Mercy (revised)
Posted: 26 June 2012
Word Count: 567
Summary: A revision of sorts. Lines 4-6 omitted, the closing passage changed quite a bit: readers are now the jury.
|
Font Size
|
|
Mercy (Version 2)
Mary Broad of Fowey stole
a silken bonnet and other goods
to the value of eleven guineas.
Hang by the neck until you are dead.
Truan Kernow, was not said
in her defence. Cornwall is poor. Young men
are pressed into the American war; their boats
lie rotting. Candles are taxed, and windows;
salt taxed and scarce, so fish cannot be cured.
Land is enclosed, small farmers dispossessed,
and corn is dear. Thus great offence is done
against the mariner William Broad, and Grace his wife,
their daughters Grace and Mary, and their neighbours.
But now the fairy-tale begins.
For Mary’s knight would come,
in shiny shiny armour buffed
and polished to perfection
bearing a message from
and through the offices of
His Exceptionable Jobbery
the Lord Goblet of Vintage,
His Majesty's High Palterer
and Keeper of the Leghorns
conveying to the Court
the cogitations of His Majesty
the fervours and the ardours
of His Jesterly King George
His Majesty hath been gra-
The Royal hath-been hath been gra-
ciously pleased hath been ungra-
ciously indifferent hath been
pleased the word is pleased
the paper word is pleased
to grant his Royal arsy-versy
Mercy. Not mercy; Mercy.
His Travesty is greased to grunt
his romyeralcy, his meroycyal.
Mercy, noun. The lower decks
of stinking prison hulks;
scurvy; typhoid; dysentry;
a pretence of kindness.
His Majesty’s Lords and Commons
are here indicted for conspiring to deprive
the families of Barsby, Kneebone, Fryer,
Piggott, Broad and sundry others
of their living to the value
of a thousand candles; and of life
to the value of the whole green Earth.
Have you reached a verdict?
Mercy (Version 1)
Mary Broad of Fowey stole
a silken bonnet and other goods
to the value of eleven guineas.
But King George’s constables
were well-informed and prompt,
and brought her to the Exeter Assize.
Hang by the neck until you are dead.
No speech was made
in her defence. The following
was not said:
Truan Kernow. Cornwall is poor. Young men
are pressed into the American war; their boats
lie rotting. Candles are taxed, and windows;
salt taxed and scarce, so fish cannot be cured.
Land is enclosed, small farmers dispossessed,
and corn is dear. Thus great offence is done
against William Broad, his goodwife Grace,
their daughters Grace and Mary, and their neighbours.
But now the fairy-tale begins.
For Mary’s knight would come,
in shiny shiny armour buffed
and polished to perfection
bearing a message from
and through the offices of
His Exceptionable Jobbery
the Lord Goblet of Vintage,
His Majesty's High Palterer
and Keeper of the Leghorns
conveying to the Court
the cogitations of His Majesty
the fervours and the ardours
of His Jesterly King George
His Majesty hath been gra-
The Royal hath-been hath been gra-
ciously pleased hath been ungra-
ciously indifferent hath been
pleased the word is pleased
the paper word is pleased
to grant his Royal arsy-versy
Mercy. Not mercy; Mercy.
His Travesty is greased to grunt
his romyeralcy, his meroycyal.
Mercy, noun. The lower decks
of stinking prison hulks;
scurvy; typhoid; dysentry;
a pretence of kindness.
Truan Kernow. Grace and William Broad,
and their daughters Grace and Mary, and all
the fisher-folk of Fowey, were by His Majesty’s
rotten-borough Lords and Commons
robbed of their living to the value
of a thousand candles; and of life
to the value of the whole green Earth.
|
Comments by other Members
| |
 James Graham at 12:24 on 26 June 2012
 Report this post
|
This poem is up for as much criticism as you want to make. I’ve tried umpteen times to write a poem about Mary Broad, but with most of them it was a case of ‘Are you sure you want to send Mary Broad to the recycle bin?’ Yes, I’m sure.
Why Mary Broad? Because her story is absolutely mind-blowing. There’s a book and a film about her, but still I’m not sure how well known her life is. This is a very potted version.
