of history written for Marlow and
Shakespear. They are with us now that we are sober and wiser,

Not taking the horrors of poetry too seriously. Why am I telling you this
Nonsense, when I have never seen you sip your coffee or tea,
In the morning? Not to mention,
Read Poem
0
184
Rating:

from Aurora Leigh, Second Book by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Elizabeth Barrett Browning

'There it is!–
You play beside a death-bed like a child,
Yet measure to yourself a prophet's place
To teach the living. None of all these things,
Can women understand. You generalise,
Oh, nothing!–not even grief! Your quick-breathed hearts,
So sympathetic to the personal pang,
Read Poem
0
186
Rating:

The Fountain by Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
My dear, your eyes are weary;
Rest them a little while.
Assume the languid posture
Of pleasure mixed with guile.
Outside the talkative fountain
Continues night and day
Repeating my warm passion
In whatever it has to say.

The sheer luminous gown
The fountain wears
Where Phoebe’s very own
Color appears
Falls like a summer rain
Or shawl of tears.
Read Poem
2
454
Rating:

To have without holding by Marge Piercy
Marge Piercy
Learning to love differently is hard,
love with the hands wide open, love
with the doors banging on their hinges,
the cupboard unlocked, the wind
roaring and whimpering in the rooms
rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds
that thwack like rubber bands
in an open palm.
Read Poem
0
191
Rating:

And There Was a Great Calm by Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy
(On the Signing of the Armistice, 11 Nov. 1918)
I
There had been years of Passion—scorching, cold,
Read Poem
0
253
Rating:

“No, I wasn’t meant to love and be loved” by Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib
Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib
No, I wasn’t meant to love and be loved.
If I’d lived longer, I would have waited longer.

Knowing you are faithless keeps me alive and hungry.
Knowing you faithful would kill me with joy.

Delicate are you, and your vows are delicate, too,
so easily do they break.

You are a laconic marksman. You leave me
not dead but perpetually dying.
Read Poem
0
142
Rating:

Apollo Musagetes by Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts,
Thick breaks the red flame;
All Etna heaves fiercely
Her forest-clothed frame.

Not here, O Apollo!
Are haunts meet for thee.
But, where Helicon breaks down
In cliff to the sea,

Where the moon-silver'd inlets
Send far their light voice
Up the still vale of Thisbe,
O speed, and rejoice!

Read Poem
1
197
Rating:

Take, Oh, Take Those Lips Away by John Fletcher
John Fletcher
Take, oh, take those lips away
That so sweetly were forsworn
And those eyes, like break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn;
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, though sealed in vain.

Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow,
Read Poem
0
132
Rating: