“Finding the Dragon” by Chris Ellis
Chris Ellis’ “Finding the Dragon” caught me from the first stanza with its rhythmic, repetitive, almost incantatory sound. The silky alliteration of "How silent the sea sounds" is immediately followed by the cleverly effective manipulation, even inversion, of inland and island, and then, without a break, the "churlish surge" is upon me. I love the sound, the feel, the sense of being lost or in an untamed world. I also have close connections to the main myth that I feel has been displaced in this poem, that of Theseus and the minotaur, because I am named after King Minos’ daughter, Ariadne, who aided Theseus in his successful maneuvering of the labyrinth and his triumph over the beast. Also, the images of the labyrinth and the spiral, ideas of chaos, order, and spinning out of control are captivating me right now. I like that the poem exudes an air of mystery, depth, and wildness, and that it is observant rather than active. It doesn’t tell me how to think or feel, but it shows thought and feeling. Ultimately, I'm fascinated by Ellis’ manipulation of sound, though sometimes I feel it more than I can express it.
Chris Ellis’ “Finding the Dragon” caught me from the first stanza with its rhythmic, repetitive, almost incantatory sound. The silky alliteration of "How silent the sea sounds" is immediately followed by the cleverly effective manipulation, even inversion, of inland and island, and then, without a break, the "churlish surge" is upon me. I love the sound, the feel, the sense of being lost or in an untamed world. I also have close connections to the main myth that I feel has been displaced in this poem, that of Theseus and the minotaur, because I am named after King Minos’ daughter, Ariadne, who aided Theseus in his successful maneuvering of the labyrinth and his triumph over the beast. Also, the images of the labyrinth and the spiral, ideas of chaos, order, and spinning out of control are captivating me right now. I like that the poem exudes an air of mystery, depth, and wildness, and that it is observant rather than active. It doesn’t tell me how to think or feel, but it shows thought and feeling. Ultimately, I'm fascinated by Ellis’ manipulation of sound, though sometimes I feel it more than I can express it.
The density of sound, image, and association is palpable. I felt this poem as much as I read it. And although I've never been to the Caribbean or to Greece, this poem can somehow take me to both places at the same time. With regard to the mythological subtext, the "stringless" speaker of the poem seems to be an anti-Theseus, bearing no weapon or guide or safety line, only bait, ripe bananas, journeying just for the sake of "finding the dragon," of maneuvering through the maze, no taming, or slaying or chasing involved. He courts the privilege of seeing the monster, but has no latent intent or desire to harm or otherwise subjugate. This seems to be a case of fascination and allure of the rare or appeal of the difficult rather than fear and blind daring such as we see with Theseus.
The "no sealing wax" image takes me to another sea, to Lewis Carroll, where the monsters are more mundane, but no less vicious in their silliness:
"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."
The mention of wax might be out of place if it did not so vividly bring to mind other poems and other stories, such as Carroll’s “The Walrus and the Carpenter,” and the tale of Icarus whose wings held together with wax were his (pardon the pun) downfall. Interestingly enough, this myth is also closely related to that of the minotaur, for both involved King Minos, the labyrinth, and the island of Crete. Which might also bring us to the birds populating Ellis’ poem. Yet we are not on Crete or on the bottom of the sea; our labyrinth is made of powerful, untamed plant life which seem almost as dangerous as any proposed dragon: "delinquent papaya, feral coconuts . . . yucca-like succulents . . . snarls of stickery vine."
The mention of wax might be out of place if it did not so vividly bring to mind other poems and other stories, such as Carroll’s “The Walrus and the Carpenter,” and the tale of Icarus whose wings held together with wax were his (pardon the pun) downfall. Interestingly enough, this myth is also closely related to that of the minotaur, for both involved King Minos, the labyrinth, and the island of Crete. Which might also bring us to the birds populating Ellis’ poem. Yet we are not on Crete or on the bottom of the sea; our labyrinth is made of powerful, untamed plant life which seem almost as dangerous as any proposed dragon: "delinquent papaya, feral coconuts . . . yucca-like succulents . . . snarls of stickery vine."
I’m delighted by Ellis’ use of interior rhyme (or near rhyme) in stanzas three and seven, and the occasional tongue-twister: yucca-like succulents, pink flick, obsidian ellipses, shushing dry brush, oddly aqualine cabocons. The repetition of tasting reminds me of checking a sound system: “Testing, testing.” This works as a transition to the idea of touchstone (a word I had to look up to more fully understand). According to the OED, a touchstone “tries the genuineness or value of something” and is black or dark which takes me back to the obsidian ellipses. I’m not sure I even know what this stanza is about, but it seems to work with metaphors to maintain the mysterious, almost alchemistical atmosphere of the poem.
Finally, I am intrigued by the possessive phrase “my summer warblers” in the last stanza. Again, I’m not sure what to do with it, what to make of it, but it seems to shift the whole poem for me somehow. Also, the reference to summer takes me back to the birds in the fifth stanza who are called “winter cousins.” These opposing references are almost disconcerting.
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