Congratulations! Your support has been successfully sent to the author
The Tour (poem)

The Tour (poem)

Published Nov 17, 2022 Updated Nov 23, 2022
time 1 min
thumb 0 comment
lecture 26 reads

On Panodyssey, you can read up to 10 publications per month without being logged in. Enjoy9 articles to discover this month.

To gain unlimited access, log in or create an account by clicking below, it's free! Log in

The Tour (poem)


Lohengrin by Wlater Crane (1895)


The Tour

The majolica swan is a letdown.  Though it’s true

that in the story, a bird tows the hero’s boat to shore,

in the wake of two lost wars this is not perhaps

the most effective myth to encourage

the flowering of a dominion’s symbols.


The creature selected is of key importance: it may be

embroidered in gold on red silk, onto chair covers and bedspreads;

centuries later its impact may be decisive, as much on

the takings of cheese shops and dairy-farms

as on ski-lift traffic in the Southern Alps.


The tour begins here. The website did not limit

the time spent in each room, but here we’re being

fobbed off with an audio-guide. The bed’s strangling tendrils,

the tapestry’s oppressive detail, you can almost feel

the gothic getting under our skin.                     


If we could choose between awe and slaughter,

we ought to banish war to paintings.

If, though, it’s between our mother and the woods,

whichever has less sympathy should be the one to raise us.


This is the Singers’ Hall, behind it the kitchen

complete with built-in stove and a special basin

for fish. Lastly, we exit the ill-conceived symbol

by way of the gift shop.


©Anna Bentley 2022 for the English translation

lecture 26 lectures
thumb 0 comment
Share this publication
copylink copylink

Comment (0)

Do you like Panodyssey articles?
Support their independent writers!

Expanding the trip in the universe Culture
Sur les pas de Monod
Sur les pas de Monod

J’ai rencontré Théodore en embarquant sur le Saint Etienne, un cargo qui quittait le port deNouodhibou, Je pense que l...

Barbara Canova
3 min

Du plat de la main, j’essuie la buée sur la glace qui surplombe le lavabo de la salle de bain. Mon visage m’apparait, la coup...

Hervé Fuchs
3 min

donate You can support your favorite writers