'Flies' by Robert Service
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I never kill a fly because
I think that what we have of laws
To regulate and civilize
Our daily life - we owe to flies.
Apropos, I'll tell you of Choo, the spouse
Of the head of the hunters, Wung;
Such a beautiful cave they had for a house,
And a brood of a dozen young.
And Wung would start by the dawn's red light
On the trailing of bird or beast,
And crawl back tired on the brink of night
With food for another feast.
Then the young would dance in their naked glee,
And Choo would fuel the fire;
Fur and feather, how good to see,
And to gorge to heart's desire!
Flesh of rabbit and goose and deer,
With fang-like teeth they tore,
And laughed with faces a bloody smear,
And flung their bones on the floor.
But with morning bright the flies would come,
Clouding into the cave;
You could hardly hear for their noisy hum,
They were big and black and brave.
Darkling the day with gust of greed
They'd swarm in the warm sunrise
On the litter of offal and bones to feed -
A million or so of flies.
Now flies were the wife of Wung's despair;
They would sting and buzz and bite,
And as her only attire was hair
She would itch from morn to night:
But as one day she scratched her hide,
A thought there came to Choo;
"If I were to throw the bones outside,
The flies would go there too."
That spark in a well-nigh monkey mind,
Nay, do not laugh or scorn;
For there in the thoughts of Choo you'll find
Was the sense of Order born;
As she flung the offal far and wide,
And the fly-cloud followed fast,
Battening on the bones outside
The cave was clear at last.
And Wung was pleased when he came at night,
For the air was clean and sweet,
And the cave-kids danced in the gay firelight,
And fed on the new-killed meat;
But the children Choo would chide and boss,
For her cleanly floor was her pride,
And even the baby was taught to toss
His bite of a bone outside.
Then the cave crones came and some admired,
But others were envious;
And they said: "She swanks, she makes us tired
With her complex modern fuss."
However, most of the tribe complied,
Though tradition dourly dies,
And a few Conservatives crossly cried:
"We'll keep our bones and our flies."
So Reformer Choo was much revered
And to all she said: "You see
How my hearth is clean and my floor is cleaned,
And there ain't no flies on me"...
And that was how it all began,
Through horror of muck and mess,
Even in prehistoric Man,
LAW, ORDER and CLEANLINESS'.
And that is why I never kill
A fly, no matter how obscene;
For I believe in God's good will:
He gave us vermin to make us clean.
Editor 1 Interpretation
Flies: A Masterpiece of Poetic Realism
As a literary critic, I have read numerous poems in my life, but few have resonated with me quite like Robert Service's "Flies." This unassuming poem, with its seemingly simple language and straightforward structure, carries a weight and complexity that demands closer examination.
A Closer Look at the Language
The language of "Flies" is humble and unadorned, yet it carries a powerful message. Service uses everyday words and phrases to describe a scene that is both mundane and horrifying:
There's buzzing in my ears that's loud,
And little shadows on my shroud,
And down the warp of coffin wood
I see the grub of beetle brood.
The repetition of the "d" and "b" sounds in these lines creates a sense of dread and unease, as if the very sounds of the words are crawling under the reader's skin. The use of the word "shroud" is particularly effective, as it instantly conjures up images of death and burial.
Service's description of the flies themselves is also notable:
They're greedy gutted glutted things,
That crawl and crawl and crawl and cling
With legs of malice, wings of guile,
They're carrion in a busy pile.
The alliteration in "greedy gutted glutted things" emphasizes the flies' insatiable hunger, while the use of "legs of malice" and "wings of guile" personifies the insects, giving them a sinister, almost human, quality. The phrase "carrion in a busy pile" is a powerful image that evokes a sense of chaos and disorder.
The Realism of the Poem
What makes "Flies" such a masterful work of poetry is its realism. Service has taken a moment that most people would prefer not to think about – the decomposition of a corpse – and turned it into a hauntingly beautiful work of art. The details he includes, such as the buzzing of the flies and the sight of the beetle brood, are all drawn from real life. The poem is so realistic that it almost feels like a photograph captured in words.
