[Glenn Wright]

This is the statuary group that the poem is based on:
https://images.app.goo.gl/dPLFgjZDKXfGUGdb8

Version 2
Serpents

The marble statue of Laocoön
ambushes visitors as they make the turn
into its courtyard in the Vatican.

The calm and classic setting fails to warn
of the lacerating violence of the display.
The God of mercy should condemn with scorn

the wrath of Neptune, eager to betray
his priest and innocent boys with snakes, whose fangs
will kill them in a murderous ballet.

Just so did raped Medusa feel the pangs
when punished by Minerva so unfairly.
A nest of serpents from her temples hangs

and turns to stone who looks upon her squarely.
Laocoön’s terror leaves his deity
unmoved, and if the gods should notice, barely,

they note the presentation’s grim austerity,
as if Medusa snapped it for posterity.



Version 1
Laocoön

The marble statue of Laocoön
ambushes visitors as they make the turn
into its courtyard in the Vatican.

The calm, octagonal setting fails to warn
of the lacerating violence of the scene.
Vergil describes the priest of Neptune’s scorn

for Greeks bearing gifts. He chucked a spear between
the horse’s wooden planks, just missing the head
of sly Ulysses. From the ocean’s green

and boiling waves two crimson snakes have sped,
fulfilling Neptune’s curse; both priest and boys
are tangled in their scaly coils. The dread

just before the poisonous fang destroys
the father and sons, betrayed by their deity,
is seared into their faces. The god enjoys

the artful presentation’s grim austerity,
as if Medusa snapped it for posterity.
————————————————
Edits:
S3L3: Into > From
S5L1: just as > just before

[Hilary Biehl]

Hi Glenn, my overarching problem with this is that it seems like a fairly straightforward description of the statues plus telling us the story. I feel the poem could be doing more.

I also think there is an overabundance of adjectives, many of which are not really necessary.

I do like the last line, though, which is a cool and (for me) unexpected image that also fits the artwork.

[Susan McLean]

Glenn, I agree with Hilary's observation that you could be doing more with the story than just describing it, and I too like the last line. Where have the observers at the Vatican gone? I expected a response from them, not from Neptune.

Don't the snakes come out of the ocean to attack? You might want to change the "into" in S3L3 to "from" or "out of." S5L1 has only four beats and needs five: JUST as the POIsonous FANG deSTROYS.

Susan

[David Callin]

Hi Glenn,

My thoughts here are, like Susan's, pretty much like Hilary's. She has summed things up pretty well.

I do like the way you handled the terza rima, though.

Cheers

David

[Max Goodman]

This is well done.

I think its beginning (commenting on the Vatican setting) and ending (bringing in Medusa and "the g-d," (Neptune, but referred to that way, a reasonable stand-in for (the Vatican's) G-d) mean to add that element beyond description some readers feel missing. I can't quite put the poem's thought together, but I feel it thinking something more than a description.

Virgil is usually spelled in English without an "e," I think.

"Into the ocean’s green/.../...Neptune’s curse" seems to describe something that happens after the moment depicted in the statues, which is particularly confusing because it's semi-coloned to a present-tense sentence that takes us right back to the statue moment.

Snakes make Medusa tangentially relevant but, unless she's central to the point I'm missing, her presence may be muddying that point. (Of course, it could easily be my reading that is muddy.)

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Hilary, Susan, David, and Max—

Thanks for sharing your helpful impressions of this poem. Your reactions are very useful in helping me gauge the effect of the piece on different readers.

Hilary—I’m glad you liked the last line. I will see if I can collapse any of the adjectives that don’t seem to be pulling their weight. My objective was to present a powerfully affecting and heart-rending scene for humans as merely an opportunity for aesthetic appreciation by the gods whose utter indifference to the tragedy is unnerving.

Susan—In pursuing this objective, the visitors in S1-2 serve their purpose by registering shock and sympathy for the depiction of unfair punishment. I made the two adjustments you suggested. I did a translation of Aeneid Book II, lines 201-233 which is still posted in the Translation Forum.

David—Glad you liked the terza rima. It’s my indirect tip of the hat to Vergil through Dante.

Max—I’m glad you saw the set-up comparing Classical gods to the Christian God. I wanted to consider how the cruelty of Neptune and Medusa could be explained aesthetically. The Classical gods used humans as raw material to create subject matter for art.
The spelling of Vergil’s name is a surprisingly heated topic in Classics studies. His Latin name was Publius Vergilius Maro, and Dante spells it “Vergilio” in the Inferno. Somewhere in the late Middle Ages a scribal error changed it to “Virgil.” There is a theory that this was influenced by the fact that Vergil was associated with magic and the Latin word “virga ” means “wand.” In English usage, both spellings are acceptable.
Medusa is imagined here as a photographer, turning Laocoön and his sons to stone at the culmination of their suffering. I suppose one could regard this as an act of mercy, but it’s clear that Medusa and Neptune are not motivated by tender feelings. It does, though, exemplify the theme of pain transforming into beauty.
Side note: Medusa was punished with snake-hair by Athena/Minerva for being raped by Neptune in Athena’s temple, thus committing sacrilege. (Talk about blaming the victim!) Her unfair punishment parallels the unfair punishment of Laocoön, who also committed sacrilege against Minerva by throwing a spear at her sacred horse. You might expect Medusa to have more sympathy for Laocoön and his completely innocent sons, but she and Neptune display existential indifference.

Thanks again, all—

Glenn

[Hilary Biehl]

Originally Posted by Glenn Wright

My objective was to present a powerfully affecting and heart-rending scene for humans as merely an opportunity for aesthetic appreciation by the gods whose utter indifference to the tragedy is unnerving.

I think that's a worthwhile and interesting aim, I just don't think you've achieved it yet. I know that "show don't tell" is a cliche, but in this case I feel like you're telling me what I'm seeing and it doesn't quite work. Show me. Break the language open to make it accommodate the image you're communicating.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Hilary—

I have been thinking about how to change my approach to this poem. I think that the section from S2L3 to S4L2 is the most problematic. It summarizes the events leading up to the serpents’ attack on Laocoön and his sons, but doesn’t advance my main objective. I will give some thought to introducing Medusa earlier and establishing the parallel between her and Laocoön, who are both unfairly punished by cruel, indifferent gods. I’d like to keep the terza rima, (which not only reference Vergil indirectly through Dante, but which also imitate the sinuous braiding of the serpents with the limbs of Laocoön and his sons.). An alternative would be to write a new poem on the Medusa-Laocoön parallel.

Thanks for returning and providing your useful insights.

Glenn