kfg moore

Rapunzel

THE PROLOGUE. Eine kleine angst musik. Overture and beginners please.

There was always something weird about the Grimms,
Firing grimshots across the bows of juvenile consciousness,
(Pick the bones out of that one, Sigmund!);
Penning penile myths of pain as the root of pleasure,
And fulfilment where size really matters in spaces filled full
With person, shape, rank, control, or powers or towers
Evoking teutonic architecture, that just about conceals
The grind of tectonic plates in theological opposition,
Cold stone rubbing hot sparks: Calvin meets Hobbs,
Forging Blake's fiery arrows of desire, subtitled and subtexted
Into the piercing heat of loins, joined in icy water coitus.
Control freaks controlling freaks, Brothers in alms,
dishing soulfood, not quite wholefood, or hole-food,
But christian chitlins for the fleshpot-hungry poor.
Not for these Grimmbros, enchantresses to entrance for the dance,
Like all good puritan homies, they've been warned not to be warmed,
By the magic and wisdom of Wicca and wicked womanhood,
Or artfully, smartfully, tartfully-presented temptations.
No, for them it's the pain of the unattainable Princess,
Virgin on the paedofiliac, in their obsession,
With bondaged youthful virtue, wating for release,
By the first prick of a finger, or frogbound kissing prince.
But enough of this freewheeling cycle analysis,
Let's to the hoary story.

ACT 1 Standby Coupling Tenant Couple and Enchantless Landlady Enchantress

Long ago and faraway,
(Grimmbros keep a cool and Brechtian distance),
Near worn from trying, desperate to breed,
Casting clothes and spells,
(IVF as yet a scientific twinkle in the boffins' eye),
In a final fluid push and squeeze,
They get sperm to blunder into egg,
In a fusion of confusion,
(Grimmbros tabloid-like nimbly side-step the process,
Reporting only the end result),
Hormone-happy wifey starts the craving,
Raving not for coal or nutty slack,
Nor culinery no-no's, nor forbidden fruit,
But Ra-ra Rapunzel, a green and pleasant herb,
The private, guarded stash of the altered-state enchantress
Silly hubby, of other duty free, indulges wifely whim
and scrumps a gram or six, without a by-your-leave,
(Was he indulging her, or indulging in a bit himself?)
Heavy shit anyway!
Repeating the dose, once too predictably often,
Gets caught, busted green-handed, by the long arm of the lore,
None other than the wotsername.
(Grimmbros not too hot on the allocation of names; even their heroine is a
herb by any other name)
But we shall name her a rhyme-beggering Joan the Knowledge,
She, knowing like any barren baron of drug,
the value of deterrence,
Donning black cap of black, decrees the hubby's end.
(Too soon for the Grimmbros, guys wise to the ending)
A compromise is set
Joan the Knowledge, gets the progeny,
The hubby his life,
The wife, the shortest of all straws,
All win, all lose

ACT 2 Standby the Usual Plus an Artist Formerly Known As...

Heroines must be beautiful, beauty must be guarded.
'He who binds to himself a joy, does the winged life destroy',
Quoth Big Billy Blake,
Such liberal ideas are out the window for our
Ms. not-so-carnal Knowledge,
Addicted to bind like the other weed
Too many busybody boy bees,
And too much nectar overflowing honey trap.
So build a tower to enclose the power of love,
And utilise all that fecund energy, to grow an absurdity of hair,
A grooming-blooming impossibility,
Falling from a penthouse centrefold window to earthing ground,
Like many a penned-up pin-up before or after her.
(Give those Grimmbros credit for their blonde moments,
Campaigners for real hair, no nylon coloured by dylon, hanging from a pylon)
But a serviceable service-chute, up and down whose plaits,
A climbing, clinging, abseiling sort of Joan,
Security-obsessed, by crass password released:
'Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your golden hair',
(Knowledge doesn't always exude imagination!)
An aimlessly wandering Prince happens along,
(Princes seem to do a lot of getting lost, a fact of which Grimmbros
take princely advantage),
Anyway, this fresh prince hearing Rap.....,
Seized the time and heard the rest, which is now history,
Up the barnet, into the room, bee and honeypot united,
He, hair fetishist to the split end, plots a silky substitute,
She, submission bred, to do the spinning, as usual.
But flash flesh princes, engender boasts,
And Joan, upon discovery, flies thorny at his eyes.
He, blinded by knowledge, staggering off, lost to the world,
Rapunzel, exiled, a wondering weed, shorn of crowning morning glory,
Both set off on an almighty game of blind man's buff.
(Remember all you out there, all this started with craving for green stuff)

EPILOGUE Standby Her and Him in Wandering-Miserably Mode

Predictably, 'cos miserable Grimmbros need happy endings,
They bump and hump into each other,
Her tears of joy, melt the scales from his eyes,
And they both live happily ever after,
Ot at least until it's time to choose the castle curtains
 
© kfg moore august 2001 for Lee Lewis's installation at Shrewsbury Castle