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Spring is upon us at last, and what better reminder than Geoffrey Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, whose prologue celebrates and symbolizes spring? We couldn't help but wonder, however, how it would read if Chaucer had included pipe smoking. But fear not — we decided to render a version in the language of pipes.
The Canted Briar Tales
When that April, with her sweet commute The draught of March hath pierced through the Root, And steeped every brain in such elixir, Of which virtue catalyzed is clarity of picture; When Nicotiana puffs with her breath sweet, Fired within the burl of heath The tinder pops, like a standing drum alas, the course of stress is run, and supple plumes sing notes so soft, that nightly senses hang aloft — (So pleasant is the liminal phase) that reserved blends will soon be praised (And rested briars awake for the season) to ignite these mixtures after full repletion And especially, from fragrant Syria and Cyprus to Virginia they travel, some with Lakeland's guidance, The holy bliss of spring's harbor they seek to give peace to their spirits, and strength to the weak.
And as it would happen, I happened to search for a certain pipe last seen on its perch. Ready to wander down to the cellar, the canted briar was nowhere, from what I could tell, or perhaps the night I last enjoyed it my fingers grew feeble, and unknowing, deployed it and somewhere amidst the subterrain of my couch my pipe has befriended an outgoing mouse, Or maybe the briar will find its way back its chamber beckoning from the tableside rack, And if it so happens to be vanished for good I'll not weep for its absence, though it dampens the mood, For I hope that it brings a similar glee To its newfound companion as it brought to me, I'll jar up those memories, make space at the top, and let time run its course, 'til it chooses to stop.
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Comments
Very good! I remember having to memorize Chaucer back in 77 when I was a sophomore in high school. It is funny that I still can recite the prologue. Thanks.