In 1786, at the age of 19, she was sentenced to hang for highway robbery. This was commuted to transportation to New South Wales. Her first child was born below decks during the voyage. In NSW she met Will Bryant and married him, and together they stole the Governor’s boat, left Sydney Harbour by night with about 20 others, and sailed over 3,000 miles (through at least two severe storms) to Timor. Bryant got drunk and boasted about what they had done, and they were arrested and put on a British ship. On the voyage home, Will Bryant and Mary’s first and second children all died. Mary was imprisoned in Newgate, but her story became known to James Boswell who used his influence to have her pardoned. She returned to Cornwall, married again, and had another family.
I’d be interested to know what you think of this poem, which covers the first ‘chapter’ of the story. Questions:
1. I’ve used a lot of word play in the section about the King’s Mercy - including distortions of words. Is there too much of this? Is it coherent? Does it hit the right note, or not?
2. The lines about Cornwall and Mary’s family are mostly very plain - facts arranged into lines of verse. Is this appropriate? Do you feel it isn’t poetry at all?
3. Are the two words of Cornish necessary, or an affectation?
4. Do you find the poem as a whole too pro the suffering masses and too against the government?
Any other criticism? Fire away. If you don’t like the poem at all, tell me why.
James.
|
|
| |
 Dave Morehouse at 11:33 on 28 June 2012
Report this post
|
Okay, James. I’ll take an uninformed swing at it but keep in mind that I am a neophyte still trying to learn and weigh my ideas accordingly.
People, in general today, will have empathy for those who steal food. Likewise they understand poor times and unreasonable taxation. The ‘silken bonnet’ seems out of place to me. Perhaps she could steal something more vital for her family or the bonnet could be for her young daughter?
With the advent of google and instant information I feel the reader should be involved more deeply and can find those details readily enough. It would involve them personally with your poem and introduce them to a great story at the same time. That stated, my other thought is to eliminate the beginning and start off with something like this though I’m certain you could say it far better than I have written:
Mary Broad was not hanged by the neck.
Check for yourself – 1786, England, robbery.
But now the fairy-tale begins.
For Mary’s knight would come,
in shiny shiny armour buffed
and polished to perfection |
|
It would free your poem from the details that disturb the pace of this wonderful piece. Hopefully it would entice the reader to look up Mary Broad and then reread the poem with the insight of their newly acquired information.
I know this would be a radical change so please pardon me for sticking my nose into your poem where it doesn't belong.
I rather like the wordplay Here -
to grant his Royal arsy-versy
Mercy. Not mercy; Mercy.
His Travesty is greased to grunt
his romyeralcy, his meroycyal. |
|
But I stumbled as a reader here -
pleased the word is pleased
the paper word is pleased |
|
I hope this helps; it was given humbly. I never feel worthy to evaluate many of the fine poets and their work that appears here. Regards, Dave.
| |
 clyroroberts at 10:56 on 29 June 2012
Report this post
|
I think there are two poems here. The first five stanzas and the last three are one of a kind - I keep hearing the term "poetry of fact" these days from various quarters - is this what you had in mind?
the central section - the wordplay stanzas read like another poem where the facts of her life are a leaping off point. There is lots of creativity here - reminding me a little of early Beckett. I'm not sure what your intentions were with this section - a sort of satirical dance - taunting the authorities? I think it reads that way to me.
Overall I feel the two sections are pulling away from each other at the moment, while both being a valid expression of the subject matter. Is it technically possible to have the wordplay recede a little into the background? I'm thinking about the way some plays are formatted - with a central narrative which is often commented on by a chorus. Some of the chorus sections can be quite wild and chaotic and they provide a poetic counterpoint to very realistic action.
