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Sancho Panza’s Choice
Well-met, Señor. And blessings on your inn.
You are the landlord here, is that not true?
Please sit with me and drink. I’ll pay for two.
Your least expensive, though. My purse is thin.
I serve my master gratis. Yes, that’s right—
The white-haired viejo now in sleep’s embrace.
Don’t say “Señor Quijano” to his face!
Please call him “Don Quixote” or “Sir Knight”!
I know men mock him, those rude muleteers
Who point and say, “That old man’s lost his mind!
Unhinged! Un poco loco. Over-wined!”
I know they mock me too—yes, I have ears:
“You see that foolish, paunchy man attend
The old one? Surely, he is crazy too!”
Don’t listen, sir! My sanity is true!
I work for him because he is my friend.
I beg you to consider what I say.
The role I’ve chosen gives me much delight:
An unskilled squire who serves a moonstruck knight
At rest now from the battles of the day.
We ride from place to place where fortune leads.
He speaks of chivalry, of what faith brings.
And simple me, I help him with small things
And thereby help him further great good deeds.
You saw his bruises? Here is how he fell:
He spied a windmill which he deemed defiant—
Which inner sight revealed to be a giant
Disguised by a dark wizard’s demon spell.
That giant was a villain to be humbled!
My master spurred his horse to a fast prance
And tilted at that windmill with his lance,
Attacked a sail, got lifted and then tumbled.
Reality thus knocked him to the ground!
Well, I have heard it said for safety’s sake
To never rouse a sleepwalker to wake.
But in my master’s dreams blessings abound
Such that a man like you who keeps an inn
May seem a lord with majesty infused;
A strumpet may be readily confused
For some young princess, chaste and free of sin.
Our mundane world, or his imagination?
Which one is more ennobling would you say?
I think of all the good he does each day
And this confirms my choice and avocation:
Commitment to a cause which serves the Rood
And leaves the world a cleaner, better place!
Though windmill-tilting seems a foolish chase,
Some hopeless causes ought to be pursued!
Does madness govern Don Quixote’s brain?
It’s true, he can’t withstand an Inquisition.
But who can match the glory of his mission?
Not we who are the melancholy sane!
He knows he cannot win yet still he’ll fight!
I tell you, Sir, the virtue that is his
Recasts the world as better than it is!
I serve my friend because I know he’s right.
.
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The Windmill Turned
—a rondeau
The windmill turned and ground its weight
In grain—a greatly needed freight
Since all men hunger and need bread.
And yet the old knight wished it dead!
Though dusk approached and it was late
He still had time to perforate
This giant who provoked his hate.
And while the old knight’s reason fled,
__The windmill turned.
The old knight did not hesitate:
He spurred his horse to reckless gait
And grabbed his lance—full speed ahead!
He tilted, fell and cracked his head.
Indifferent to the old knight’s fate
__The windmill turned.
.
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Brian Yapko is a retired lawyer whose poetry has appeared in over fifty journals. He is the winner of the 2023 SCP International Poetry Competition. Brian is also the author of several short stories, the science fiction novel El Nuevo Mundo and the gothic archaeological novel Bleeding Stone. He lives in Wimauma, Florida.
Lovely, Brian. A tribute to the chivalric and imaginative service of good. Sancho Panza’s choice of friendship for an idealistic master (befuddled in some things) does indeed recast the world as better than it is. Don Quixote may have temporarily stopped an unthinking windmill from the necessary grinding of grain, but it probably did the old fellow more damage than he did to the local economy. A rondeau is the perfect form to characterize the windmill. You depict the perennial contrast between reason and idealism in a fallen world where many things operate, and sometimes persons think, mechanistically, but where Sancho chooses small acts of service to the important ideal of friendship.
Many thanks, Margaret, for this appreciative comment! You understand precisely what I was hoping readers would focus on: “the perennial contrast between reason and idealism.” I wanted very much to find that middle ground where idealism is respected but with a steady eye on a given ideal’s distance from reality. A poem in the voice of Don Quixote could not have achieved this, nor could someone who was an objective spectator. Only Sancho Panza — earthy, unsophisticated yet smart — warm affetion but eyes wide open — could see the value of such idealism despite its distance from objective truth. In other words, it’s terribly important that we dream. How else can things change for the better? But it is equally important that we not live in our dreams. Look but don’t stare.
I appreciated both poems. What will stick with me are the melancholy sane who know they are in a battle they can’t win. The windmill turns and turns, despite our best efforts to stop it, the machine is indifferent and keeps turning. Sad. Frustrating. Helpless.
