Genre Redux challenge by metaphoracle

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

Fraser/Kowalski, 1077 words, PG

Shamelessly inspired by/including the words of T. S. Eliot. Pastiche-ish.



The Love Song of S. Ray Kowalski

Llorando
De cara a la pared
Se para la ciudad
Llorando
Y no hay más,
Muero quizás
Ha! Dónde estás
Soñando
De cara a la pared
Se quema la ciudad
Soñando
Sin respirar
Te quiero amor
Te quiero amor
Rezando
De cara a la pared
Se hunde la ciudad
Rezando
Santa María
Santa María
Santa María
Muriendo

Let's just go then, you and me,
Where the northern lights fight it out above us
Like boxers duking it out in a ring;
Let's just go, where there are no streets
Just us freaks
And restless nights in tents
And spaghetti cooked over an open fire:
Following the hand of this Franklin guy
Of dubious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
C'mon, don't ask, "What is it?"
Let's just go and fuckin' --

In Kugluktuk the people come and go
Talking of Pierre Trudeau.

The dumb wolf-dog that rubs his back against my sleeping bag,
The dumb wolf-dog that rubs his muzzle against my shoulders
Licked his tongue into the corners of my ears,
Lingered on the hollow of my neck,
Let snow from the roof fall on his back
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled at my feet, and fell asleep.

And, you know, there's gonna be time
For the dumb wolf-dog that walks next to the sled,
Rubbing his back on the damn tent-poles;
There's gonna be time, there's gonna be time
To prepare a smile for the people we don't meet;
There's gonna be time to forget murder and hate
And time for honest work and days with hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions
Before I choke down pemmican and tea.

In Kugluktuk the people come and go
Talking of Pierre Trudeau.

And, you know, there will be time
To wonder, "Do I Dare?" and "Do I dare?"
Time to look at the mirror and stare
At the receding hairline I know is there
[You will say: "It's full-bodied and bushy, Ray."]
My winter coat, my collar turned up firmly to the chin,
My layers of sweaters and sweat shirts and underwear
[You will say: "It's because you lack a layer of subcutaneous fat."]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

Cuz I've known them all already, known them all:--
I've known the nights, days, afternoons,
I've measured out my life with Smarties and coffee spoons;
I know the sound of dying on the street
Beneath the music from a nearby club
So how should I presume?

And I've known the eyes already, known them all--
The eyes that fix me in a calculated gaze,
And when I'm begging for it, sprawling, wet with sin,
When I'm pinned and wriggling on the wall
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I've known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it the lack of a dress
That makes me such a mess?
Arms that lay on a table, so soft they make my skin crawl.
And then should I presume?
And how should I begin?

. . . . .

Shall I say, I've gone at night through lonely streets
And watched the smoke that rises from cigarettes
Of lonely men in t-shirts, leaning against bricks?

I shoulda been a contender
Dancing my way around rings, not floors.

. . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep…tired…or it …uh…lingers,
Stretched on the ground, with you here next to me.
Should I, after tea and meat and ice
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
Cuz though I've wept and starved, wept and begged,
Though I've seen my head [not bald like Vecchio] brought in on a platter,
I'm no profit—and it's no big deal;
I've seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I've seen the Bookman take my wife, and snicker,
And, no joke, I was afraid.

And it would've been worth it, after all,
After the snow, the pemmican, the tea,
Among the Inuit, and some talk of you and me,
It would've been worthwhile,
To've bitten it off with a smile,
To've squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some d-u-m question,
To say: "I'm Houdini, back from the dead,
C'mon I'll tell you—I'm gonna tell you all"—
If he, setting a pillow by his head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."

And it would've been worth it, after all,
It would've been worthwhile,
After the sunsets and the dog sleds and the icy streets,
After the stories, after the tea, after the boots that leave snow prints on the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It's impossible to say just what I mean!
But it's like
It would've been worthwhile
If he, fluffing a pillow or folding a sheet,
And turning to the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."

. . . . .

No! I am not Steve McQueen, nor was meant to be;
I'm a cop, gone undercover as someone else
To save a life, solve a case or two,
Partner the Mountie, the freak (but my freak),
Differential, glad to be of use,
Polite, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of lots of words, but a bit obtuse;
At times, you know, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, a fool.

I grow cold... I grow cold...
I'm gonna wear these long johns til they grow mold.

