Wilfred Owen's Photographs (Ted Hughes, 1960)
Last week in my review of Robert Frost’s poem “On Looking Up By Chance at the Constellations” I criticized Frost for not using the form of the sonnet (which his poem roughly approximates) to further his argument. I was encouraged by one reader to critique a poem in which the poet’s thought is enhanced by the use of structure. This week’s poem does so — it, like the Frost, adapts itself loosely to the structure of a sonnet, and to good effect.
Wilfred Owen’s Photographs
Ted HughesWhen Parnell’s Irish in the House
Pressed that the British Navy’s cat-
O-nine tails be abolished, what
Shut against them? It was
Neither Irish nor English nor that
Decade, but of the species.
Predictably, Parliament
Squared against the motion. As soon
Let the old school tie be rent
Off their necks, and give thanks, as see gone
No shame but a monument—
Trafalgar not better known.
‘To discontinue it were as much
As ship not powder and cannonballs
But brandy and women’ (Laughter). Hearing which
A witty profound Irishman calls
For a ‘cat’ into the House, and sits to watch
The gentry fingering its stained tails.
Whereupon . . .
quietly, unopposed,
The motion was passed.
First off, I must confess I have no idea what Hughes’ title means. Wilfred Owen was, of course, the poet who wrote extensively of the horrors of trench warfare in World War I and who was killed in action only a week before the armistice which ended the war. I am not aware of any photographs taken by Wilfred Owen. Maybe Hughes meant photographs of Owen. I don’t know. With that admission of my own lack of understanding out of the way, let us turn to the poem.
When Parnell’s Irish in the House
Pressed that the British Navy’s cat-
O-nine tails be abolished,
This poem is dense with cultural allusions; and it is possible that some of them might be lost on readers unfamiliar with the episode Hughes is discussing. Charles Parnell was a nationalist Irish politician active in the last decades of the nineteenth century. I am not sure of the exact events to which Hughes is referring, but it can be inferred that some of Parnell’s supporters had moved that the use of the cat-o’-nine-tails — a truly horrifying and medieval implement of corporal punishment —be set aside in favor of more humane forms of naval discipline.
The first three lines of the poem introduce the setting, but the next clause of the sentence — “What shut against them?” — expands that setting: Hughes is describing an event but he is also discussing it. Notice that he doesn’t ease into the discussion with a transitional phrase. He doesn’t say “something shut against them” and then describe the objection of the conservative members of the House. He is being very economical with his words, and he moves us directly forward into an examination of the psychological state of the subjects of his poem.
Neither Irish nor English nor that
Decade, but of the species.
He expands the setting even more in these lines. We aren’t just talking about party politics; this particular debate has implications stretching across the entirety of human existence. By the end of the first stanza we’ve been introduced to a conflict, the characters in it, its setting, and its field of implications — quite a lot to pack into six lines of verse!
Predictably, Parliament
Squared against the motion. As soon
Let the old school tie be rent
Off their necks, and give thanks, as see gone
No shame but a monument—
Trafalgar not better known.
In this stanza Hughes swings the argument of the poem back, like a pendulum, from universal human concerns to this one particular parliamentary debate and introduces more cultural signifiers: the old school tie, the battle of Trafalgar.
Hughes is using the traditional structure of the sonnet to move us through the structure of his thought. In a traditional English sonnet, the first quatrain introduces an idea; the second one develops that idea further. This is what Hughes does when he first expands our perspective and then contracts it in his first two stanzas. The third quatrain of a traditional sonnet usually complicates the issue, introducing some element of unsettledness to what has been already expressed in the poem. The volta corresponds to the denouement in works of narrative: it ties all the unresolved threads together and relieves the tension that has been developed so far. Good examples of this kind of form are John Donne’s sonnet which begins “If poisonous minerals,” and Shakespeare’s sonnet 19. Not all sonnets adhere to this pattern but the best ones at least try to gesture in the direction of the ideal.
