Letter from the Editors
Dear Readers,
Each weekday in April, Poetry Daily brings its email newsletter readers a special poem, selected by a contemporary poet whose work has appeared on Poetry Daily, as part of its annual fund-raising campaign and in celebration of National Poetry Month. This year, Poetry Daily is presenting these poems and comments to its website readers.
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Thank you so much for your support! Enjoy today's special poem!
Warmest regards,
Don Selby & Diane Boller
Editors
Jane Mead's Poetry Month Pick, April 9, 2009
Badger
by John Clare (1793-1864)
When midnight comes a host of dogs and men
Go out and track the badger to his den,
And put a sack within the hole, and lie
Till the old grunting badger passes bye.
He comes and hears—they let the strongest loose.
The old fox hears the noise and drops the goose.
The poacher shoots and hurries from the cry,
And the old hare half wounded buzzes by.
They get a forked stick to bear him down
And clap the dogs and take him to the town,
And bait him all the day with many dogs,
And laugh and shout and fright the scampering hogs.
He runs along and bites at all he meets:
They shout and hollo down the noisy streets.
He turns about to face the loud uproar
And drives the rebels to their very door.
The frequent stone is hurled where eer they go;
When badgers fight, then every one's a foe.
The dogs are clapt and urged to join the fray;
The badger turns and drives them all away.
Though scarcely half as big, demure and small,
He fights with dogs for bones and beats them all.
The heavy mastiff, savage in the fray,
Lies down and licks his feet and turns away.
The bulldog knows his match and waxes cold,
The badger grins and never leaves his hold.
He drives the crowd and follows at their heels
And bites them through—the drunkard swears and reels.
The frightened women take the boys away,
The blackguard laughs and hurries on the fray.
He tries to reach the woods, and awkward race,
But sticks and cudgels quickly stop the chace.
He turns agen and drives the noisy crowd
And beats the many dogs in noises loud.
He drives away and beats them every one,
And then they loose them all and set them on.
He falls as dead and kicked by boys and men,
Then starts and grins and drives the crowd agen;
Till kicked and torn and beaten out he lies
And leaves his hold and crackles, groans, and dies.
Jane Mead Comments:
Given how dramatic the narrative of this poem is (the unprovoked capture, torture and killing of the badger, for sport) I am always struck by its lack of sentimentality. I think this is partly because the telling is so straight-forward, but also because the metaphorical levels on which the poem works are so layered and nuanced, so resonant: Even with the line between “good and evil” so cleanly drawn here, the poem’s sadness ripples through one in complicated ways: Gratuitous violence of the strong toward the weak, the crowd toward the singled-out individual, as well as the transformation of the outsider into something desperate and ferocious, is a common theme in literature. And, as every schoolchild knows—the badger could just as well be human, as certainly was not lost on poor mad John Clare.
About Jane Mead:
Jane Mead is the author of The Usable Field, and two previous collections of poetry, House of Poured-Out Waters and The Lord and the General Din of the World. Her awards include a Guggenheim Fellowship, a Completion Grant from the Lannan Foundation, and a Whiting Writer’s Award. For many years Poet-in-Residence at Wake Forest University, she now manages the family ranch in northern California and teaches occasionally.
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