Poetry Blog No 171 The Fox and the Crow

THE FOX AND THE CROW

This is a retelling of a famous fable from Aesop in the form of a ballad. This common ballad form has four lines per stanza with four iambic feet per line (short syllable, long syllabe- A young crow stole, on summer’s day) and a rhyme scheme of ABAB. This neat form is relatively easy to create in English and moves the narrative along at a reasonable pace.

The earliest surviving versions of the fable, in both Greek and Latin, date from the 1st century of the Common Era. Evidence that it was well known before then comes in the poems of the Latin poet Horace, who alludes to it twice.Wikipedia

  

It is interesting to note that historically some have objected to the fable on the grounds that the fox gets away with his “immoral” action. Certain Christian circles in La Fontaine’s time provided a song in which the fox’s funeral is described and the crow sits on a branch and says-

I’m not at all sorry, now that he’s dead,

He took my cheese and ate it in my stead,

He’s punished by fate - God, you’ve avenged me – Wikipedia.

The German writer Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, who had decided views on how fables should be written, gave Aesop’s Der Rabe und der Fuchs an ironic twist. In his rewritten version, a gardener has left poisoned meat out to kill invading rats. It is this that the raven picks up but is flattered out of it by the fox, which then dies in agony. To emphasise the moral he is drawing, Lessing concludes with the curse, ‘Abominable flatterers, may you all be so rewarded with one poison for another!’ - Wikipedia.

Apparently Lessing felt this was a reasonable punishment for getting someone else’s piece of cheese. I think that the fable does not praise the fox (he is, after all, the cunning flatterer) but simply warns us about flattery and points out that those who flatter us usually have hidden motives for so doing. Perhaps we should consider this when politicians try to flatter us by bolstering our pet views and opinions. 

 

THE FOX AND THE CROW

A young crow stole, one summer's day,

A beak-rich morsel of tasty cheese.

At once he rose and flew away

To eat his prize in peace and ease.

In his strong beak he bore it high
And perched upon a tall, dead tree,

A hungry fox was slinking by;

He stopped and gazed up craftily.

"If I, " he thought, "play my cards right,

I shall enjoy some cheese for free."

He kept the crow fixed in his sight

And crept up slowly to the tree.

"Oh, crow," he called to him on high,

"How splendid your black wings appear

Against the blue of this bright sky.

Your eyes see far and are so clear."

"Your breast, it is an eagle's breast,

Your claws, I mean, your talons, sir,

Are tough as tempered steel. Your dress

Of feathers is finer by far than fur."

"Your beak is as a sword of steel!

Your bearing's better than the best!

And all in all, one can but feel

Your glossy tail just fits the rest!"

"Yes, over all, one can but say

You are a most brave and graceful creature:

A ruler of the air by day,

A flying king in every feature."

The crow was pleased to hear these things

And gave the fox a friendly gaze,

And wagged his tail and flapped his wings

With pleasure at this sudden praise.

"Oh, crow," the sly fox called once more,

"What a pity that the king of birds

Should lack a voice to call and caw,

And should be silent, want for words."

"I've yet to hear your fair throat ringing,

But I am sure that it must be

Much better than all other singing

For sweetly moving melody."

"A bird who has such strength and grace

Must have a voice to match. What's wrong

That you don't fill this airy space

With the power of your joyful song?"

At this the crow's heart pulsed with pride,

For often, in the past, he'd found

That he had had his voice described

As a hollow, harsh, unmusical sound.

And so to please the fox below

With his rare voice, both loud and raw,

The proud and pompous, foolish crow

Called mightily, "Ark, ark; caw, caw!"

But as his black beak opened there,

The tasty cheese slipped from his grip,

And tumbled downwards through the air,

The fox beneath was watching it.

Before it touched the dusty ground,

His waiting jaws snapped up the prize,

The cheese went down with a munching sound;

He finished it on the crow's last cries.

The fox looked up and said at length,

"I loved what came out from your beak.

I praised your beauty and your strength;

About your brains I did not speak."

The crow looked down, sad was his gaze,

For he has been too slow to see

The difference between real praise

And false and cunning flattery.