Poems For Dragonslayers: If-- by Rudyard Kipling

For much of history the best stories were poems. Poetry displayed skill, clarity of mind, and insight. Some even used it to show the distinction between classes and worlds. There are entire books of it in the Bible, largely ignored for its poetic value because we are reading in translation.

And so we have castigated it as a trite and angsty form, leaving it to die alongside our own shriveled hearts.

So we need to start at the beginning.

These are poems to train children to love poetry.

Most people have heard this poem. It is Michael Caine's favorite and my aunt's, so you know it appeals to many, all who have been children at some point. It was hidden in a book of children's stories I haven't been able to get my hand on.

This poem is a list of proverbs in meter. The twists and turns of the lines give the listener a lot to play with. Is it moralizing? Yes. Who cares. It is fun.

If you do start taking this apart with your children, think of the ditch on either side of the road. Kipling is pushing the child not to think to highly of themselves and to see clearly. He wants them to avoid common pitfalls akin to give me neither poverty, nor riches et al.

From the Proverbs you can jump to Christ's words, "Blessed are you when men revile you..."

The point: Hold steady.

Rewards and Fairies by Rudyard Kipling

Notes from the Word-Hoard

Though you forget the way to the Temple,

There is one who remembers the way to your door:

Life you may evade, Death you may not,

You shall not deny the Stranger.

T.S. Elliot - Chorus from the Rock

A Study in Jack: The Cautionary Tale

Fairy Tales are meant to be retold. They are meant to have the characters written over, brightening the colors, tracing deeper treads.

One of my favorite parts is how much you can do with a handful of beats and characters. They all have to be hit, but they can be remade each time. But every one begins, "Once upon a time..."

Once upon a time a boy named Jack took the family cow to market in hopes of bringing back food. His ribs poked out of his skin and the cow herself was shriveled and a spare. A peddler stopped the boy en route and eyed the cow. In an act of mercantile legend, Jack walked home less a cow, but with three magic beans in his pocket.

His mother was too tired to spank him, but Jack saw his own foolishness and tossed the beans away. There was no dinner that night. The moon shone full on the cottage.

Before the sun rose, the beans had. Sprouting out, they tangled strong roots beneath the scant foundation. Jack woke to the creaking of the wood under the fast growing curls and loops of the stalks. His mother laughed. She urged Jack to climb and find the pods that would surely grow on such a magnificent stalks.

Jack climbed as high as the house, there were no beans.

Jack climbed as high as the hills, there were no beans.

Jack climbed higher than the clouds themselves, and there were no beans.

A road sprawled out over the fluff of clouds, and Jack found himself in a land not his own.

In a valley below, a castle sat.

Jack strolled down and entered a dwarfing door, smelling fresh bread and strong beer.

He followed his nose to an abandoned tray larger than his mother's table where he ate and drank his fill.

The beer and the food is so filled him he fell asleep. The tray shook underneath him from a giant's pounding tread, and Jack lurched awake. He crammed bread in his pockets and ran, barely able to hide under a footstool before the giant entered the room. The giant crashed into his chair and picked up the bread from the tray. He stopped,"Fee Fi Fo Fum." He said, looking at the bread, "I smell the blood of an Englishman."

His voice was strong and without malice. Jack remembered his mother's similar tone when she found a rat had been at her kitchen. Thoughts of spiders squashed by brooms danced through his head. Jack ran, leaving a trail of crumbs.

The giant didn't need the crumbs to follow the boy. He chased Jack out of the castle to the bean stalks, following him down like following an ant to a hill.

Jack thought of his family waiting below. He let go of his firm hold and slid down the waxy stalk.

At the bottom, his mother had gathered the neighbors. She told them of her clever son and the beans she was sure would come. Jack landed, running for the axe in the wood pile. The ax bit into the fibrous pole and Jack hacked his way through before anyone could stop him. But two vines supported it as well, and their suckers latched onto the cottage and roof.

He ran to the next one, while his mother yelled at him to stop. One of the neighbors hauled him back, gripping him around his waist. Jack wrenched away, hacking on. A shadow dimmed the light of the noonday sun.

Jack ran for the third vine, hoping the giant was still high enough. One of the neighbors ran for his own axe, but Jack knew it was too late. This was on his shoulders. Jack's ax bit and the third vine broke loose.

The final stalk bent under the weight of the others, but it was not enough. The giant lowered himself below the clouds.

Jack stepped towards the last stalk, knowing it was too late to chop it down. He threw down his axe and dropped to his knees. His mother stood dumbstruck at her son's choice. She ran for the axe herself. Everyone else ran for cover, hoping they could hide before the giant crushed them.

Jack wedged his bare vine burned hands into the gouged gap he made, lifting with all his might, screaming from his blood , Jack stood.

The beanstalk weighed on him, but he forced it higher, lifting until it sat on the tips of his fingers.

The giant shifted his footing and the stalk tore loose from its moorings. It all went slack in the giant's grip. Clutching it still, the giant fell.

Some called Jack, Jack Giant Slayer for ever after either as a warning or an honor. Some called him Jack O'th Bean with a bit more understanding. The famine ended, as all do, and the giant's castle grew cold. It sat empty until long after, when all was forgotten.