WRFH/Radio Free Hillsdale 101.7 FM - The Poetry Fix: Guigemar, Part Two

Episode Date: October 11, 2024

This installment of Guigemar portrays our protagonist's fateful hunt of a white hind with a stag's antlers. Considering the supernatural legends associated with the white stag, you might think that Guigemar would take heed of the creature. The question is...will he?

on Radio Free Hillsdale 101.7 FM. I'm your host, Erica Kaibah, bringing you your weekly fix of poetry from across time. Today we're continuing our journey through Marie de France's Gijmire. In case you didn't catch the last episode, Gijmire is a medieval story and sets out to recount the life of a young knight who is unable to fall in love until a sudden change of fortunes. As we will see in today's episode, Gishmar's lack of tenderness makes him heedless with innocent life, and that won't come without retribution.

This excerpt takes us to the climax of the hunt scene, where Gizhmer happens upon a white hind with fawn. Interestingly enough, this hind has antlers, like a stag. Now, the white stag is a typical trope in the Arthurian folklore which Marie de France draws from, as it appears in many saint stories or chivalric legends. They are often messengers from above, with the whiteness of their coat designating them as pure or holy. The unification of masculine and feminine, though, a female deer with antlers like a stag,

is unique to this poem. Something supernatural is clearly afoot. Yishmar, however, in a scene that could be straight out of Bambi, takes aim and shoots the magical white hind with her fawn. With all that said, let's see how well this goes for Gijmar. Gijmar by Marie de France, translated by Dorothy Gilbert. Then, in a thicket's thickest part, he saw a hind with fawn. Her coat was all pure white, and on her head a stag's fine antlers branched and spread.

The Bratchet barked, she bounded out. He took his bow, he drew his shot, and struck her forehead. She went down instantly, crumpled on the ground. The arrow bounced and then flew back toward Gijmar again, and struck clear through his thigh, and grazed his horse so that he slipped and fell. Perforce spread out upon a grassy spot, next to the white hind he'd just shot.

The hind, who was in agony from her great wound, spoke sorrowfully words of lament, out of her pain. Alas, my death wound, I am slain. You, Vassal, you who wounded me, this is to be your destiny. No medicine of any sort, no kindly herb, no soothing root, physician, potion shall be yours. Never shall you know any cures of the deep wound there in your thigh, till you meet her whose injury is her great suffering for your love. The pain and anguish she shall have, greater than ever woman has known,

shall wound you too and be your own. Many shall marvel and be aghast. Lovers present, lovers past, lovers who will love by and by. Now go, leave me in peace to die. Gizhmar saw now, with dismay, he had a serious injury, and he considered where to go, where in that region one would know to cure the damage in his thigh. He would not languish here and die.

He knew, he said, he'd never seen ever, a lady who had been one he could seek in love, for sure, or one whose sorrow he could cure. He called his servant to his side. Friend, he said, quickly, go, do speed. Bring my companions back to me. I wish to speak to them, urgently. The squire spurred off. The night remained, his pain acute, much he complained. He tore his shirt and stripped. He bound a bandage of them on his wound. Then he mounted and rode away to distance himself speedily. He did not wish his men to come galloping back to hinder him. You've been listening to The Poetry Fix with Erica Kaiba. If you enjoyed this episode,

consider following the Poetry Fix on Spotify or Apple Podcasts. Join me next week, and we'll be continuing our journey through Gijmar.