Michael, I’m so very happy to receive this comment! Thank you! Yes, there is definitely a melancholy note to both poems — perhaps even a sense of futility. But real character also means acting with honor and integrity in a true effort to make the world better, even if it is a longshot, even if it goes unrewarded. That, to me, is a major aspect of true nobility. I know that you know this better than most since it is a major aspect of your excellent “Legacy” saga! “Quixotic” to me will always bespeak nobility and right over might even as it addresses the impractical.
The legendary Don Quixote is one I have appreciated since I was a young boy. There are mixed emotions of admiration for willingness to attack perceived threats with wonderment at his lunacy or was it poor eyesight. The tale struck me as simultaneously endearing, laughable, and sad. Margaret was right about the rondeau as the ideal poetic form for a windmill. Several years ago, I wrote a poem about Don Quixote but yours is far more detailed and prescient. Great poem as always from your gifted mind with great selection of words and phrases.
Thank you so much, Roy! I’m especially touched by your finding the piece “endearing.” I was hoping for the reader to have a feeling of warmth and affection for Sancho, whose kindness is exceptional but who also has good boundaries and is not a feather for every wind that blows. It takes a lot of spine to be willing to buck the popular views of the herd and go with your heart. I would very much love to read your Don Quixote poem if you are willing to share it. I bet it’s marvelous!
Brilliant work, Brian, especially Sancho Panza’s Choice; it is not only wonderfully Browning-esque in its monologue qualities, but also in its – almost – moral sublimity! I think of Browning’s Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came (one of my all-time favourite poems) and its epic quality, as well as Hopkin’s in Honour of St Alphonsus Rodriguez – that sublime ‘sticking at it’ quality. Well done. Great work.
Thank you so much, James! This comment means a lot to me — especially since it is no secret that Robert Browning is one of my three favorite poets. As it happens, Childe Roland is a favorite of mine as well. When I did my Browning essay about a year ago I very much wanted to include it as a featured poem but found that it was a tad too long for what was already a very long discussion. But I love stories of chivalry and perseverence. I had not read the poem “In Honor of St. Alphonsus Rodriguez” and have just done so. I absolutely love it — especially these lines: “But be the war within, the brand we wield/Unseen, the heroic breast not outward-steeled,/Earth hears no hurtle then from fiercest fray.” Thank you for the reference, James! I am a firm believer that what we struggle with unseen — what battles take place in our hearts, minds or souls — though they may seem of little importance to those around us are nevertheless of supreme importance to He who has created us and will judge us.
While, unsurprisingly, I’m not familiar with the Don Quixote saga, Brian, the ‘concept’ in this piece seems clear: unwavering dedication to whomever or whatever cause one subscribes to is worth most any sacrifice one can make.
Thank you very much for reading and commenting, Mark. I’m sorry you aren’t familiar with the story of Don Quixote de la Mancha! Miguel de Cervantes was a contemporary of Shakespeare and he wrote a novel which was really quite bold and surprising in its day. My knowledge of literature tends to be rather Anglocentric, but I would have to consider Don Quixote a pillar of Western culture. If you don’t have the chance to read the Cervantes, then the musical “Man of La Mancha” is at least a pleasant introduction to the story. And if you can’t watch “Man of La Mancha” do yourself a favor and listen to someone (other than Peter O’Toole) sing “The Impossible Dream.” Improbably, Jim Nabors sings it very movingly. My favorite “La Mancha” was one I saw in Los Angeles 30 years ago with the late great Raul Julia playing Don Quixote.
Thanks for the interesting leads, Brian, and you can safely add Tom Jones to this crooners list. When in my 20s to 50s, I could fool virtually anyone when I’d impersonate Mr. Jones from a nearby room! The vast majority of we aging rarely-been-outside-of-Iowa and barely-graduated-high-school dudes know, of course, almost nothing about the “Classics”. Our great loss, but this explains why my comments are so often quite brief, lack comprehensitivity (a Mark word), and are less than exhilarating. You’re a very impressive fellow, young man, as both a writer and a historian.
An outstanding combination. 🙂
Mark, I will very much enjoy listening to your Tom Jones impression some day! In the meantime, here is the Jim Nabors clip I mentioned (with him in character as Gomer Pyle, no less!) https://youtu.be/7Jkkmb6jEAU?si=j1E1rvzv-fSSTEeY
Brian, once again, a triumph! “Sancho Panza’s Choice” makes him stand twice the height of other non-reactive, complacent men. He righteously stands by the one he honors, and so doing, makes Don Quixote even more honorable in his quest for good deeds.