Am I gonna spike my hair? Do I dare eat caribou?
I'm gonna wear red union suits and walk on snowshoes.
I've heard the Mounties singing, "When I'm calling you--"

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I've seen them riding horseback on the street
A sea of red coats and brown hats
When the wind blows the snow across their backs.

We've made our northwest passage to the sea
By sled dogs dusted by snowflakes, white and brown
Til human voices wake us, and we drown.

Comments

[j-s-cavalcante.livejournal.com]

Wow, oh, wow. I'm very impressed!

I grow cold... I grow cold...
I'm gonna wear these long johns til they grow mold.

Am I gonna spike my hair? Do I dare eat caribou?
I'm gonna wear red union suits and walk on snowshoes.

Hee!!

This is just wonderful. I must confess I don't care for the original--my quirk, or maybe I just don't get what T.S. Eliot was after. I don't care for characters like Prufrock that seem pathetic to me and without redeeming features. But Ray, I LOVE. And your version, I LOVE. Starting it off with the lyrics to "De Cara a la Pared" (Face to the Wall), Ray's dancing song, was truly inspired, as well. Kudos!

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I must confess I didn't really get Eliot's version myself but when I looked for Ray in it...I really began to love it.

But thank you! Again!

[joandarck.livejournal.com]

Oh, that's rather lovely!

The dumb wolf-dog that rubs his back against my sleeping bag,
The dumb wolf-dog that rubs his muzzle against my shoulders

Ha! Funny and sad and nervous. Nice use of the poem. But it leaves me in such suspense!

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

It has a happy ending. It has to, right? ;)

[china_shop]

Oh wowwowwowwowwow!

And, you know, there will be time
To wonder, "Do I Dare?" and "Do I dare?"

eeeeeeeeee!

Should I, after tea and meat and ice
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?

Oh! Poignancy!

Partner the Mountie, the freak (but my freak),
Differential, glad to be of use,
Polite, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of lots of words, but a bit obtuse;

Ha!

Wow! I'm stunned. I just read this twice, and um... *tries to be articulate* This is just, like, essence of Ray and essence of UST and slash, all that "Do I dare?" waiting and wondering and fretting, and teasing meanings out of innocent gestures, and innocence out of misunderstood moves. *LOVES* I don't know the original well, but this, this I love. ♥

Btw, did you mean "prophet" instead of "profit"? Or am I being obtuse? :)

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I had so much fun writing this and I kept squeeing over the things that were so Ray and FIT. I'm so glad you see it too :)

I put in profit as a Ray-ism, but also to change the meaning as like...because it's not just that Ray doesn't know the future, he doesn't know what he's worth, y'know?

[llassah.livejournal.com]

Fuck. Oh wow, that is beautiful, and so brilliant, and I can see him, layered with the poem in a truly wonderful way and just gah. The sadness, the twitchiness! You taken a damn good poem and made it so. fucking Ray! Oh, I love this, loveitloveitloveit! *fangirls*

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

*blushes* Thank you so much! When I was writing this I kept seeing Ray too, so I'm glad he comes to life for you as much as he did for me. :)

[spainja.livejournal.com]

Wow. That was brilliant!

In Kugluktuk the people come and go
Talking of Pierre Trudeau.

Bwah!

I'm so impressed that you were able to maintain the flow of the original, make it rhyme, and still totally slip in Ray's story. And, you know, this poem makes so much more sense when you actualy know the frickin' backstory.

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

And, you know, this poem makes so much more sense when you actualy know the frickin' backstory.

I had the same feeling when I was writing it! Like, all these allusions and references which are so obscure in Eliot totally make sense here.

[mrsronweasley.livejournal.com]

Oh my God. Oh my God, I am SPEECHLESS. This is amazing. This is just... just... fuck me, this is perfect. I wish I could quote the whole thing back at you, because the entire thing is just perfect, that mix of Ray and the Poet and Ray Who Stumbles Over Life, and just. Wow. Oh my God. I will quote you my favorite line, if I can find it now, because it might have gotten lost in the shuffle of all the amazing lines that came after it.

And time for honest work and days with hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions
Before I choke down pemmican and tea.

I think this is my favorite passage, but there were so many more.

Partner the Mountie, the freak (but my freak),
Differential, glad to be of use,
Polite, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of lots of words, but a bit obtuse;
At times, you know, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, a fool.

And wow, how perfect is that?

But it's like
It would've been worthwhile
If he, fluffing a pillow or folding a sheet,
And turning to the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."

Perfect. Just perfect.

This is RAY, in all his confused, obtuse, amazing glory. Fuck me, but I'm speechless. You really turned this into something entirely your own. Awesome. Just awesome.

