Sunday Sonnets- Leda and the Swan

(Painting by Leonardo Da Vinci, courtesy of Google Images)

William Butler Yeats- Leda and the Swan

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.

Being so caught up,

So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

I chose Leda and the Swan for my poem today because

1. It is ACTUALLY a sonnet (Petrarchan) in classic iambic pentameter, and i thought I'd throw at least ONE at you before I really got into some of the more free-form type poems out there and

2. In honor of February being the most lustful month of the year (except for maybe June- you know, spring and spawning and all) this one just seemed to fit.

Still, you wonder- a girl and a swan...really? Well, I HAVE witnessed three ducks gang rape another duck...so, I guess it's not beyond possibility.

Anyway, the swan was Zeus in swan form. (Apparently Cheating on Hera was a favorite past time) He was no ordinary swan.

After this rape, Leda, in some versions of the story lays eggs. From which eggs, four children hatch. One is Helen. The very same Helen that inspired the Trojan war. (Referenced in the lines "The broken wall, the burning roof, and Agamemnon dead"- though I'm pretty sure it was a double entendre, also referencing her lost virginity.)

Simply put, that's that.


Katharyn Machan- Leda’s Sister and the Geese

All the boys always wanted her, so
it was no surprise about the swan
man, god, whatever he was. That day
I was stuck at home, as usual, while
she got to moon around the lake
supposedly picking lilies for dye. Think I
would have let some pair of wings catch me,
bury me under the weight of the sky?
She came home whimpering, whined out
the whole story, said she was "sore afraid"
she'd got pregnant. Hunh. "Sore"
I'll bet, the size she described, and
pregnant figures; no guess who'll get
to help her with the kid or, Hera forbid,
more than one (twins run in our damned
family). "Never you mind, dear," Mother said.
"Your sister will take on your chores."
Sure. As though I wasn't already doing
twice as many of my own. So now
I clean, I spin, I weave, I bake,
fling crusts to feed these birds I wish
to Hades every day; while she sits smug
in a wicker chair, and eats sweetmeats,
and combs and combs that ratty golden hair.

This one was just for fun. An answer to Leda and the Swan. LOL.