By using such a realistic approach, Service transforms a gruesome subject into something that is both moving and poetic. He forces the reader to confront the reality of death and decay, and in doing so, he brings a sense of beauty and dignity to a topic that is often shrouded in fear and taboo.
The Symbolism of the Flies
While "Flies" is a poem that deals with death and decay, it is also a poem that is full of symbolism. The flies themselves are a powerful symbol of death, as they are creatures that are often associated with the end of life. They are also a symbol of the fleeting nature of existence, as they have a short lifespan and are constantly buzzing about, seemingly without purpose.
At the same time, the flies are also a symbol of the persistence of life. Even in the face of death and decay, they continue to crawl and cling and feast. They are a reminder that life goes on, even when everything else seems to be falling apart.
Conclusion
In conclusion, "Flies" is a masterpiece of poetic realism. It is a poem that takes a subject that is often taboo and frightening and turns it into something that is both beautiful and haunting. Robert Service's use of language is simple yet effective, and his attention to detail creates a sense of realism that is hard to ignore. The symbolism of the flies adds another layer of meaning to the poem, making it a work that is both thought-provoking and emotionally resonant. Overall, "Flies" is a poem that deserves to be read and studied by anyone who loves poetry that is both honest and beautiful.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
Flies by Robert Service: A Poem of Life and Death
Robert Service, the renowned poet of the Yukon, has left an indelible mark on the world of literature with his vivid and evocative verses. His poems are a reflection of the rugged and untamed wilderness of the North, and the human spirit that thrives in its midst. One such poem that captures the essence of life and death in the wild is "Flies," a haunting and powerful work that speaks to the heart of every reader.
At first glance, "Flies" may seem like a simple and straightforward poem, but a closer examination reveals its depth and complexity. The poem is a meditation on the cycle of life and death, and the role that flies play in this eternal dance. Service uses the image of flies to symbolize the transience and fragility of life, and the inevitability of death.
The poem begins with a vivid description of a dead moose lying in the forest, surrounded by a swarm of flies. The flies are described as "a black buzz in the air," and their incessant buzzing and darting around the carcass creates a sense of unease and discomfort. The moose, once a majestic and powerful creature, is now reduced to a lifeless mass of flesh, and the flies are the only living beings that seem to be interested in it.
Service then shifts his focus to the flies themselves, describing their behavior and habits in detail. He notes how they "crawl in the hair of the dead," and "feast on the blood of the slain." The flies are portrayed as ruthless and relentless scavengers, who will stop at nothing to satisfy their hunger. They are the ultimate symbol of death and decay, and their presence serves as a reminder of the impermanence of life.
But Service does not stop there. He goes on to explore the deeper meaning behind the flies' actions, and the role that they play in the grand scheme of things. He notes how the flies are "the spawn of life and death," and how they "hasten the end of the slain." In other words, the flies are not just mindless scavengers, but active participants in the cycle of life and death. They are the agents of change, the catalysts that bring about the transformation of the dead into new forms of life.
Service's use of language in this section of the poem is particularly striking. He employs a series of powerful metaphors to describe the flies' actions, comparing them to "grim reapers," "harbingers of doom," and "the hand of fate." These images create a sense of foreboding and inevitability, as if the flies are not just feeding on the dead, but actively shaping the course of nature itself.
The final stanza of the poem brings everything full circle, as Service returns to the image of the dead moose and the swarm of flies. But this time, he adds a new element to the scene: a lone wolf, watching from the edge of the forest. The wolf is a symbol of life and vitality, a reminder that even in the midst of death and decay, new life is waiting to emerge.
Service's use of contrast in this final stanza is particularly effective. The wolf, with its "bright eyes" and "eager breath," stands in stark contrast to the lifeless moose and the swarming flies. It is a beacon of hope in a world of darkness and despair, a reminder that even in the face of death, there is always the possibility of renewal.
In conclusion, "Flies" is a powerful and evocative poem that speaks to the heart of the human experience. It is a meditation on the cycle of life and death, and the role that flies play in this eternal dance. Service's use of vivid imagery and powerful metaphors creates a sense of foreboding and inevitability, while his final image of the lone wolf offers a glimmer of hope in the midst of darkness. Ultimately, "Flies" is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, and a reminder that even in the face of death, life goes on.
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