after the portrait of the poet with pet monkey
i. Milord�s Prayer
Who lords it over his Master�s own pet beast?
What�s mocked here�s not fur but skin in silk,
fresh linen, the periwig of stolen curls.
We�re monkeys all, this much we know, not least
this upright man, in Restoration lace
by God! - the very picture of courtly Wit ,
staring right out at us: the powdered Poet,
but for a hint of rouge upon his cheek, barefaced
and holding up, in cool provocation,
a twist of laurel, ready to crown the Creature
sitting on his books. - An affront to Nature�s
Divine Order, its recent Restoration .
Not resting on his laurels, Milord Rochester
by God! - seducer, toper, braggart, rakehell,
murderous coward, Satyrist and fake
snake-oil salesman, Vice�s peerless past-master -
honours the onlie begetter of his verse:
All England�s Primate, a priest without cant,
its cock-mitred Archbishop of Cunt ,
the Pope of Original Sin, his Chimp of the Perverse.
ii. Breeding
This hirsute ape with naked fingers be damned!
See the delicate half-moons upon each claw?
They rip up drafts of poems, long-drafted laws
alike; the devil finds work for idle hands.
When caught, this monkey�s collared, tied to its Post .
Its Office to take dictation, answer letters,
the amanuensis flatters, apes his betters.
Interred in studies lined with pagan ghosts,
he leafs through Virgil, Tully. But it�s Ovid
who grabs the monkey with his tales of beastly
gods; those storms of Will - to power, lust -
provide new tricky strategies to survive.
He understands those Metamorphoses
as ways to climb the greasy pole at any cost.
His master, gravid with gravitas , seems lost
and earthbound, merely human; oversees
the cheeky monkey get his claws into the post.
He shimmies up. Climbing�s what he does the best.
Escaping roots, the place his fellows pissed
and shat, the lofty tree becomes his crest.
Later offspring may trace their genealogy
in the Monkey Puzzle of the family tree
he�s already ascending. The race is on.
He�ll scramble to the top, become Sir Simeon.
An Oscar avant la lettre for wild dry wit,
Wilmot plays English Badguy - smooth, immaculate.
This noble Laureate�s acceptance speech is mute:
he doesn�t blub or gush, try to be cute.
His partner slaps the MC with a big high five
and then, in grunts and hairy signs, a bit of jive,
he thanks the crew, the runners, Best Boy, flunkeys;
praises fellow Academy Award nominees.
You�ve heard of Shakespeare�s thousand typing monkeys?
Well this script�s by one of those nonentities.
It�s in the can and, looking at the tapes,
it�s no surprise it�s Planet of the Apes.
He thanks prosthetic guys who worked the paws:
a big hand now, thunderous applause
for engineers, vision mixers, sonics,
all that beastly work in animatronics.
As for your Vision, this wasn�t what you meant.
Above the Stars� footprints in the cement,
disappointed, in the remake of Mighty Joe Young,
to see a sentimentalized King Kong
perched atop Grauman�s Chinese Theatre
- and which Hollywood Jesus reviewed as �Eden myth�.
You wanted something darker, much more funky:
Attenborough wildlife meets Spanking the Monkey.
You worked so hard to hear your name
...but to hear it now? To spare your shame
you quote Anon �s director Alan Smithee:
�This movie really has nothing to do with me.�
See how your sidekick goes easy on you?
You crown the Ape: give credit where credit�s due.
BACK