maelstromandmoonshadow

Please note that this is a republished edition of an archived post.

This will be a brief (for all intents and purposes) exegesis for my recently published poem, New Kings and is a far cry from a classic literary analysis. There is so much more I could say on the topic of the poem, but today I tried to remain neutral (ha!). But art is inherently political. To analyse art without paying attention to politics is to bake a cake with no flour. It just can’t be done. So, this exegesis is neutral-ish, with the caveat being that I will still be clearly criticising the Ruling Class, the media and the government, or “the Kings”, as I refer to them in the poem.

I think we’re all feeling a little disillusioned right now, and New Kings is a poem about that disillusionment. Every day for the past several years it’s felt like the entire world is arguing with each other. There are several good reasons for this that I feel like I don’t need to name—a bunch of those reasons are probably scrolling through your mind right now like the opening crawl of a Star Wars film. There are also several not-as-good reasons, and events that are being twisted and capitalised upon by the Kings, who know that by doing so, they can keep us distracted, keep us tame.

When I started writing New Kings, I was ruminating, as I usually do, on several conversations I’ve had with several people over the past few months. I’m a stubborn person, sometimes to my own detriment, and once I form a belief I tend to stick to it. I’m learning to try and slow down, to listen. I’m learning that these moments where we get stuck, where we get distracted, these are the moments that the metaphorical Kings use against us.

The first stanza of New Kings shows the narrator speaking to someone (for this exegesis, I’ll call that someone Zed). Zed and the narrator, in my mind, both have roughly the same upbringing, but the narrator is marginalised in some way that Zed isn’t, and Zed’s values (or the values that the narrator perceives Zed as holding) are in some way discriminatory or undermining towards the narrator. For this reason, the narrator perceives Zed to be “poisoned”, sees their actions and words as a result of that poisoning. It can often feel like that’s the case when you’re arguing with someone about their core beliefs, when those beliefs aren’t in harmony with your own. It especially seems that way when those beliefs are a threat to your identity. But the narrator has assumed that because Zed believes X, then they must also believe Y. That because of this, Zed must hate the narrator. This isn’t always true, though, and it’s a one-dimensional way of looking at things. It’s not a stretch on the narrator’s behalf, though, and this is where the issue arises. Because the narrator’s fears are valid, their assumptions don’t allow Zed to hold complex beliefs, and now Zed is bewildered by the anger that, to them, came from nowhere. 

It’s a hard one. Believing X doesn’t mean that Zed also believes Y, and neither of those values means that Z is inherently destined to do whatever it is the narrator expects them to do. But the narrator can’t be faulted for making those assumptions when most of the time, those assumptions are correct.

Moreover, if Zed’s beliefs are poisoning them, then it stands to reason that the narrator’s beliefs are a poison, too. Inversely, if Zed can label the narrator’s actions as sins simply because they believe it’s so, can’t the narrator make Zed a sinner too? Insert your own sins here, because the argument remains the same. You do better by yourself if you question yourself as well as the person you are arguing. And if that person is not one of the Kings, if they hold the same power as you, then give yourself that credit: let yourself have that power too.

Stanza two shows Zed and the narrator holding onto their beliefs so tight that they’re forgetting all nuance and just biting back. Zed mocks the narrator, makes their very valid concerns seem dramatic. And in return, the narrator becomes snobbish and superior. Of course Zed doesn’t listen to them then, who would? By stanza three, both Zed and the narrator aren’t arguing for the sake of their beliefs anymore. They’re just arguing. Their feelings are being expressed, not their opinions. And we all know feelings are louder than facts. The initial argument, whatever it was, was valid and always will be. But the way it takes over their minds, governs their actions, is not functional. It distracts them from the real issues. And we all do this, all the time.

We debate over who “deserves” welfare payments while the richest 10% hold more than three quarters of the world’s wealth. Who welfare goes to is important, don’t get me wrong, but no one is going to be given enough money to live comfortably while these dragons hoard the money. No one. The same goes for most other debates—they are important, but there are nuances that need addressing, and some of those are more important than the others. And this is by design. This pitting ourselves against each other allows the Kings to sneak through legislation that helps only them, allows them to take real events and twist them to fit a narrative, allows them to keep being dragons. Yes, it matters who you vote for. But it also matters that we’re all getting screwed over right now, while the Kings watch and laugh. It sounds dramatic, it almost sounds like a conspiracy, but we’ve seen it happen time and again, throughout history, around the world, no matter what form of government is in charge. The rich get richer. They look out for their own. And we’re too distracted fighting each other to pay attention to the real issues.

The kicker is, half the time, the Narrator and Zed actually agree with each other. Their methods may vary, but (most of the time) neither of them want anyone to go without food, water, shelter, education. Neither of them want the hurt, the violence, the disgraceful fallout that we’re seeing around the world. But they’re too poisoned to see it, and now they’re beyond the anger. There’s been a general sentiment from everyone this year (and God, we’re only a month in) that we’re all tired, we’re all heartbroken, we’re all too fatigued to care and too busy trying to survive to do anything about anything. This is by design, too. We’re beyond distraction, we’re almost defeated. The things that seemed impossible for the government to achieve before are easy now, laughably so. Just look at the US.

‘And now we’re weak, worn, and bereft/As their descent begins’ is a line that I deliberated over for a while. Because this is a moment where the Kings begin–or continue–their ascent, surely. They’ve won. We’re defeated. But “descent” felt like the better word choice for two reasons: first, because the Kings are descending on the narrator and Z. And second, because if you’re one of the Kings, if your life is dedicated to withholding shelter, food, water, education from anyone for any reason, if you’re watching the in-fighting and laughing while you plot and plunder, there’s only one place for you when all is said and done: look down, and you’ll find it.

© Maelstrom and Moonshadow

All rights reserved to the original author and publisher: Molly Winters and Maelstrom and Moonshadow.

All writing featured is original content created without the use of generative AI or language learning models. This author expressly prohibits the use of this publication in any way, shape, or form for the training of artificial intelligence technologies or language learning models.