I'm rambling now . . . . I'll keep reading and come back with more comments later. These are just thoughts on the overall pattern of the piece.
| |
 FelixBenson at 10:32 on 30 June 2012
Report this post
|
Well, this passage is the part I love the most:
His Exceptionable Jobbery
the Lord Goblet of Vintage,
His Majesty's High Palterer
and Keeper of the Leghorns
conveying to the Court
the cogitations of His Majesty
the fervours and the ardours
of His Jesterly King George
His Majesty hath been gra-
The Royal hath-been hath been gra-
ciously pleased hath been ungra-
ciously indifferent hath been
pleased the word is pleased
the paper word is pleased
to grant his Royal arsy-versy
Mercy. Not mercy; Mercy. |
|
In the end, the poem is about mercy, and a particular brand of it. I think the poem captures and satirises this ridiculous, pompous version of mercy, written and sealed, and bearing no relation at all to the true definition of mercy.
(And crucially, no understanding to real impetus and reasons for Mary's crimes.)
I especially liked:
His Majesty's High Palterer
and Keeper of the Leghorns |
|
But the whole passage is angry, funny and satirical. It works.
pleased the word is pleased
the paper word is pleased |
|
Is perfect for its tones of outrage. 'the paper word' is a lethal phrase. On paper he's pleased, but how flimsy are those 'paper words'.
You asked some specific questions is your comment, I will try and answer them:
| 1. I’ve used a lot of word play in the section about the King’s Mercy - including distortions of words. Is there too much of this? Is it coherent? Does it hit the right note, or not? |
|
Yes, it definitely hits the right not - the distortions especially - for this is a distorted sense of mercy, it is also a distorted world when Mary's so-called pardon means the death of her children, when the King deigns to show mercy for the people he's driven to crime because they are struggling to have enough to eat. I don't think there is too much of this - I wouldn't change a thing, it's marvellous.
| 2. The lines about Cornwall and Mary’s family are mostly very plain - facts arranged into lines of verse. Is this appropriate? Do you feel it isn’t poetry at all? |
|
They are plain but not completely, there is internal rhyme by the third stanza, and the passage about Cornwall is very rhythmic. You need to set the scene a certain degree, but I didn't find that shift of tone too incongruous. It's one of the poet's tools, tone shift, rhythm shift, it draws attention to what you are doing/saying - and I took this tone to convey simple facts, to sound objective. You are saying these are the facts - on record. But there is another story - the truth has been distorted.
3. Are the two words of Cornish necessary, or an affectation?
There are various voices in this - adding the Cornish words seemed to fit with
"Hang by the neck until you are dead." and some of the middle section where you reference the queasy, pompous language of Court. I saw these as the voices of ordinary folk - it is used each time to anchor the sections which are plainer too - a reminder of the words that ordinary people might use. So I think use of the phrase is necessary.
The only suggestion I might make is that what you actually say in those final lines:
Truan Kernow. Grace and William Broad,
and their daughters Grace and Mary, and all
the fisher-folk of Fowey, were by His Majesty’s
rotten-borough Lords and Commons
robbed of their living to the value
of a thousand candles; and of life
to the value of the whole green Earth. |
|
has been shown in the poem already to a certain degree. This is key point that the poem is making, and so i see why you might want to end it with reference to this, but I think this section might be stating what the reader has already understood - it's the ordinary people who have been robbed by the King.
I think it's fair to include details of the family in the final stanzas in deference to balance about the true story, and I like the way here, as in other poems of yours you name the individuals involved, but I am tempted to think you could end the poem with the stanza that ends:
or compress the final stanzas slightly.
4. Do you find the poem as a whole too pro the suffering masses and too against the government?
I don't think that's a problem, but most or all readers would probably agree with your point of view, but that's no bad thing.
I didn't know about Mary Broad, so thanks for bringing this story to my attention. It's sad to think there is no version of events written in her own words, but a working class woman from that period...Her life story is incredible. I bet you could get a few poems out of this - it's certainly thought-provoking.
I think this is a fine poem and look forward to discussing it further.
Kirsty
| |
James Graham at 12:02 on 01 July 2012
Report this post
|
Thanks, Dave and James. Kirsty, I'll respond to yours as soon as I can.
Dave, thanks for taking a swing at it. I agree that it would evoke more sympathy if Mary were to steal food, or money for food, like Jean Valjean in Les Miserables who steals a loaf. But stealing a silk bonnet is what Mary was charged with, and I was sticking to the facts. I’m not sure it’s appropriate to fictionalise a well-documented story. However, the real fault you point out is that the opening six lines are very matter-of-fact and state facts that readers can easily get hold of. I think you’re right there. A much more arresting opening is needed, and I’ll work on that.
