Poetry to Prose
The Man from Snowy River
Analysis
Meaning of poem:
- People discriminate against others based on physical appearance or stereotypical nature.
o The man from Snowy River looks like nobody; he is discriminated against for his horse looking scrawny and unworthy or unfit for the ride ahead. – Opposition to task.
o Clancy of the Overflow supports him, allowing him to come along. – Partial Resolution
o He ends up ‘saving the day’; he brings the horses back by doing what no-one else could. - Climax
- It is wrong to be judgmental of people based on appearance, stereotype, or difference (e.g. man vs. female, young vs. old, black vs. white) – Note: Controversial statement to open.
- People who appear to be of a certain niche, or appear to have any inability, often have what it takes to do what others cannot (e.g. Willpower, neglected skills, courage). – Lead-up to the crux of the story.
- It is these people who change society for better or worse by proving themselves, as is shown in the poem where “The Man From Snowy River is a household word today.” – Denouement. Possible rhetorical finish.
- Oppression / Arrogance will often stop such people from proving their worth. – Partial resolution: overcome such oppression, do what is needed to do.
- Even experienced people may be unable to achieve the task, thus up to the main character.
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Over the Pride of Men
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“No! Absolutely not!” – I’m sick of hearing this. Every time I want to do something even alluding to the world of men. It doesn’t help being the daughter of the King. My father, King James, is well loved by his people, and a fair man to all – except I, the princess, and the mere pawn to be used for building alliances beyond the realm. Even so, this is different. “Milord, how many men must you take away from their wives before you see they have just as much a cause to fight?” That’s done it. I can see the veins bursting from his wizened temples: a testament to his berserker ancestry. “YOU WILL NOT RIDE TO THIS BATTLE. Even against tradition, I FORBID you from riding to camp, much less defend against the siege. War is the province of MEN, Elizabeth, not a weak and inexperienced damsel with a few boyish traits. Return to your tower at once. I will hear no more of this.”
So, up to the high, cold stone I go. At least my retainer Sam is a bit more forgiving. Perhaps he’s just the average fool, but he looks the other way and sympathises with my cause. He too is scheduled to ride out, likely to death. “Milady, your father only wishes the best for you.” My temper seethes, but I remain calm. “To be the pawn far less important than the knight? Even pawns may rise to glory. Even pawns may best the king, or rise to royalty themselves. Do not underestimate them.” I can tell he agrees, but his look is conflicted and solemn. “My orders are to lock you in your room, milady. You have my apologies, and my support.” He winks, and leaves me to misery. I stare blankly at the door for a while, then realise the faint glint of silver-steel in the candle glow under the door. I smile and step outside. The key to success often relies on good friends.
For all my traits as a child I often excelled physically, and usually bested the most talented of boys with a blade. Under plate I am as formidable as any lord of old and flat chest and short hair leaves no break in my disguise. I make it to the stables just in time to catch the final cohort, and so we ride for but a few hours after dawn. The sun is high on the sky and the sea of blood and steel before us beyond the hill is both brilliant and terrible. The bated breath of the men around can be heard behind the shouts and screams as my father the King rallies the men. One final, proud yell and we plunge in to the chaotic steel abyss before our feet.
The battle has been raging for hours now. Many men had not even made it down the hill. Those who yet live grow weary, and the foes seem endless. Their leader the king rallies them and leads their charge forward. I see him now before me as I steel the fear which takes hold. A black clad man of the east with tall, intimidating antlers upon his helm, and his face dark as though behind a shroud of black. Taking in the horror around me I watch him meet blows with my father the King. How could he possibly win against the swift blackness before him? The King is growing weak now, and I watch as he blocks only to receive the cunning strike of a dagger blade under his parry. Fury and adrenaline pumping, the same berserker blood as my father, I rush to meet the dark lord as his blade bears down as if a torrent of liquid steel.
I parry the blow as the King saw his life before him, though leaving me exposed as I’m thrust backwards unto the ground. My helmet falls to reveal who I truly am, and my father gazes in disbelief and awe as I engage his bane. Swing by swing, blow by blow I hold back the vicarious darkness, until finally, an opening. Audaciously I seize the opportunity and strike my blade at his exposed neck. The men before me stare in outrageous fear at the body before me, and flee back from the carnage as our morale soars. Their leader slain, their forces weary. The battle is won.
Back at the castle, I kneel before my father, King James whose live I saved. His injury not serious – a mere wound to the shoulder. Silently, swelling with pride I await to receive the highest honour among men. My head bowed, I swear my oaths and before the people of the realm am knighted. No longer is my ability questioned, no longer is the princess the pawn. I wonder of the future; the bards will sing songs and tell tales of Elizabeth of England, but will the women of our realm find the equality we so desire?