Whistlejacket

He was a real stallion, painted life-sized in 1762 by George Stubbs.

At that time, a form called “heroic couplets” was the most popular for poetry, thus in them my attempt at rendering homage.

WHISTLEJACKET

A remarkable painting

His Lordship has three hundred rooms to use
For living in; a racehorse was his muse.
Not family scene nor royal pageantry
But life-size stallion, bare of finery
Will take the place of honor on the wall
In Georgian England’s largest family hall.

A yeoman painter with a rational mind,
A student anatomically refined,
Well suited to portray the young lord’s passion
Our Mr. Stubbs was not a slave to fashion.
His work amazes plebeians today
On tired feet, in lighting for display.

The subject’s coat, like firelight through a glass
Of Scotch, bespoke, Apollo’s livery passed
Amongst the mortal beauties. Hateful thought,
This rising flame extinguished, thusly wrought.
A thousand pounds of lightly-footed will,
A trembling nostril, sharpened ears, all still.

This noble individual we see,
An echo of steppe aristocracy.
Old friends of Celt, of Aryan and Moghul;
Against the might of gods his sires would pull.
Across Eurasia’s width their warm blood shed,
To flow in mounts of Britain’s heroes dead.

Bucephalus, or the Sarmatian horse
For master, warrior, brother ran his course.
Their glamour, speed, puissance would not exceed
Today Bugatti, Porsche, for a steed.
Those lack the gleaming eye of trusting being
Whose neck under a good man’s word was bending.

Who would bestride this stallion would not thank
Barbarian use of whip upon his flank.
Cruel bit or twitch or spur of Spanish silver
Reveals that man a fool, unworthy giver
Of that which ends in risible defeat,
A domination burns in its own heat.

Dynamic, irresistible, and hence
Comes his persuasion through magnificence.
His hooves like pistons, serpent-crushers, they
Fly tireless on to catch Her in his sway.
Magnetic object, waits immovable;
His eye betrays his fear: unlovable.

Forever balanced between fight and flight,
Come down to earth! Apollo rests at night.