The Rabbit God - v2

[milo]

Ray

Thanks for that, will correct the calibre, I knew it was a four ten but was unsure of how it is written - I'm not going to argue with a Texan about guns

Incidentally would a 12 bore be the same thing as a 12 guage?

"bore" is a term in mechanics that refers to the inside diameter of a hollowed cylinder - in that case a gun. Gauge (ga) is the bore that fits a specific weight of lead but it refers, once again, to the bore not the lead itself (though the practice seems backwards).

a 12 ga shot gun is one with a bore of the correct size to fit 1/12 of a pound of lead formed as a sphere.

[jeremyyoung]

So a 12 bore and a 12 gauge are the same?

I don't know.

I'm interested because growing up there were 410s and 12 bores. Boys had 410's and their fathers had 12 bores - though in reality very few people had guns at all; though speaking of this I am reminding that club books, Sears catalogues, sold shotguns and air rifles in their autumn/winter editions.

It seems odd to buy a gun on 20 week credit now.

But then when I were a lad a Mars Bar lasted you week...

[milo]

So a 12 bore and a 12 gauge are the same?

no, bore refers to the size of the hole, also called the caliber. 12 gauge refers to a gun with a bore of the correct size to fit a spherical ball of lead of 1/12 lb. A 12 ga has a bore of .729 inches

http://www.hallowellco.com/bore_size_chart.htm

[NobodyNothing]

Hi. I've read this poem like 20 times. I guess that's a way of saying I like it. I don't know hardly anything about the academics of poetry, I just know what I like. As far as criticism goes, I have a hard time with that. But here goes...

I'm wondering if your two "And"(s) are necessary, especially the first one in the first stanza? I just really like...

in the last field before the railway lines...

...more than...

And, in the last field before the railway lines...

Can you believe all I've got is about an "and"? Actually, some other posters mentioned some other potentially beneficial criticisms, but most of them were about word choice, or some other technical thing.

What I really dig about your poem is the idea of it. You really seemed to know what you were after in this way. It showed. It effected me.

I think someday you will write this poem again, but in a different way. I think it will be great. (And) I really like this one mostly as it is. I dig the atmospherics you create early on, though some may have thought otherwise, thought it superfluous. Me not.

Anyway...I don't really much know what I'm saying.

Best to you.

[jeremyyoung]

NobodyNothing

Thank you for your kind words.

And I admit that 'and' is one of those crutch words that I struggle with. Along with it's cousin 'but'.

[cfgorman]

The Rabbit God
The sun sits high past the noontime,
the flat land, new mown,
ambles away to the river.
And, in the last field before the railway lines
I lean against the stake of the barbed wire fence
and watch rabbits.

The year before the roadsides had been littered
with the blinded debris of mixi.

He is two months younger than I;
taller, more willing to fight,
though maybe my equal in strength.
We have just had a wheelie competition,
in the dust of the abandoned road,
which runs arrow straight over the crossing.
Our brown-berry legs,
in short trousers,
carry the scars of play,
in these dying days of the summer holiday.

He tells me to wait outside,
I kick stones:
he re-appears with the gun.
I am nervous.
He tells me it is fine,
that his parents won't mind.
And, anyway, they are both at work.
The gun is nearly as tall as me.
And as he pulls the trigger,
it nearly knocks him backwards:
though he says it is only a 4/10,
and he's fired bigger.

The rabbit looks shocked.
One moment it was chasing it's friend's tail
the next it is moving sideways,
then backwards
then looping into the air.
The field which moments earlier
had been dotted with grey dancing,
lies fallow and still
a sea of watching eyes.

It is larger than I imagine.
'A female,' he tells me, laughing,
squeezing the guts,
gushing out a yellow stream.
I tell him to stop,
sensing desecration,
but he says you have to do it.
He breaks the gun, and casually carries it on the hip
holding the now cleaned doe
by the ears.

The last time I was in this garden,
we used a catapult
to test the parachute of his Action Man.
And, I think of this
as he slits the rabbit from pelvis to neck.
The torn flesh and purple innards
force me to retreat to the corner of the house.
When I peer around the wall,
in response to his urging,
I see his fingers enter the cut,
hook the skin,
pull the hind legs back:
with a deft cracking of bones.
It comes off in one piece:
the skin from the meat,
like the sound of a wet sandcastle being turned out.

I wonder about the layers of meaning in the title, The Rabbit God. Its perfect. Reminds of Moby Dick where Ahab has to kill the whale who I think is a stand in for God, but at the same time the poem is about these two young boys pulling wheelies. But one kills. What does he kill? A rabbit, perhaps but much more. The younger boys credibility grows through the poem to a point of respect rather than evil. This is a wonderful piece of work. Thanks

Chris

[jeremyyoung]

Thank you.

The title was inspired by a documentary on rabbits. When the kits are born the doe builds an anti-chamber and disguises the entrance otherwise the buck will eat them. It's all rather Olympian.

As to your point about evil, I am entirely neutral - I believe the rabbit ended in a pie or a stew. I was trying to convey the sense of the rabbit being prepared, the process, particularly the sound of the skinning. Perhaps the value judgement comes from the establishment of the idyll at the beginning. Or the recognition that the rabbit dies due to the boredom, the boys have run out of games to play so one decides to shot something.

[jeremyyoung]

I have made some edits.

A big thank you for helping me to refine this poem.