I've been reading a lot of graphic novels checked out from the library, both of the superpowered and non-superpowered varieties. (Though I'll admit I do gravitate more towards the former.) And apparently there are one or two anthologies of "superhero poetry" out there. Anyone want to take odds on the proportion of Superman-poems to everybody-else-poems?
I enjoy this page which dares to ask: "What is the difference between the Old English poem Beowulf and Batman?"
I also found this site that seems fascinating, and they've got a pretty cool project: replace the word "love" in poems with another word, be it "pickle" or "Batman."
On Batman
Thomas Kempis
a great and complete good.
Batman alone lightens every burden, and makes rough places smooth.
He bears every hardship as though it were nothing, and renders
all bitterness sweet and acceptable.
Nothing is sweeter than Batman,
Nothing stronger,
Nothing higher,
Nothing wider,
Nothing more pleasant,
Nothing fuller or better in heaven or earth; for Batman is born of God.
Batman flies, runs and leaps for joy.
He is free and unrestrained.
Batman knows no limits, but ardently transcends all bounds.
Batman feels no burden, takes no account of toil,
attempts things beyond his strength.
Batman sees nothing as impossible,
for he feels able to achieve all things.
He is strange and effective,
while those who lack Batman faint and fail.
Batman is not fickle and sentimental,
nor is he intent on vanities.
Like a living flame and a burning torch,
he surges upward and surely surmounts every obstacle.
I've heard some argue that "Jack Bauer" would work here as well, but that guy bothers me.
Superman also bothers me. Always has. I can't say why exactly, maybe it's the getup, the slogans, the lame girlfriend, the dork disguise, the jawline, the ridiculous surfeit of ever-increasing powers, Brian Wilsoning it up in his awesome North Pole hideout, the completely absurd deus ex crapina of Kryptonite...
It's probably all of that, but mostly I think Superman is a big, dumb jock who likes to hit stuff but it's all for the best. Even Wolverine is more vulnerable, personable and likable than that flying jackass.
But back to the topic. Superheroes and poetry seem an unlikely mix, and there's about a million ways to do it wrong. Still, as Randall Jarrell said, "A poet is a man who manages, in a lifetime of standing out in thunderstorms, to be struck by lightning five or six times." Here are two that have some nice sparks.
Becoming the Villainess
Jeannine Hall Gailey
A girl - lovelocked, alone - wanders into a forest
where lions and wolves lie in wait.
The girl feeds them caramels from the pockets of her paper dress.
They follow like dogs.
Each day she weaves for twelve brothers, twelve golden shirts
twelve pairs of slippers, twelve sets of golden mail.
She sleeps under olive trees, praying for rescue.
In her dreams doves fly in circles, crying out her name.
For a hundred years she is turned into a golden bird,
hung in a cage in a witch’s castle. Her brothers
are all turned to stone. She cannot save them,
no matter how many witches she burns.
She weeps tears that cannot be heard
but turn to rubies when they hit the ground.
She lifted her hand against the light
and it became a feathered wing.
She learns the songs of mockingbirds, parakeets, pheasants.
She wanders into the forest more herself.
She speaks of her twelve stone brothers.
There is a dragon curled around eggs. There is a princess
who is also a white cat, and a tiny dog
she carries in a walnut shell.
She befriends a reindeer who speaks wisdom.
They are all in her corner. It seems unlikely now
that she will ever return home, remember what
it was like, her mother and father, the promises.
She will adopt a new costume,
set up shop in a witch’s castle,
perhaps lure young princes and princesses
to herself, to cure what ails her -
her loneliness, her grandeur,
the way her heart has become a stone.
The Villainess
Jeannine Hall Gailey
resembles your mother, at least around the eyes –
treacherous, limpid and seal-like.
Inevitably handsome as a lioness, she
commands ranks, smokes cigarettes,
wears fur, has sex without apologizing.
Sometimes, she looks just like you,
but with crow’s feet, more tattoos and better lingerie.
She conjures dragons or viruses,
she can lie easily to police or to you.
And you must love her, though she betrays you in a heartbeat -
you keep accepting the poisoned comb, the spinning wheel,
with open, pale hands.
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