*sigh*

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

You know it only struck me after reading your comment just how appropriate poetry was for Ray. I was seeing the poem so close I hadn't even thought about the whole "on the inside, I'm a poet," thing. But, yes. Thank you so much!

I was really amazed at how much of Eliot that I could use just by twisting it slightly...I guess that's a credit to Eliot or the poem and its universality.

[isiscolo.livejournal.com]

This is incredible! My love for this can not be textually rendered! ♥!!! \o/

What I think is the most genius about this pastiche is the way that you have cleverly combined the formal language of the original with Ray's slangy speech - and also combined serious imagery and playful humor, which is really much like the show. The particular plays on the original (like malingers/lingers!! grow old/cold!!) are inspired.

This is the most fabulous thing ever and I love it to tiny bits.

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

Paul Gross arms? WHEE!

I think what I found when I was writing this is that Ray does sort of use overly formal language sometimes (maybe some to mock Fraser, but also for emphasis) and I felt like I could keep some of it for that reason.

Thank you so much! I'm overwhelmed.

[shayheyred.livejournal.com]

I like your version a hell of a lot more than I like the original.

Unique, clever, and blindingly well done. And you earned my love forever for such lines as

In Kugluktuk the people come and go
Talking of Pierre Trudeau.

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I like my version better too, but I have to credit Eliot ;)

And that was one of the first things I wrote...the talking of Pierre Trudeau. The Kugluktuk (a real place!) came later.

[shoemaster.livejournal.com]

Wow. What they all said up there. Just. Amazing. Wow.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep…tired…or it …uh…lingers,
Stretched on the ground, with you here next to me.
Should I, after tea and meat and ice
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
Cuz though I've wept and starved, wept and begged,
Though I've seen my head [not bald like Vecchio] brought in on a platter,
I'm no profit—and it's no big deal;
I've seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I've seen the Bookman take my wife, and snicker,
And, no joke, I was afraid.

Lovely.

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

Thank you! *absorbs all praise and feels fat*

[mickeymvt.livejournal.com]

Evocative and gorgeous. I'm in awe of this.

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

I'm kind of in awe of the response to it!

Thank you so much! *is like broken record*

[kinetikatrue]

This is just . . . YES. I mean, I've read it twice already today and I suspect I'm going to read it a time or two more before the day's through and it's oh, so completely right. It's Ray, Ray's words, nudged that last degree from patter into poetry.

It's gorgeous is what it is.

So thank you for writing it. 8)

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

Thank YOU for reading it!

(I keep reading it too. Every time I come back to this page to respond to comments...because it's just so Ray and I love Ray and I love what this poem makes me feel)

And I feel humbled to take credit for turning Ray into a poet. I think this demonstrates (if anything) that he was a poet all along, but it was difficult to see outside of a poem like this.

[etcetera-cat.livejournal.com]

*dead from the awesome*

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

*blushes* Thank you!

[lasultrix.livejournal.com]

I LOVE this! Especially the verse beginning 'Am I gonna spike my hair?' Ooh, and the 'wet with sin' couplet is too damn hot. I can't believe you fit the metre so well, and yet you did.

I think you meant 'deferential' for 'differential', though.

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

Thanks!

And that is actually a deliberate mistake/change, as a kind of Rayism, like "profit" and "prophet". It was an attempt on my part to acknowledge Ray's mixing up of words, but it may not be coming across the way I want it to.

I guess that's why we revise? :)

[sansets]

And it is T.S Eliot! And Due South! Together!! And Ray! Yay!! *is slightly incoherent with joy* You are AMAZING! :-D

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

Yay! Thank you so much! *is incoherent from all the love*

[snarkyducky.livejournal.com]

what everyone else said above... and,

And I've seen the Bookman take my wife, and snicker

i'm supposed to feel bad... but there's just no way i could keep a straight face -- i tried, but couldn't stop cracking up however hard i tried.. just.. heeeeeee!!
♥ x 1000000

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

You're supposed to laugh! That's the point!

If you didn't laugh, I didn't write it right :(

[karabou.livejournal.com]

Wow, this is just beautiful Kate, I love everything about it. ♥

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

Like I said on my LJ, it's dedicated to you, and your Ray.

I'm glad you liked it.

[proserpina-kore.livejournal.com]

This is brilliant - I love this poem, and I love due south and I love you for putting them together. If I quoted the bits I loved particularly, I'd be quoting the whole thing. Seriously. Thank you for such a wonderful piece of work.

