2. The Palace
The word the general’s chosen is parsley. It is fall, when thoughts turn to love and death; the general thinks of his mother, how she died in the fall and he planted her walking cane at the grave and it flowered, each spring stolidly forming four-star blossoms. The general pulls on his boots, he stomps to her room in the palace, the one without curtains, the one with a parrot in a brass ring. As he paces he wonders Who can I kill today. And for a moment the little knot of screams is still. The parrot, who has traveled all the way from Australia in an ivory cage, is, coy as a widow, practising spring. Ever since the morning his mother collapsed in the kitchen while baking skull-shaped candies for the Day of the Dead, the general has hated sweets. He orders pastries brought up for the bird; they arrive dusted with sugar on a bed of lace. The knot in his throat starts to twitch; he sees his boots the first day in battle splashed with mud and urine as a soldier falls at his feet amazed— how stupid he looked!— at the sound of artillery. I never thought it would sing the soldier said, and died. Now the general sees the fields of sugar cane, lashed by rain and streaming. He sees his mother’s smile, the teeth gnawed to arrowheads. He hears the Haitians sing without R’s as they swing the great machetes:
Katalina, they sing, Katalina,
mi madle, mi amol en muelte. God knows
his mother was no stupid woman; she
could roll an R like a queen. Even
a parrot can roll an R! In the bare room
the bright feathers arch in a parody
of greenery, as the last pale crumbs
disappear under the blackened tongue. Someone
calls out his name in a voice
so like his mother’s, a startled tear
splashes the tip of his right boot.
My mother, my love in death.
The general remembers the tiny green sprigs
men of his village wore in their capes
to honor the birth of a son. He will
order many, this time, to be killed
for a single, beautiful word.
Preface
Welcome to part 2 of Rita Dove's phenomenal poem "Parsley", the final part of this highly symbolical and somewhat complex writing (though aren't all poems really complex? Geez, why does poetry have to be so complicated?!) I highly recommend that you read the first part prior to this one if you haven't done that already, as they are very much intertwined.
So, grab a cup of coffee, tea or water if you're feeling wholesome, and let's get started!
It doesn't take much insight for the reader to realize that this second part has a different tone than the first part; it's written from a third-person perspective, and is more objective and not as dependent on conveying strong and somewhat disturbing emotions as the first part is. However, I believe that this part, though fairly neutral and easier to read as it is told in a classic storytelling kind of way, has a deeper meaning than the previous part, and is also the last puzzle piece needed to tie the loose ends together and make it possible for us poor, lost readers to fully comprehend the confusing metaphoric language and provoking allegories that Dove grants us with.
While reading the previous post I wrote about this poem, I noticed that my disposition of it was somewhat scattered and hard to read, so I've decided to make it easier for you and use the highlights and keywords of each stanza as guidelines, and then provide a further explanation and in-depth thoughts to make it easier for you to navigate through the analysis.
Note: A stanza is poetry-language for a paragraph, in other words a grouped set of lines, usually divided from the other stanzas by a blank space or indentation.