“The Windmill Turned” captures the paradox of human invention: in creating machines to serve us, we’ve also ‘given birth’ to soulless forces that remain indifferent to our struggles. Though created by necessity and ingenuity—our machines become (though this may change!), unfeeling giants, impervious to human will and impossible to conquer.”
Thank you so much, Laura! You are so right about Sancho’s character — he stands up for his friend even when it isn’t easy, even when it may cost him in credibility or popularity. But such loyalty coupled with strong boundaries is an essential character asset in these times of misinformation, mob rule and the preference too many have for popularity over accuracy and integrity. Hollywood is particularly noxious in this regard.
The Windmill poem may certainly be read in different ways and yours is one with deep insight into our relationship with technology. Yes, machines are unfeeling and sometimes quite dangerous. For myself, I see this poem as depicting a battle between subjective reality and objective reality. Objective reality doesn’t care how you feel or what you think or what interesting insights pop into your head. Objective reality must be dealt with or it will knock you right off your horse. It wasn’t on my mind in this poem, but the whole transgender ideology of personal “identification” somehow trumping chromosomes and biological morphology suggests a modern manifestation of this same conflict. Reality must be dealt with.
Great work, Brian! I particularly like the abbacddc form of the stanzas in “Sancho Panza’s Choice”– it creates a real musical undertone, so pleasant to the mental ear!! You truly make Sancho Panza come to life!! Well done!
Thank you so much, Theresa! I’m delighted that you felt that I brought Sancho to life. He’s actually my favorite character in the piece. I like Don Quixote but he lacks Sancho’s level head.
Brian, there seems to be little left for me to say after the acute analysis and massive praise that your two poems have received. But I’ll try.
“Sancho Panza’s Choice” could be used as a classic textbook example of a successful dramatic monologue and how it works. It presents a character, a situation, a silent interlocutor, an intimate revelation of personality (both Sancho’s and Don Quixote’s), and the unfolding of a powerful viewpoint and argument. Sancho tells of himself, his master, the loyalty that links them both, as well as a clear understanding of the opinions of others who do not take the pair seriously, and all of this while presenting a magnificent defense of Quixote’s knightly idealism, and Sancho’s devotion.
Composing it in eight-line stanzas of two ABBA quatrains was a shrewd move. Blank verse would not have been as effective — the perfect rhymes here suit Sancho to a T. And the sheer clarity of his arguments are a mirror of the down-to-earth common sense and peasant realism that his character represents.
“The Windmill Turned” is a totally different kind of piece. The rondeau form, by its very nature, pushes the poet in a different direction and demands a less robust style. Brevity is imposed by the form itself, and the repetends and strictly controlled possibilities for rhyme constrain composition. Here the poet is limited to a brief telling of the windmill, the old knight, and the comic encounter, and there is no room for error in meter or diction. This rondeau is as precisely cut and polished as a Roman cameo. Allow me to restate a commonplace: the small forms demand absolute perfection of detail; the longer and open-ended forms are for more expansive and less restricted expresssion.
Brian, this work is stellar. The SCP is becoming the nucleus of a poetic Renaissance, and your poetry is at the heart of it.
Joe, I’m actually elated to receive this extremely generous comment. Thank you! I gave these poems my best effort and I’m so glad that this showed. I especially appreciate your knowledgeable discussion regarding the form and function of dramatic monologues in general. You have written many dramatic monologues yourself and you have a familiarity with Browning which well exceeds my own, so I’m especially gratified when you feel one of my poems works. I find that the best dramatic monologues are “situational.” Some slice of life where a character has an organic opportunity to talk about himself (here, some wine with a local innkeeper.) I prefer poems where there is a silent interlocutor because I think it is more interesting than a soliloquy. I’ve read many poems where someone just busts out saying who they are and what they stand for as if it were a Gilbert & Sullivan song (e.g. “A Wandering Minstrel, I” “Three Little Maids From School are We”, “I am a Pirate King” “I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General.”) where the poet simply has no idea why their speaker is speaking other than to introduce him/herself. Such poems usually come across as stilted. At least in the operetta world the music helps make the piece interesting.
I am especially grateful for the attention you have given to the rondeau and the rondeau form. Everything you say is so true! It really takes patience and an attention to detail to make forms this demanding work. Even a sonnet, short and tight though it might be, has a lot more breathing space because you can have up to seven rhymes. I find triolets and rondelets to be even harder and devilishly difficult to communicate through.
The SCP is an amazing community of poets. It is a great honor to be a part of it! And you, Joe, have been one of the major inspirers of my work for which I am eternally grateful.
In my head I heard Dave Olney reading these. It is probably the gait, the rime choices, the tone of bemused irony. As always, loved both!!