I’m glad you like the wordplay. It seemed right to use near-nonsense words and disjointed lines, because the ‘Royal Mercy’ seems an almost meaningless concept if it meant a prison hulk instead of hanging. It was worse for Mary and all the other prisoners because by the 1780s they couldn’t send convicts to America and the convict settlements in Australia were not ready. Mary spent several months on a ship moored in the Thames before being sent off with the First Fleet to New South Wales.
Another aspect of the Royal Mercy that I didn’t manage to include in the poem is that more women than men were shown ‘mercy’ because the women could satisfy the needs of male convicts and officers on the prison ships.
Sorry to go on, but there’s yet another sense in which ‘Royal Mercy’ is meaningless - the King, as we can easily imagine, had nothing whatever to do with it. Decisions about penalties were made by magistrates. Yet the original document states: ‘His Majesty hath been graciously pleased to extend the Royal Mercy’. No doubt His Majesty was pleased in a general way that felons were being hanged and transported and social control was being maintained. But at face value the words say that the King had shown mercy to Mary and others out of the kindness of his heart. Meaningless...and to reflect this, parts of the poem verge on nonsense.
In the lines you stumbled over, ‘the paper word’ is obscure and unnecessary. I suppose it means the word on paper, on the official document, which doesn’t represent the truth but is used as a mere formality. But there’s no need to have that stumbling block in the poem.
James, ‘a sort of satirical dance - taunting the authorities’ - that’s about right. Mocking the monarchy and aristocracy. There’s always a danger of judging the past on 21st century criteria, but they did have Tom Paine at that time, vigorously (and popularly) denouncing monarchy and advocating wider democracy and even a welfare state.
‘Poetry of fact’ - I searched but can’t find anything on this. It would be interesting to know who’s writing ‘poetry of fact’; a good example might serve as a model. Much of the poem could be given that label, and it’s an idea I like.
It’s a good point about the two sections ‘pulling away from each other’, and I take on board your idea for separating them. I could see passages in the word-play mode, or passages of commentary in another vein, presented as ‘interchapters’ between portions of narrative. Whenever I manage to write the next chapter of Mary’s story, I’ll try to arrange things in that way. Much later, there could be a monologue by James Boswell, during or after his successful effort to have Mary pardoned.
Thanks again for these very helpful comments. Any more thoughts you have would be much appreciated.
James.
|
|
| |
clyroroberts at 14:03 on 02 July 2012
Report this post
|
Poetry of Fact - hmmmm - I think it refers mostly to the new wave of naturalist / poet / writers. Mark Cocker might have been the one who coined the term. Writing that is based wholly on fact and not on an emotional response to the subject I think. Example of a poet - Ruth Padel maybe - she has a new book about migration that is a sort of combination of non-fiction and poetry. The Mara Crossing.
J
| |
James Graham at 16:11 on 02 July 2012
Report this post
|
Hello Kirsty - It is an amazing story, isn’t it? The more you delve into it, the more remarkable it becomes. You mention that it’s sad to think there’s no account of the voyage in Mary Broad’s own words, but it seems her husband Will Bryant (before he blew their cover) did write one. The original is lost, but it was seen by none other than Captain Bligh of the Bounty, who also came to Timor, in the open boat he was sent off in by his crew. Bligh took notes and quotes from Bryant’s manuscript, and included them in his memoirs, which in turn were never published, but are kept in the Mitchell Library in Sydney. Is that remarkable, or is that remarkable?
From the records that exist, there’s no doubt that Mary was in charge. Bryant, to give him his due, was an excellent sailor - he had been transported for smuggling - but it was Mary who not only steered the boat (with her baby on her knee) but decided on places to land for food and fresh water, and kept the escapees in good spirits all through the voyage.
You’ve convinced me of one or two things. I needed to try this one out on a few readers such as yourself. Now I’m fairly sure the wordplay lines are ok; your response -
| I think the poem captures and satirises this ridiculous, pompous version of mercy, written and sealed, and bearing no relation at all to the true definition of mercy. |
|
- reassured me on that point. James R thinks they should be presented separately, something like a speech by a Greek chorus, which is a suggestion well worth thinking about. The contrast with the ‘plain’ lines is quite extreme.
