Happy St Georges Day

[mcmurphy79]

Paolo Uccello, St. George and the Dragon

Oil on canvas. National Gallery, London.

 

 

Not my Best Side U. A. Fanthorpe I Not my best side, I'm afraid. The artist didn't give me a chance to Pose properly, and as you can see, Poor chap, he had this obsession with Triangles, so he left off two of my Feet. I didn't comment at the time (What, after all, are two feet To a monster?) but afterwards I was sorry for the bad publicity. Why, I said to myself, should my conqueror Be so ostentatiously beardless, and ride A horse with a deformed neck and square hoofs? Why should my victim be so Unattractive as to be inedible, And why should she have me literally On a string? I don't mind dying Ritually, since I always rise again, But I should have liked a little more blood To show they were taking me seriously.   II It's hard for a girl to be sure if She wants to be rescued. I mean, I quite Took to the dragon. It's nice to be Liked, if you know what I mean. He was So nicely physical, with his claws And lovely green skin, and that sexy tail, And the way he looked at me, He made me feel he was all ready to Eat me. And any girl enjoys that. So when this boy turned up, wearing machinery, On a really dangerous horse, to be honest I didn't much fancy him. I mean, What was he like underneath the hardware? He might have acne, blackheads or even Bad breath for all I could tell, but the dragon-- Well, you could see all his equipment At a glance. Still, what could I do? The dragon got himself beaten by the boy, And a girl's got to think of her future. III I have diplomas in Dragon Management and Virgin Reclamation. My horse is the latest model, with Automatic transmission and built-in Obsolescence. My spear is custom-built, And my prototype armour Still on the secret list. You can't Do better than me at the moment. I'm qualified and equipped to the Eyebrow. So why be difficult? Don't you want to be killed and/or rescued In the most contemporary way? Don't You want to carry out the roles That sociology and myth have designed for you? Don't you realize that, by being choosy, You are endangering job prospects In the spear- and horse-building industries? What, in any case, does it matter what You want? You're in my way.

 

Comments

[http://users.livejournal.com/___ingenue/]

This reminded me a lot of this poem by Wendy Cope, called The Sitter. It's based off of this painting by Vanessa Bell.


Depressed and disagreeable and fat:

That’s how she saw me. It was all she saw.

Around her, yes, I may have looked like that.

She hardly spoke, she thought I was a bore.

Beneath her gaze I couldn’t help but slouch.

She made me feel ashamed, my face went red.

I’d rather have been posing on a couch

For some old rake who wanted me in bed.

Some people made me smile, they made me shine,

They made me beautiful, but they’re all gone.

Those friends, the way they saw this face of mine.

And her contempt for me is what lives on.

Admired, well-bred, artistic Mrs Bell

I hope you’re looking hideous in hell.