Here’s a tanka prose, recently published in drifting sands Haibun (dsh). For those of you wanting to read more poetry, the issue can be found here. Scroll down a bit, marvel at the photo and press the button for Issue 37.
It was originally titled Mr Darcy Grows Old and Crochety but things moved on. Mrs Bennet had an automaton bird in a cage in an earlier version, which introduced the concept of a gilded cage. I kept to allusion to the gilded cage as editing moved on.
This one pretty much wrote itself as I built it from things I knew of the novel and, from the start, wanted to use the word “oleaginous”. The opening line is a blatant case of larceny and the rest seemed to flow from there. After a quick fact check and a suitable poem, it was done. I feel it could have been done a little better by someone with a greater knowledge of Austen, but you can’t have everything. Sometimes you just have to do your best and move on. It is, after all, light verse, rather than a scholarly study.
Even Gilt May Tarnish
“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a married man in possession of a good
fortune, must be in want of a hobby, for he certainly pays no heed to the wishes of his
wife,” said Lizzy Darcy, stabbing her needlepoint with much meaning, and not a little peril
to her thimble.
“Bingley is much the same, dear sister; if he cannot shoot it, mount it or bet on it, it holds
very little interest for him.”
“You may wish to moderate those words, dear Jane,” said her mother, “lest a passing
novelist should weave them into unfortunate innuendo. I know that I have never quite
recovered from the cruel way that the odious Austen woman quoted me in her novels, and
my poor nerves are threadbare as a result. I hate to think what your poor father would
have said.”
She reached for the bell pull to request another sherry.
The girls rolled their eyes, knowing full well what Mr Bennet would have said.
“I’m not sure,” muttered Jane, taking advantage of her mother’s deafness, “that I shall ever
forgive the oleaginous Collins for evicting dear mama from Longbourn and inflicting her
presence upon us. Even Bingley does not have a good word for him.”
“I, on the other hand, have a very good word for him,” said Mr Darcy, slipping through the
door from the library in search of comestibles, “the man’s a complete and utter . . .”
At that point the blushes of the ladies, and the reader, were spared by the creaking of the
ancient butler entering through the main doors.
only gods stay
flawless slim and beautiful
the twilight of
us mortals dims our eyes
to lines and imperfections
No photos today.
