S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
S
|
A
snake came to my water-trough
On
a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
To
drink there.
In
the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob tree
I
came down the steps with my pitcher
And
must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough before me.
7
He
reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
And
trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of
the stone trough*
And
rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
And
where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He
sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly
drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.
Someone
was before me at my water-trough,
And
I, like a second-comer, waiting.
16
He
lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,
And
looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,
And
flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused a moment,
And
stooped and drank a little more,
Being
earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels of the earth
On
the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.
22
The
voice of my education said to me
He
must be killed,
For
in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous.
And
voices in me said, If you were a man
You
would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.
But
must I confess how I liked him,
How
glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water-trough
And
depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,
Into
the burning bowels of this earth?
32
Was
it cowardice, that I dared not kill him?
Was
it perversity, that I longed to talk to him?
Was
it humility, to feel so honoured?
I
felt so honoured.
And
yet those voices:
If
you were not afraid, you would kill him!
And
truly I was afraid, I was most afraid,
But
even so, honoured still more
That
he should seek my hospitality
From
out the dark door of the secret earth.
41
He
drank enough
And
lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,
And
flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,
Seeming
to lick his lips,
And
looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,
And
slowly turned his head,
And
slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,
Proceeded
to draw his slow length curving round
And
climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.
50
And
as he put his head into that dreadful hole,
And
as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders, and entered farther,
A
sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into that horrid
black hole,
Deliberately
going into the blackness, and slowly drawing himself after,
Overcame
me now his back was turned.
I
looked round, I put down my pitcher,
I
picked up a clumsy log
And
threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.
58
I
think it did not hit him,
But
suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed in undignified
haste,
Writhed
like lightning, and was gone
Into
the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,
At
which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.
And
immediately I regretted it.
I
thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!
I
despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.
66
And
I thought of the albatross,
And
I wished he would come back, my snake.
For
he seemed to me again like a king,
Like
a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
Now
due to be crowned again.
71
And
so, I missed my chance with one of the lords
Of
life.
And
I have something to expiate:
A
pettiness.
--D.H.
Lawrence
From:
Birds,
Beasts and Flowers
*
Note
on Line-Breaks: This line may word-wrap with a screen resolution of 640
X 480 causing "trough" to appear on a separate line. It should be a continuation
of the previous line.
Commentary:
Snake
is one of Lawrence's most famous poems. In the poetry collection Birds,
Beasts and Flowers, he gives brief category introductions. Under "Reptiles"
he writes:
"Homer
was wrong in saying, 'Would that strife might pass away from among gods
and men!' He did not see that he was praying for the destruction of the
universe; for, if his prayer were heard, all things would pass away--for
in the tension of opposites all things have their being--"
(p.
348/Complete Poems/Penguin, 1993)
Lawrence
is set in opposition to the snake in the above poem. They are having a
face-off at the water-trough. There is also tension represented in Lawrence's
divided feelings about the snake. He is both honored by the snake's presence
and horrified. Even his actions are dialectic. He humbly waits for the
snake to finish its drink and then aggressively throws a log at it in disrespect.
The
snake, itself, is the ultimate symbol of the "tension of opposites." It
is a king of the underworld and a lord of life. Snakes are a symbol of
Mother Earth's female power, enlightenment, and wisdom. It comes
out as through "from the
burning bowels of the earth / On
the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking."
Lawrence is imagining that the snake is descended from the mythological
serpent Typhon. Here is the myth of the volcano Mt. Aetna and Typhon:
Typhon
was born from Gaia (Mother Earth) and Tartarus. This
was Gaia's youngest offspring, but by far the deadliest and the largest
monster ever conceived. Its thighs were gigantic coiled serpents; its arms
could spread across the heavens, and its head (in the shape of an ass's
head) touched the stars. When it took flight, its wings blotted out the
sun, and when it opened its mouth, out came burning boulders. Typhon was
so frightful even the gods of Olympus refused to fight, fleeing instead
to Egypt when Typhon attacked their mountain home. Each god disguised itself
into an animal: Zeus transformed himself into a ram, Dionysus a goat, and
so on. Aphrodite and Eros both disguised themselves as fish and swam up
the Nile to escape the monster. Typhon was eventually defeated, due in
large part to the brave and level-headed Athene, who convinced Zeus to
take up his thunderbolts and make battle. Typhon actually captured Zeus
and placed him in a cave, but Hermes and Pan were able to free him. To
make a long story short, Zeus then took the battle to Typhon, chasing him
to Sicily. There Zeus threw Mount Aetna at the monster, finally subduing
it. But under the earth, the buried monster still spews up fire and boulders
every so often. The ancient inhabitants used this myth to explain the activity
of the volcano.
Snakes
are associated with the mysteries of life, hence the snake in medical insignias.
And yet it's also a "golden" venomous snake, an evil thing, a serpent in
the Garden of Eden.
A
snake sheds its skin and is reborn anew, just as Lawrence has shed his
formal dress and confronts the snake in his pajamas. If only they could
have held onto that "undressed or naked" wonder of two creatures meeting.
But, alas, education and social conventions overruled--poisonous snakes
must be killed and brave men should undertake the task. For the briefest
moment Lawrence lacked the faith of his own intuition, and thus missed
his chance "with one of the lords/Of Life."
Through
this poem, Lawrence has illustrated his point about strife and the clash
of opposites. The snake slithering away, "convulsed in undignified haste,"
and Lawrence standing in pajamas, rather ridiculous, with his empty water
jug in hand--they both "have their being" and are made very real for us.
The snake is first on the scene and the first to leave--regal and lordly
throughout. Lawrence wonders why "petty" mankind always tries to rob the
dignity from all Godly creatures.
--T.
Ferris
"Gates"
By
Randy "Tarkas" Hoar
|