Diocletian’s Horse
“Save it for your horse.”
—Oedipus Tex, P.D.Q. Bach (Peter Schickele)
While Diocletian owned the home
Octavian built (although he ruled
from Asia Minor, don’t be fooled,
He was the emperor of Rome),
ambition and a lack of sense
brought some in Egypt to rebel
against his title. To compel
obedience through recompense,
the purple soldier took the field,
trapping insurgents in their nest
at Alexandria. Then, lest
the city fail to promptly yield
the new Augustus made decree
that all within its walls would pay
for obstinate lèse-majesté
until blood reached his horse’s knee.
But when he finally took the city,
the emperor’s stallion slipped in gore
and took a knee like to implore
the heavens for a drop of pity.
After the steed regained its feet,
the dominus dismounted and
discovered that a crimson band
acquired from the bloody street
had stained the carpals of his horse.
Though Diocletian was no sage,
this was an omen to assuage
and turn his anger to remorse.
The Alexandrian account
by grace was cleared of all arrears,
and avenues were filled with tears
enough to wash the tetrarch’s mount.
The emperor was prayed divine
By fathers and by hoi polloi,
but knowing their true source of joy,
They raised a bronze to his equine.
Memorial Service
The narrow windows squeeze December light
so tightly that it faints onto the floor
and soaks into the carpet’s velvet night
that stretches darkly out the room’s lone door.
The interest on her principal has grown
to be three generations now. They come
with other relatives and friends to own
life’s debt through funerary symbolum.
After the crowd and cousins have been seated,
the undertaker leads the closest kin
into the room as if they were defeated
Goths in a Roman triumph to begin
her last solemnity. The hymns, the prayer,
the homily assert the ancient creed
that Christ has vanquished death, yet where the air
is stale with mums, flesh wishes to proceed
from hope to sight, faith’s final resolution,
in finding sacrament to signify
that life will triumph over sin’s pollution
and bodies live again, although they die.
We ponder what we seem to be without.
Then in the back, a grandchild starts to sing
a nursery song that so dispels our doubt
we know that winter will concede to spring.
Duane Caylor is a physician in Dubuque, IA. His poetry has appeared in a number of journals, including First Things, Measure, Slant, and Blue Unicorn.
Duane, these are two excellently written poems that compel the reader from the very beginning to move from verse to verse. Both poems gave me a feeling as though I were there. The second one has such a wonderfully enchanting conclusion.
Enjoyed both poems very much. I especially love the first two lines
of “Memorial Service” but both poems leave much to admire. We are
blessed that as a Physician you still find time to write poetry.
Both of these are excellent. I was excited to read “Diocletian’s Horse,” it is a tale I’ve heard and one I think is meant for verse. You’ve done a masterful job with it: your meter flows, your rhyme is fresh (e.g. pay – majesté), and you make the story flow without growing long-winded (a real risk in narrative poetry). You do the story justice. Bravo!
“Memorial Service” is quite different. Here you paint a scene (with some wonderful turns of phrase in the first stanza), and spring the theme of the poem on us in the very end with the subtle, almost incidental mention of the child’s song — exactly as the realization would occur to an observer. You place the reader both in the scene and in the realization the poem reaches.
These are two interesting and unusual poems.
The Diocletian piece (tetrameter ABBA quatrains) retells the story of the emperor’s horse at Alexandria. The tale itself might be apocryphal, but it makes for a nice exemplum of imperial mercy to the enemy, even if prompted only by an accidental slip of a horse’s leg. In the photo of the Roman aureus that accompanies this poem, the last part of the coin’s inscription is PFAUG, standing for PIUS FELIX AUGUSTUS (“devoted, fortunate, and deeply honored”). This was s standard description of every emperor, but here within the context of the poem I feel that it suits Diocletian. He certainly could be extremely cruel and murderous, but in this particular case he was “PIUS” — aware of and devoted to his responsibilities, and of his duty as a Roman to be merciful to the conquered.
“Memorial Service” is a poem of personal experience, describing the speaker’s feelings and perceptions at a service for a dead relative. In the first three quatrains there is a very careful painting of the scene and surroundings, and the gathering of family members. But in the last three quatrains we are hit with doubts, questions, and a final answer. Those present are showing their respect with solemnity and prayers, and they hear the Christian promise of resurrection. Yet they are hesitant and uncertain, until they hear the voice of a singing grandchild. The poem thus ends with a conflation of the doctrine of resurrection with the audible evidence of a new generation.
The colloquial language of “Diocletian’s Horse” gives the poem a comic touch. That reflects the humor in the incident as told–and the relief of bystanders who witnessed it. You write as if one among them. The poem memorializes the tale and the equine not in bronze but as an easy-to-read truism on not taking matters too seriously.
The necessary formalities of “Memorial Service,” including the full and open reminders of Christian belief and practice concerning death, combine with the disorientation of those attending, to show, very simply, the reality of human grief. Doing everything one is supposed to do, and acknowledging everything one believes, cannot do away with grief. The grandchild’s song breaks in, I would say, as a welcome distraction, as well as a reminder that life goes on, and a vivid confirmation of serious thoughts the adults present have just passed through. More profound than it may look, Duane. Well done.