Justin - Conspiracy

About the writing

Originally, I chose the form for this piece to be two stanzas of ottava rima.  After writing two stanzas I realized that it was not sufficient.  So I asked Jason if he would mind if the requirement was changed to at least two stanzas with no maximum.  Being flexible, he agreed and so I churned out another four stanzas.  Six stanzas ottava rima is by no means a tour de force, Keats’ Isabella is sixty-three stanzas, but I don’t make my living off of poetry, though I might like to, so my writing is interrupted by trivial things like working for a living.  Not to say that poetry is not work, but for me it is a hobby, that is work I do to relax.

Ottava rima is, as our linguist readers can tell, an Italian form of poetry where each stanza has eight lines and a specific rhyme structure (a-b-a-b-a-b-c-c.)  It was not a form I was familiar with before selecting it, but found that I enjoyed the form.  Like many strict structures, major changes in tone can be made with minor shifts.  For this poem, switching the lines of the final couplets made a big difference with my first two stanzas (which are now the first and last stanza.)  My struggle was the conspiracy narrative within the form.  I’m still not sure how clear it is, but it should be read as a peasant’s uprising or a socialist revolution from an older time in history.  So, am I making a pro-socialist statement?  Not necessarily, but my revolutionaries are taking a stand against an unfair system, and that I support.  Of course they are my revolutionaries, why wouldn’t I support them?

This poem really wanted punctuation.  Most of you who are regulars know my aversion to punctuating poetry.   This one, if I were to make a change or if I did make my living from poetry, would be punctuated.  As it is, I think most of you can handle a question without a question mark. Can’t you

For Gold or for Iron
Gathered in wooded glade ‘neath slivered moon
The four stood round to make their final plan
That acting must replace the speaking soon
Was known by each that made this wayward clan
And if the crime should bring them to a boon
Through silt and water shining in their pan
By daring shadow work saved for the bold
Then they could trade this iron for the gold

The four were farmers tied to rented land
Tenants working for their landlord’s gain
Together they had raised a rebel band
Together they would break the binding chain
For they had watched their fathers’ blistered hands
Fight for each shilling pressing through the pain
And they had watched those hands as they grew old
Driving an iron plow for master’s gold

While what they earned the lord took as his spoil
They inherit only tenancy and debt
Bearing not to think this sacred soil
The aged farms that their forefathers let
Land hollowed by sweat and blood of toil
Could never be in reach for them to get
So though the thought of failure left them cold
They’d use their iron to get at their gold

With their small band they’d siege the house at night
Circling to cut off all means of egress
Show him that the workers have the might
But hoping with restraint him to impress
To cause the lord to see what was their right
To own the land they work and nothing less
And though it might cause the estate to fold
Their iron would no more provide his gold

And if they take the scripture as God’s light
That those that do not work should not be fed
The landlord should see that he has no right
To rest and eat from other’s hard earned bread
So thinking that the Lord had heard their plight
And knowing that His word should be plain read
No longer to the master will they bow
But seek the gold they’ve earned with iron plow

But as no map is always plainly read
No plan can be complete without the deed
As paper routes look differently when tread
So action may find words in wanting need
But boldly still they plot with reverent dread
Knowing the master may not their words heed
Might boldness’ flame burn out to smoking puff
Or chasing vaunted gold find iron cuff