Back to Hughes. In what way was the motion to abolish the old cat resisted? “Of the species” Hughes says; in the poem’s second stanza we’re given examples of pride in tradition and heritage. That is what is at issue here: the idea that it is good to deliberately turn our back on the ways of the past. Why would we ever want to abandon our settled way of doings things? To the members of the House that’s evidently a purely rhetorical question. Notice the ironic contrast between the violence of flogging as a corporal punishment and the action of “rending” the symbol of beloved heritage:
Let the old school tie be rent
Off their necks, and give thanks, as see gone
No shame but a monument–
Even more despicable than getting rid of these fine old symbols, these respectable traditions, would be to give thanks for doing so. On the whole, people love familiarity, routines, traditions. To openly express pride at the rejection of tradition goes against deeply-ingrained ways of being human in the world; and the members of the House don’t want to do that. Another thing going against the anti-flogging contingent is that the cat has become a symbol of the British Navy and the power and prestige of the entire nation and race of the English. Understandably (or, to use Hughes’ word, “predictably”) the House would not be interested in rejecting that symbol.
As ship not powder and cannonballs
But brandy and women’ (Laughter).
Not only is the “cat” a symbol, it is also a useful and valuable tool. What is worse: depriving one’s self of a symbol (a psychologically difficult thing to do, but doing so does no damage to one’s daily work), or depriving one’s self of the tools necessary to perform that work? Notice how the absurdity, in the House’s eyes, of the situation causes them to start making witticisms against the ridiculous notion. They start laughing amongst themselves. And here is where Hughes deploys his master stroke.
[ . . . ] Hearing which
A witty profound Irishman calls
For a ‘cat’ into the House, and sits to watch
The gentry fingering its stained tails.
At this point in a traditional English sonnet the poet introduces something which unsettles the scene described in the poem’s first two quatrains. Hughes does so by bringing in “a witty and profound Irishman” into the scene, contrasting his wisdom with the House pro-flogging party, who are being witty with their laughter and feel themselves profound thereby. Hughes’ Irishman, though, is more witty and profound than them — and we know so, because the narrator tells us so. Do you remember those passages in the Bible where the certainty of an action’s being good or evil is assured due to the inspired narrator telling us so? This is similar. The omniscient narrator of Hughes’ poem is aware that, whatever the quality of the M.P.’s debate, it is not as perspicacious as the simple action of the Irish member who brings in one of the whips in question as material evidence.
I absolutely love the assonance between the words “stained” and “tails” in line 18. These two words bear enormous structural and psychological weight; they carry the entire poem. Hughes, with his characteristic verbal frugality, brings us directly into contact with the pure and undiluted horror of corporal punishment in the British Navy. For the past two centuries seamen had been flogged with this instrument of torture. It was deliberately designed to induce the greatest amount of pain possible. One single lash from the whip was enough to tear off bits of skin — but naval punishments started with twelve lashes for drunkenness and up to 300 lashes for desertion. Ships’ boys were punished with a smaller version of the whip that had “only” five strands of knotted cotton cord instead of nine. Hughes’ Irishman brings in one of these implements and watches as the members of the House look closely at the cords, tangled and caked with the blood of who knows how many sailors . . . and it works: they are repulsed. Hughes doesn’t say so directly but we see the outcome of their changed psychological state.
Whereupon . . .
quietly, unopposed,
The motion was passed.
Instead of pride in their tradition they feel disgust and shame at the reality of the cruel horror they have been defending. Their “quietly, unopposed” assent to the abolishment of the cat is emblematic of the sharpest and most virtuous turn a society can take. Far more important than judicial tradition is the responsibility to treat our fellow human beings humanely — and the members of parliament have enough sense to realize that they ought not to be obstinate in the face of true progress, the kind which is equivalent to growth in maturity.
That is how Hughes ties together the structure of this masterful little poem: the last two lines, corresponding to the volta in an English sonnet, provide the form’s necessary denouement. Notice, as well, his rhyme scheme: he is pairing consonants, instead of vowels, at the ends of lines (this is something both he and his wife, Sylvia Plath, would often do). The result lends the poem a formal structure without being obtrusive or ostentatious. But the poem’s true beauty comes from his deft control of the shape of his argument as displayed through the shape of his poem: his use of contrasts and comparisons, carefully balanced and brought to a virtuosic finish. Well done, Mr. Hughes!