I’ve also changed my mind about the line ‘the paper word is pleased’ which Dave thought was a bit obscure. Even if it is, I think it has a place and helps make a point.
No false modesty - I’m very pleased with the lines you especially like:
His Majesty's High Palterer
and Keeper of the Leghorns |
|
I love the word ‘palter’, which Chambers defines as ‘to trifle in talk; to use tricks; to haggle; to equivocate’. Seems the right word here. Many years ago in the Uni vacation I was ‘Keeper of the Leghorns’, working on a chicken farm. The ‘title’ seemed to come out of nowhere and I thought it was a nice piece of nonsense, though maybe it came from ‘Keeper of the Great Seal’ - as a child I believed there really was a very large seal, and always hoped it was well cared-for. In Edinburgh Zoo, presumably.
It’s true there’s repetition of ideas in the closing lines. Certainly the three lines where all the names are. I’m loath to scrap the last four lines - and I’m usually quite cavalier about deletions - but I’ll give it some thought and hopefully find a way to compress this passage.
Thanks for taking so much time over this. So many good points have been made by yourself and others, it has become a real seminar!
James.
James, I'll certainly look into Mark Cocker and Ruth Padel's work. Thanks for that.
|
|
| |
 Elsie at 16:28 on 10 July 2012
Report this post
|
Hello James, I think this is great. I, too, particularly like
But now the fairy-tale begins.
For Mary’s knight would come,
in shiny shiny armour buffed
and polished to perfection
bearing a message from
and through the offices of
His Exceptionable Jobbery
the Lord Goblet of Vintage,
His Majesty's High Palterer
and Keeper of the Leghorns
conveying to the Court
the cogitations of His Majesty
the fervours and the ardours
of His Jesterly King George
His Majesty hath been gra-
The Royal hath-been hath been gra-
ciously pleased hath been ungra-
ciously indifferent hath been
pleased the word is pleased
the paper word is pleased
to grant his Royal arsy-versy
Mercy. Not mercy; Mercy.
|
|
With the faltering speech, I can imagine the tension as Mary waits to hear the decree.
I'm not sure you need the new, final line, the question, as I think the reader will have already come to their own conclusion.
It's amazing what punishments were seen fit for smaller crimes, and I noticed, whilst browsing ancestry.com that more serious crimes seemed to get off relatively lightly.
| |
James Graham at 12:06 on 11 July 2012
Report this post
|
Elsie, thanks for your comment. Glad you too like the mockery in these lines. I had thought there was too much of it, but now I think I'll leave it all as it is, a piece of indulgence in insolent wordplay. I'm happier with it partly because it's not just a superior twenty-first century attitude; there were people at the time putting out broadside ballads in the same vein, and of course Thomas Paine was cogently arguing against hereditary monarchy and for greater democracy.
Hanging people in thousands for petty crimes was their idea of strong government. The loss of the American colonies, and later the French Revolution, literally put the fear of death into the ruling elite, and they felt they had to crack down on people who might potentially be 'revolting peasants'.
Yes, I might leave the last line out. It's an easy verdict to arrive at anyway.
James..
|
|
| |
FelixBenson at 14:18 on 11 July 2012
Report this post
|
I like the revision, James, some tweaks that make the poem tighter, stronger. the change at the list of surnames at end really balances well with the earlier satirical wordplay. The names are both a little strange and incredibly ordinary, and so convey a sense that the everyman AND everyone have been deprived by the crown.
His Majesty’s Lords and Commons
are here indicted for conspiring to deprive
the families of Barsby, Kneebone, Fryer,
Piggott, Broad and sundry others |
|
I know I suggested curtailing version 1, but I always liked your (original) final line:
life
to the value of the whole green Earth. |
|
so I'm glad to see that made it through the revision.
The question at the end is apt, and really brings the argument of the poem to the fore, but I am not entirely convinced you need it.
Great poem - even better in its revised version!
Kirsty
| |
| |
Comments by other Members
