Sweet and sincere; apropos for the good lady @hushabyevalleyâ whose art inspired it, I should hope.
Hereâs the usual note that accompanies most of my poetry, and I must apologise: itâs long and while I would be overjoyed if one were to read it, I do realise itâs not particularly interesting. Nonetheless, I would like to explain the hows and whys of a dedicatory poem, so if you want to understand all the allusions of the poem, please read the bit up till the second line of â===âs. Under those will be a more technical look into the workings of the poem. If you happen to stick with me from start to finish, then you have my sincerest thanks :)
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So, the poem begins with an invocation to Hushabye, the eponymous lady of both the fantastical valley and the castle that is situated therein. Please visit the good lady here or here.
Now, world-building is a fundamental aspect of high fantasy and science-fiction, and the world of Hushabye Valley is, at least to me, one that is suffused with romance, timelessness, fantasy, and quiet pathos,â something which I find in all three of the good ladyâs âtalesâ: Hushabye Valley (fantasy), Calabi Yau Forest (fantasy), and Ada (sci-fi, but otherwise suffused with the same charm as the others). While the combination is becoming far more popular these days, high fantasy and slice-of-life are not related genres traditionally, as high fantasy is predominantly preoccupied with grand narratives and quests (think C. S. Lewis or J. R. R. Tolkein) while slice-of-life is focused on the memorable moments of everyday life. I find the good lady makes them work wonderfully well, hence the rather odd turn of phrase in âcomplete with beauty, mild and grandâ. âMild and grandâ are not cognate ideas, but by placing them both as interlinked qualities of a singular âbeautyâ, it (hopefully) suggests the all-encompassing nature of the splendours that Hushabye portrays in the valley.
Puns and allusions are important in an ode of this kind: in a celebratory poem, it should be evident to the addressee exactly what it is that they have done or created that has garnered said praise. In equal measure, if one is sincere about oneâs praise or admiration, oneâs writing should show a certain amount of knowledge and love of that which is spoken. Some of these are, admittedly rather straightforward, such as âmistyâ, which alludes to the good ladyâs tumblr ask: âThrow a question into the mistâ; âa face of marbleâ, to the rather adorable groundskeeper and main character of Hushabye Valley, Marble; and âthe archways of a bygone yearâ, to the banner of Hushabye Valleyâs Patreon page. The last one is a little tenuous, if I had to be honest, as the emphasis in the banner is on the four plinths that flank Marble, but I felt âarchwaysâ scanned better poetically than âplinthâ. If I had to use âplinthâ instead, Iâd have rewritten the line as a hexameter one thus:
âBetween the plinths engraved with words long worn away;â
âQueerâ is another word I chose due to its double meaning, due to both its more traditional sense of strange or unusual,â and thus apropos to describe the faerie aspect of Hushabyeâs âtales,â as well as the presence of yuri/girlsâ love therein. I do realise that queer is a complicated word today, but I hope the phrase âlove sincereâ dispels any doubts regarding which side of the fence my sympathies sit regarding the matter.
The word âartâ ties into the idea of magic and fantasy as magic, like alchemy, was considered a branch of learning historically, and thus described in the same way we would talk about liberal arts. Of course, Hushabye herself is an accomplished artist of the visual kind, making this another fairly straightforward piece of wordplay. âEnfold me in your artâ is just something that I ask of good narratives: I like being immersed in something if I sincerely enjoy it. This ties into the last line and my word choice therein.
Castle Hushabye is âa fonder homeâ to the speaker of the poem, and itâs important to note the use of âfonderâ quite specifically. âFonderâ is a comparative adjective, and when considered alongside the context of the speaker, who is evidently a traveller, it suggests that home or haven offered by Hushabye is a place that the speaker finder more loving (not merely lovely) than wherever the speaker originated from. Considering the state of the world today, I would happily escape into the good ladyâs worlds and narratives and stay there.
While reading, I am reminded of one of Tennysonâs lyric interludes from The Princess:
The splendour falls on castle walls
        And snowy summits old in story:
    The long light shakes across the lakes,
        And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
    O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
        And thinner, clearer, farther going!
    O sweet and far from cliff and scar
        The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
    O love, they die in yon rich sky,
        They faint on hill or field or river:
    Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
        And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
Beauty and pathos mixed into one, much like the good ladyâs tales. <3
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Now to the more dry and technical parts of the piece. If youâve no interest in the mechanics of poetry, feel free to head off. I promise I wonât mind.
I will admit, the poem was intended to be a far longer work when I first started work on it, but that was quickly whittled down when I decided itâd be an acrostic. Long poems are, in addition, generally not something that most people enjoy reading. As this was a poem intended to be read by the good lady herself, it had to be kept short.
The main thing I am genuinely unsatisfied with is the unusual rhyme scheme. Itâs not irregular, per se, but rather it lacks a certain symmetry that I would have liked to have seen in a poem for someone whose work I sincerely enjoy.