David, thank you for this kind comment! Your reference to David Olney made me look him up — a country-western folk singer who also wrote and read classical poetry?!!! My kind of guy! I just watched a video of him reading a serious poem and he was extremely entertaining. I’m going to watch him read “My Last Duchess” and “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” later. Those are two of my favorites. If he were still with us, I would love to hear him reading my poems. As it is, I must look at some of his.
Brian, I just love these poems – poems which invite the reader back to gain from their literary intricacies and their wisdom. I’ve decided to bring a bit of myself to the interpretation simply because they speak to me and my poetic endeavors.
For me, “Sancho Panza’s Choice” reads as a defense of freedom of speech and individual conscience. His loyalty to Don Quixote’s idealism, despite social ridicule and apparent madness, champions the right to hold and express visionary, and especially unpopular, beliefs. It highlights the value of pursuing noble causes and standing by personal principles, mirroring the historic spirit of freedom of expression, which even if misunderstood or dismissed outright, is vital to a fairer, brighter world. I just love these lines: “But who can match the glory of his mission? /Not we who are the melancholy sane!” – dreams and passion matter – they capture the creative side of human nature, the spirit within that drives us forward.
The pairing is perfect – together they affirm that our sanity and purpose lies in embracing ideals we think worth fighting, rather than mere conformity. And of course, “The Windmill Turned” is my favorite. I just love a good rondeau and those repeating lines shine. Brian, thank you for a much needed shout to those not afraid to speak out for what they believe in no matter the consequences in a world where the consequences are pretty darn dire.
Susan, what I love about your comment here (and in general) is you not only get to the heart of the poem — you get to the heart of the GENESIS of the poem — the WHY I have written a particular piece. You have extraordinary insight to be able to do that. You are, of course, absolutely spot-on as to who Sancho Panza and Don Quixote are for me and why I wrote about them at this particular point in time — a time when freedom of speech and of conscience are constantly under attack.
I wanted to write not only about such freedom but about the character traits that allow one to live life even when one makes unpopular choices. Along those lines, I love Quixote’s romantic idealism and the moral and chivalrous glory of his mission. But I think I love Sancho Panza even more because he is so grounded to reality and still he CHOOSES to go with the idealistic vision, he chooses his loyalty to someone most sensible people laugh at because he sees with his own eyes, he makes his own judgment call, he refuses to bow to the popular thing, he pushes back against peer pressure, he is strengthened by his own integrity. Don Quixote is more limited in his goodness, I would argue, because in his madness he does not see things as they are. Of course, he is braver than Sancho would be in battle, but this is because he has the absolute certainty of the mad. Quixote is living out his destiny and so does not have the choice in front of him that Sancho does. Or, as J.K. Rowling puts it (no slouch when it comes to boundaries): “It is not our abilities that show what we truly are. It is our choices.” And Sancho chooses rightness and virtue even when it is not easy. So, yes, as you put it, this is all about freedome of speech and of conscience — and finding the courage to pursue them even when you are being mocked or canceled.
I’m especially pleased that you liked the rondeau. Susan, you have been a huge inspiration to my writing and, when it comes to the rondeau — as well as the rondeau redouble — you have taught me everything I know.. Thank you always for the offering not only generous support but for the inspiration you always offer.
Don Quixote was on the list of books every serious student “should read before going to college,” so I read it in high school, and I must say that I enjoyed it more than almost any o the other books on that list. But at that time I had no inkling of the moral lessons inherent in the tale — it was just goofy fun, unlike the other tedious tomes. You see, my reading of choice at that time was on a spectrum that ranged from Edgar Rice Burroughs to Mad Magazine. Reading Crime and Punishment was like being dipped in shit-laced boiling oil.
Thank you very much for reading and commenting, C.B.! I read Don Quixote all those years ago under the same circumstances, along with The Grapes of Wrath, The Odyssey and Profiles in Courage. I’m pleased to know you as a fellow Edgar Rice Burroughs fan — I never read Tarzan (though I’ve been to Tarzana — where Burroughs lived in L.A. — many times) but as a science fiction fan I enjoyed reading his John Carter/Barsoom books. Yes, Crime and Punishment was a slog for sure. As far as Mad Magazine goes, I well remember their take on The Poseidon Adventure which they called “The Poop-side-down Adventure.” Not to mention Spy vs. Spy.
Brian, I have a nearly complete collection of the ERB paperback reprints issued in the 60s. I loved the Barsoom series and the Venus series, and especially the Pellucidar series, but the Tarzan series (his longest) was probably the best of the lot. If you are still interested in SF, I would like to share with you some must-reads from the last decade or so. To do this will require that you ask Evan to give you my email address, or, even better, to tell him to send me yours. I used to be completely in touch with everything going on in science fiction, but nowadays, at the library I never know what books to take out. Maybe you will have some ideas about this.