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I'm so glad you enjoyed it :D

[primroseburrows.livejournal.com]

I don't have one line I could highlight as wonderful because all of it, every last word of it is incredible. I've never read the original poem, so now I have to do that. This is as poignant and sweet and intense as any fic I've read. I'm printing this one out, and I rarely do that.

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

That's an amazing compliment. Thank you. :)

[custardpringle.livejournal.com]

It would've been worthwhile,
After the sunsets and the dog sleds and the icy streets,
After the stories, after the tea, after the boots that leave snow prints on the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It's impossible to say just what I mean!

. . . I have no words. Except MARRY ME. PLEASE.

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

*boos on LJ for dying and thus preventing replying to this earlier!*

I'm so glad you enjoyed it :)

[springwoof.livejournal.com]

::loves::

love the true Ray voice, love the imagery, love your audacity and brilliance for making this work....

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

Audacity! Well, yes, I suppose you have to have some kind of balls to dare attempt a mashing like this :)

Thank you!

[vito-excalibur.livejournal.com]

Sweet Jesus. This is amazing.

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[busarewski.livejournal.com]

This is amazing. I adore Prufrock, and here you have managed to take the essence of that poem and tell Ray's story through it, yet retain the meaning of the original. Wonderful and so well executed. I remember the Potter-verse take on The Waste Land (http://ladysisyphus.livejournal.com/294368.html), which was great, and this comes as a wonderful coda. dS seems to be the perfect canon to use as a pastiches on Prufrock. The Ray-voice is just so clear. Great take on Eliot. I love fandom, full of Lit.geeks gone wild.

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

The canons really did mesh incredibly well, and I can't think of another character who would fit like this, not just because of the canon situations that are so similar, but because of Ray's poetic nature.

Thank you!

[elspethdixon.livejournal.com]

Let's just go then, you and me,
Where the northern lights fight it out above us
Like boxers duking it out in a ring;
Let's just go, where there are no streets
Just us freaks
And restless nights in tents
And spaghetti cooked over an open fire:
Following the hand of this Franklin guy
Of dubious intent

Love, love, love this filk. You did an awesome job of both keeping to the tone of Eliot's poem and making it sound like Ray, and I love the way you re-worked specific lines and metaphore to make them apply to dS--while still being recognizable as parts of the original poem.

I have to confess, I never really "got" the Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (well, beyond that the narrator was obviously neurotic and whiny and given to weird metaphors), but this take on it, I got--Ray's uncertainty, and the do I?/don't I?, should I make a move? What if he doesn't mean it like that? of UST--and, oodly enough, I think I understand the original poem better now. So, great filk and useful literary criticism.

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

I felt the same way when I was writing it. :) It really helped me see Prufrock more sympathetically and understand the kind of protagonist he was.

[ignazwisdom.livejournal.com]

I love this so so so so so so so so so so so much. SO much. And I'm incoherent right now because of how much I love it.

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

Aww! Thank you so much!

I love it too :)

[exeterlinden.livejournal.com]

I read this first when it was posted, and it made me go out and find Eliot's poem, and reread.

I'm really impressed with how you got the idea in the first place, and then how well you executed it: This is both a really clever pastiche of its original, and a beautiful poem in itself. I find "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" to be a rather uncomfortable poem to read, maybe because it spells out my worst fears for how to live out a life. But the love song of S. Ray Kowalski seems more tender, sad, but also more feisty.

And, because I can't help it, a couple of favourites:

"Let's just go then, you and me,
Where the northern lights fight it out above us
Like boxers duking it out in a ring;
Let's just go, where there are no streets
Just us freaks
And restless nights in tents"

"To lead you to an overwhelming question...
C'mon, don't ask, "What is it?"
Let's just go and fuckin' --"

"And when I'm begging for it, sprawling, wet with sin,
When I'm pinned and wriggling on the wall
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?"

"Shall I say, I've gone at night through lonely streets
And watched the smoke that rises from cigarettes
Of lonely men in t-shirts, leaning against bricks?

I shoulda been a contender
Dancing my way around rings, not floors."

Okay, enough from me :) Thank you for sharing this!

[metaphoracle.livejournal.com]

Thank you! As I've said in previous comments, I wasn't really all that fond of the Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock either, but I'm incredibly fond of Ray, and I don't see how anything written about/by Ray couldn't be more tender and sweet than awkward and uncomfortable. He's just that wonderful of a character, and deserves a beautiful poem :)