Apparently Dumbar and Kennedie, two Scots, were the maestros at this odd phenomena called flyting. One line from their discourse gives a good idea of their terrible verbal expertise: Kennedie suggests Dumbar “Descended from Beelzebub, is a dwarf, and has no control of his bowel movements (to the point of almost sinking a ship in which he is travelling).” Wow. That’s really harsh, but funny, and a very strong visual.
It’s a whole ‘nother genre, I can see. Not sure if it’s one I want to explore, though it could be entertaining within some perameters. “The genre takes the form of a contest, or “war of words” between two poets, each trying to outclass the other in vituperation and verbal pyrotechnics“(Wiki). These are the very ‘fireworks’ parents try to eradicate.
I’ve always taught my kids not to name call, but these scots must have been raised by wolves, or goblins…
The only personal experience I have of this is that I used to call my older sister ‘fats.’ She wasn’t even fat, but I knew it bothered her so I couldn’t resist. And I called my younger brother Milk Man because he drank milk like no other. He would become infuriated, fly into a rage and his fists would rain blows. It was really mean of me. I’ve since reformed and apologized. But in my defense, they had names for me too, which I will not mention.
I think Flyting is okay if the participants are willing, having fun, and it’s a creative exercise. Otherwise, it’s just cruel words and we’ve enough of those.
There’s certainly room for a great deal of creativity in it.
Old Norse poems contain flyting–that’s not too difficult to believe. Those Norskis…
What I need? Well, it has to do with the opposite of Flyting. Asking someone what they need is to get at the root of who they are. Where Flyting is insult and denegration(maybe in good humor, maybe not), what I need is the opposite of that. A basic human need is encouragement. But maybe that’s not quite getting down to the bottom. Because encouragement is just a form of the real need: unconditional love. Once, years ago during a particularly painful time when life as I knew it was falling apart, a friend asked me what I needed. I burst into tears and said, ‘I don’t know. No one has ever asked me that.” I had to think about what I needed. The most important thing was that someone had asked the question, which was in itself an acknowledgment of personhood.
I watched the Peter Brooke clip of King Lear. Paul Scofield plays Lear and I was struck by how much he looks like Professor Sexson. Uncanny. Did our teacher ever play Lear in a theatre production? I can see it. The black and white scene where the Fool breaks the egg, is a great symbol–the golden yolk falling to the floor(like Cordelia) and the two ’emtpy crowns’ her sisters. Goneril is indeed sharp tongued, but honestly, when I saw that room full of a hundred or so of the king’s close friends, drinking and laying about, I understood her frustration and thought she should be nominated for Sainthood…
Lear’s scathing words for her, about withering insides, was, well, withering. She looked stricken, wench or not. It’s an old speech that’s still going on between parents and children–the idea that parents want to see their kids suffer as they suffered in raising them. So punitive. I hope my kids don’t suffer the things I did. I wish them, and myself, peace.
If nothing changes, nothing changes.
JenniferThornburg--wecrytodreamagain 