Your poems are wonderful. I wasn’t very into Don Quixote back in high school, but your words, and the comments, made me want to dig a little deeper. I found out that Cervantes served as a soldier in Naples and was seriously wounded at the Battle of Lepanto while fighting with the Holy League fleet. Interestingly, George—the dragon-slayer—was the patron saint of Naples. It makes me wonder if Cervantes, who was also a poet, created Don Quixote with George in mind. Maybe Quixote tilted at giants just like George slew his dragon—an imaginative, poetic vision shaped by Cervantes’ own war experiences. You know, maybe Don Quixote is kind of like MASH… Sancho is Hawkeye and Quixote is Father Mulcahy!
Or perhaps it’s the other way around…
St. Januarius (San Gennaro) is usually given as the patron saint of Naples, but since large European cities often have several patrons, George might be included in the list.
Hey Joe, you’re right, I just looked again and George was the patron saint of the Kingdom of Aragon which ruled Naples. Also, George is patron saint of San Giorgio a Cremano, a short drive from Naples.
Joe and Mike, I don’t know about Cervantes and how St. George may have influenced but I did learn of this amazing historic resonance: Miguel de Cervantes and St. George both died on April 23rd. Adding to the historical coincidence, Cervantes and William Shakespeare both died the same day: April 23, 1616. https://edoardoalbert.com/st-george-cervantes-and-shakespeare/
Thank you so much, Mike! I don’t actually know much about Miguel de Cervantes and what I do know is thoroughly colored by my familiarity with Man of La Mancha. In fact, it was hard for me to drown the sound of “The Impossible Dream” from my mind’s ear while writing this piece. What you describe regarding George, the Dragon Slayer, certainly sounds plausible to me. One never knows where one might pick up inspiration and my recollection is that Cervantes was indeed a good Catholic for all that he fell afoul of the Inquisition here and there. It is also my understanding that Cervantes is held in as high regard for standardizing Spanish as Chaucer is for English and Dante, Italian. As for MASH — I’m not sure I see it. Maybe it’s because I’m not much of an Alan Alda fan. But now that we think of duos in which one is the romantic lead and the other the supportive “down to earth” one, I’m reminded of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, or Batman & Robin, or Shrek & Donkey, or Andy Griffith and Barney Fife. In fact, the idea of the romantic hero and the bumbling sidekick seems to be archetypal. It would be interesting to learn if Cervantes in fact invented the idea.
Wild Bill Hicock and Jingles
The Cisco Kid and Pancho
Matt Dillon and Chester
The Lone Ranger and Tonto
Captain Midnight and Icky Mudd
Perry Mason and Paul Drake
(I’ll admit that Tonto and Paul Drake are not bumbling, even though they are sidekicks.)
Excellent list, Joe. I think I may add the following:
Don Giovanni and Leporello.
Harold Hill and Marcellus (“The Music Man”)
Han Solo and Chewbacca (“Star Wars”)
The more I think about it, the more probable it seems to me that Cervantes invented the prototype of the romantic hero and the comic sidekick. This may even extend into comedy teams such as Dean Martin & Jerry Lewis or Abbott & Costello.
I just love this conversation! I’m giving a shout out to Jeeves and Wooster, Holmes and Watson (of course!), Morecambe and Wise, and Wallace and Gromit – the British have quite a flair for the sidekick who saves the day with common sense and quiet wit.
Thank you, Susan! Me too! And you’re right — the British definitely have a flair for creating a lead character with a comic-relief sidekick. Along these lines there are also Henry Higgins and Pickering in “Pygmalion”/”My Fair Lady” and James Barrie’s Captain Hook and Smee from “Peter Pan.” If you count Scotland, I also am a fan of the Scottish/Rhodesian author Alexander McCall Smith and he takes this dynamic and feminizes it in his Number One Ladies Detective Agency series, wherein the female detective protagonist, Precious Ramotswe, has a (mostly) comical female sidekick, Grace Makutsi. I’m sure there must be other female examples as well. The Don Quixote-Sancho Panza paradigm is not a males only club!
Lastly, I do not want to forget Max Bialystock and Leo Bloom from Mel Brooks’ “The Producers.” Not that there is anything in the least bit noble about either character…
Brian and Joe… wow, that’s a lot of connections! From St. George to Cervantes to Shakespeare. And Joe, your list of duos is pure gold. Maybe Sancho and Quixote were just the pilot episode of a buddy series still running through history. Thanks