The Poem
Now, I must say that it sure is bold of Dove, to humanize such a vile and evil creature such as the General! Almost as if it is a kind of mockery aimed at the reader, yet at the same time a sort of earnest sentimentality and empathy, particularly noticed when the General speaks so highly of his own mother. Dove really knows how to get to us with a few chosen words, and we (or I atleast) find ourselves almost... sympathizing with the General. Sympathizing with a cold-blooded, stonefaced murderer! Can you believe it!? And still, she can erase this sympathy just as swiftly as she inflicts it. So let's break this down. The first stanza has many key-words that refer to part one of this poem. "Cane", "fall", and of course, "parsley". And as we go through this poem, we find more of these reoccuring words that we recognize from the first part we read. Now, just sit for a second and read the first stanza, and note how it makes you feel. It feels honest and sensitive, right? The General thinks of flowers that had formed around his mother's cane where he left it on her grave, and he is reminiscing her death in the fall. The flourishing spring had passed, and everything around him had withered, only to yet again come to life the year after. However, it only takes the second stanza to promptly change the tone in the poem. The General stomps to his mother's room, and as he does so he is haunted by thoughts of killing, and the screams that linger inside his head. The Parrot that he keeps seems to be one of the few consolations he finds in his otherwise quite lonely state. And speaking of the parrot, a common phrase in this whole poem is "the parrot imitating spring". Now, I have been perplexed as to what this means. Then I figured it out (kind of). If you have ever heard a parrot talk or sing, the sound is gravely distorted, and personally I sense that the parrot is almost taunting the listener, comparing man and our unique and sofisticated sounds and language to that of a simple bird. Yet, if you encounter a skilled parrot, they can sound oddly beautiful, and it is hard to deny that parrots certainly are mesmerizing. The poem states clearly that the General believes that even a parrot, something that's not even human, is superior to the Haitians. "Even a parrot can roll an R!" And as much as I love parrots, and animals in general, this mere sentence in its context is so degrading that it amazes me. According to the General, the Haitians aren't even human. To him, they have no worth. To him, they are a bruise on the face of the earth. His reminiscing continues. In the third stanza he remembers how his mother used to bake sugary candies for Day of the Dead, or "el dia de los muertos" as the fesitivity is called in its original language, which is spanish. A festivity dedicated to those who have passed, but not with grief, no, but rather through merry celebration of their memory. How ironic is it then that the sugar has been created from - you guessed it - the sugarcanes that the Haitians had to die for. Day of the Dead. But their lives won't be celebrated. The General continues with his thoughts. He thinks to himself that since his mother fell ill, he now hates sweets. And let's be honest, there is nothing sweet with living with such an immense pain of a loss. He orders pastries specifically for the Parrot, even served on lace, a composition fit for a King! Such a spoiled parrot! But did you manage to notice another metaphor, carefully hidden in the poem? Well, think of the cane placed on his mother's grave. The cane that no longer could support her when she collapsed in the kitchen. Could this cane refer to... the sugarcanes on the field? Sugar and canes, two things that torment the memories of the General. So, what else is there for him to do than to express his hate to the ones that remind him of it? As we continue reading, the memories turn dark. It tells us about a song. An awful song of war. And then come the sugarcanes. And as we read about children gnawing their teeth to arrowheads from fear, Trujillo sees his mother's smile. He mocks the Haitians because of their foul pronounciations of "R". Pelejil. Such a childish sound in his ears! Nobody can pronounce "R"s as his mother, his queen! Their queen! That beautiful word, slaughtered by the tongues of filth. Rage. With his mind lost in his memories, as is his heart, his body is filled with rage. And as he orders murder and the machetes swing towards the innocent Haitians, the General is more than pleased. Everything inside him leads him towards percieved righteousness, as a sort of redemtion for his mother.
The Parrot doesn't make a sound, as it enjoys the pastries with a raw gluttony. The only screams now filling the General's head, is the screams of those whose fate was determined by one single word.
The most beautiful word in the world for the General.
Summary and Final thoughts
Wow. I do hope that you realize as much as me what a masterpiece this poem is. It not only tells a story, it sucks the reader into the story, and binds our empathy with both the Haitians and the General, and not even gently but does so with force. It is marvelous how so many emotions can be fitted in a couple of stanzas. No wonder that Rita Dove is a famous poet, and rightfully so. Her words are magic. And I must congratulate you, my dear reader, if you have made it this far and is still (somewhat) on track. This is one of the most complicated and well executed poems there is. This is like a rollercoaster rushing through an explosion whilst draining the blood from your brain, and bringing it back again. Okay, perhaps not that extreme, but damn! Is this a great poem! So give yourself a pat on the shoulder, and feel content with yourself that you gave this poem a shot, and perhaps now you are a tad bit wiser and ready to dive deeper into the realm of poetry. Or perhaps you're just sick of it by now and go and watch some Netflix show and fill yourself up with candies and snacks. Which is also okay. Just make sure you tune in for my next analysis, I promise that it will be just as easy to swallow as the sweetest candy in the world (no dirty thoughts please!) Thanks for reading! / Emily
Credits:
Picture: Meitzke at Pixabay.com
https://pixabay.com/photos/castle-middle-ages-sublime-enormous-195105/
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