The poemâs rhyme scheme follows thus (each letter representing a rhyme word):
a b b a c d d c || d e e d f f
The âdâ rhyme appears four times in the poem as opposed to the two times of every other rhyme, which is, from a poetâs perspective both incongruous and weird in a rather untidy way. Now, ideally, the rhyme scheme of the poem would have looked like this:
a b b a c d d c || e f f e g g
which would have been better as each quatrain is kept self-contained in terms of rhyme; or, alternatively:
a b b a b c c b || c d d c d d
would have been another acceptable alternative, slowly phasing through interlocking rhymes in a similar manner to Terza Rima or the Spenserian stanza.
An acrostic does pose a challenge poetically as, if I may put it this way, not all letters were created equal from a poetic stand-point. Different opening letters can create difficulties, whether itâs finding words with the correct rhythm or finding words that have a relevant meaning to the poem. Very frequently, the primary problem posed by an acrostic falls into one of three categories: words that begin with the correct letter but have absolutely nothing to do with the contents of the poem; words that fit perfectly into the poem but begin with the wrong letter; or words that have both the correctly letter and meaning but do not fit the rhythm.
This last point is actually the cause of a great deal of the metrical irregularity of the piece, with frequent trochees,â as seen in the first foot of lines 1, 7, 9, 11 and 12,â and more occasional spondees,â as found in the first foot of lines 3, 4, and 14,â beginning the lines of what should be  predominantly iambic poem. Just a reminder for anyone who is less familiar with the poetic terminology, iambs, trochees, and spondees are metrical feet or stress patterns in poetry:
iamb: Ë ÂŻ or unstressed-stressed (e.g. To be or not to be)
trochee: ÂŻ Ë or stressed-unstressedÂ
spondee: ÂŻ ÂŻ or stressed-stressed
In a short poem like this, one good skill to have is the ability to juggle the competing demands of metre and expression without being gagged by them. While one needs to express an idea within a confined space and obey the rules at the same time, one has to do things tastefully after all. An example of this would be in line 3:
 ¯      ¯   / Â Ë Â Â ÂŻ  / Â Ë Â Â Â Â ÂŻÂ Â Â / Â Ë Â ÂŻ / Ë Â Â ÂŻ
such  things  I  ere  had  scarce  partaken  in.
While it does scan properly, it also falls rather awkwardly from a modern tongue due to the fairly archaic, but more flexible, syntax. Now if we were to expand it and rearrange the line into something more commonplace today, we can not only see how poetry condenses and re-patterns thought, but also how we ourselves have to âtranslateâ archaic poetry mentally to properly understand it.Â
Thus:
such things I ere had scarce partaken in
can be expanded to:
such things [that] I [before] had [rarely] [taken part] in
and can be further rearranged to make:
such things [that] I had [rarely] [taken part in] [before]
Moving onto structure: although Iâve split it into two stanzas, I would like to argue that the poem could and should be read, structurally, in three different ways:Â as an acrostic of two words, Hushabye and Valley;Â as an ode, with an unequal tripartite structure of strophe, antistrophe and epode;Â as a sonnet, with a false volta in line 9, and a true volta in line 13.
I need not go into the acrostic, I think, as itâs probably the most straightforward part of the poem. The ode is where the invocation to âHushabyeâ plays its part. Ode are explicitly poems that laud something or someone. In addition, the structure of the poemâs primary movements can be split into three, albeit unequal parts: the strophe, in which the speaker invokes âHushabyeâ and describes the initial wonder that he/she experiences; the antistrophe, directed instead to the âValleyâ itself, where the beauty that is lauded by the strophe is exchanged from more enduring qualities like âtendernessâ and comfort, âas suggested by the word âlanguidâ. The epode is the sudden change from invocation to imperative as can be seen in the verbs âEnfoldâ and âbidâ.
As a sonnet, we have to read the poem as a single stanza. The rhyme scheme, however, supports this as it can neatly separate the poem into three quatrains and a couplet, the very same as many types of sonnet. From this perspective, the four lines beginning with âValleyâ instead belongs to the same continuum as âHushabyeâ and âA faceâŚâ, rather than being a distinct stanza of its own. This final way of looking at the poem, as a sonnet, is perhaps the only one which also offers a reason for the metrical shift in the final couplet. Rather than being in iambic pentameter, the two lines are actually alexandrines, i.e. iambic hexameter, with a caesura or break in the very middle of those lines, as can be clearly seen in:
âEnfold me in your art, || and bid me never roam:â
The alexandrine is fairly unusual in English poetry but, when used in a predominantly pentametrical context, serves to slow the pace of the iambs and to create a falling motion, a perfect technique if one wanted to finish a poem in a manner that suggests as much affection as ease.
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Long way to go, but if youâve managed to get here, then you have my sincerest thanks and affection~
