Poetry |

“Lupus Est in Fabula” and “A Four-Footed Strange Beast”

Lupus Est In Fabula *

“The wolf has no friends but the parrots” — Edward Topsell, 1658

 

In youth he kills the stag

and then the sheep men claim as theirs.

Toothless in old age

he scratches for meat in the trash heaps and houses

of the city. Even if tamed

he hates the master who looks upon him.

 

If a wolf is first to see a man

the man will lose his voice.

To stop the attack

he must strip off his clothes

and bang two rocks together.

When a man struck a wolf with his club

she leapt and clawed the skin off his face.

Once healed, the man began to howl like a dog.

 

A wolf’s heart burned and beaten

to powder and taken in drink

will stop the thrashings of falling-sickness.

His canine tooth rubbed on the gums

of infants will open them up

for the teeth to grow through

without pain.

The wolf ate the pain.

 

The wolf has no friends but the parrots

who gaze down like gods.

They drop fruit in his path

to ease his toothless old age.

When he dies

they send his voice through the trees and

everyone falls silent at once.

 

[* Proverb to be said when there is a sudden silence, translating as “the wolf is in the tale”]

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

“A Four-Footed Strange Beast”

— Edward Topsell, The History of Four-Footed Beasts, 1658

 

We shared some alarm

at the Almighty’s piecing together a creature

from the scraps of others.

It is the size of a cat with a mallard’s bill,

feet cloven into parts like a dog’s,

a long neck, and the tail of a lizard.  It is shelled

like a lobster or barded horse

with only the pointed ears unguarded.

 

Some affirm it has a voice like a swine

but not the meat, though Don Oviedo declares

the meat superior to that of kids —

if one wants to eat goat like the Spanish

who, in their superstition, thought the beast

sent to earth to test us.

Or so I am told.

 

Being of many parts, the beast has many names:

Tatus, Guinean Beast, Aiochtochth, Armato, Bardati;

but I believe it to be a Brasilian hedgehog

for the way it draws up within its armor

as a hedgehog does in its prickled skin

and thus is no great mystery.

 

Obtaining one from unknown source,

Marcellus the Apothecary of Ulmes stuffed it

for exhibition. Ladies,

after their initial faintness,

took to wearing hats and cloaks

pieced of stiff cloth like scales.

 

Only last year merchants brought the living creatures

to London’s wealthy estates where they wandered

among the gillyflowers and destroyed garden worms

until the winter damp killed them

and some settled into jars

on basement shelves of the science museum

where the public must pay the guards to see them.

Contributor
Sherry Rind

Sherry Rind is the author of four collections of poetry and the editor of two books about Airedale terriers. She has received awards from the National Endowment for the Arts, Anhinga Press, Artist Trust, Seattle Arts Commission, and King County Arts Commission. Her next book, Between States of Matter, is forthcoming in spring, 2020 from The Poetry Box select series.

 

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