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The Villainy of Icicles
That sword of Damocles! That glacial Iago!
A prism forged of ice, sharp and aloof;
An icicle out of Doctor Zhivago
Malevolently hanging from our roof…
It waited for the perfect moment when
I stood beneath it as I shoveled snow.
The wind picked up. I heard a crack and then
This jagged knife attacked and knocked me low.
Collapsing in a drift flat on my back
I groaned with pain and shivered from the cold.
How dare that wicked icicle attack?
How could it be so villainously bold?
I slowly stood, brushed off the snow and sighed.
The only thing I’d injured was my pride.
.
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Brian Yapko is a lawyer who also writes poetry. He lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Brian, perfect poem about icicles and the sword of Damocles! This one seems personal. I, too, have experienced an attack by icicles, and commend you on sharing this with us. FYI: Until the age of 13, I lived on a farm in South Dakota. March always seemed to be particularly dangerous as icicles began impaling the ground and once or twice me!
Thank you very much, Roy. I appreciate hearing about your own background in the midwest and your own experience with icicle attacks! They’re no joke!
Good wintry sonnet, Brian. Very clever!
Thank you very much, Paul!
I love the exaggerated tone that first line creates, and the way it gets maintained throughout the poem. Then, you stole my heart when you brought Russian Literature in to it! Truly, that icicle joins the ranks of literary villainy, right up there with the iceberg in “Convergence of the Twain.”
On a random side note (cause you got me off on Russian Lit), did you know that the first printing of Dr. Zhivago was actually instigated by the CIA? They sent an “innocuous” French citizen into Russia to get the manuscript from Pasternak, printed it outside the country, and then smuggled the books back into Russia as a form of cultural espionage!
Great comment, Jeremiah… thank you! I’m not very knowledgeable about Russian literature but I’ve always enjoyed the movie of “Doctor Zhivago” and the theme music and the images of a frozen, wintry Siberia are indelibly etched in my memory. I especially enjoyed the history you’ve related about the CIA connection to getting the Pasternak novel smuggled out, published and resmuggled in! Someone should write a story — or poem — about that!
A murder of Crows! Now a Villainy of Icicles!
I like it.
Thanks for the read, Brian.
Thank you very much, Paul. A murder of crows is a term that begs to be poeticized. Along with the less nefarious-sounding exaltation of larks!
Great stuff, Brian. To rhyme Iago and Zhivago is genius. Your sonnet brought back memories of that year when we in New England had “ice dams”. I opened my second-floor bedroom window and used a hair dryer to melt a humongous icicle hanging from the eave. I could barely pick it up when it finally fell off. It must’ve weighed 30-40 pounds.
Thank you so much, Cheryl. That rhyme gave me great pleasure! As for your New England winter story… yikes! That thing could have killed somebody! As for your hair-dryer actions… that’s hysterical. And I’m saying this a lot in this comment threat, but that sounds like material for an enjoyable comic poem!
Lovely sonnet for a chilly day.
Thank you very much, Allegra!
I have heard (I can’t attest to their truth) of cases where persons have been killed by huge falling icicles hanging from the eaves. In Long Island (New York) many houses in the past were built with small protruding baffles on the slanted roof that prevented the formation of such icicles, and that made any heavy avalanche of snow from the roof impossible. I have seen these baffles on the roof of a colleague’s house in Great Neck, but she and her husband told me that they are no longer built anymore, and are far too expensive to replace when they deteriorate.
Thanks for commenting, Joseph. I’ve never heard of baffles but we could certainly use them on our roof here in Santa Fe. We have a portico with an angle which ensures that snow will melt into sharp little knives and once they’re done melting, they’ll land on the ground, refreeze and create small glaciers. I can easily imagine someone being killed or badly hurt by the fall of a large icicle.
Seeing as you didn’t actually get hurt, that was a very enjoyable poem — and quite a fun idea.
Thank you very much, Cynthia!
Brian, Very humorous. Thank you! Mark
Thank you very much, Mark!
Funny! The references to Shakespeare and Dr. Zhivago were a perfect touch, and I love the last line.
Thank you very much, Josh! It was a true story and I loved the idea of being overly dramatic in my battle with the nefarious icicle.
Last year, Brian, a giant icicle fell from the roof and tore off the awning over my back stoop. No one was hurt, but it was a real pain in the ass replacing the awning.
Great story, C.B. These malevolent knives of winter can do some real damage and cost some real money. Beautiful but deadly.
Brian, from the intrigue of the title to the smile of the closing couplet, this sonnet shimmers like the wicked glint from a perilous icicle. I adore “glacial Iago” – not only do the words fit together like a hand in a winter mitten, they sing… and to rhyme Iago with Zhivago is a stroke of creative genius. I love this sonnet for its content and its craft. Well done!
Thank you very much, Susan. I like that “wicked glint” and will have to borrow your phrasing for the sequel! I too was pleased by the Iago/Zhivago rhyme. Sometimes it’s nice to take a break from serious poetry and just have fun with the language.