Susan Richardson
1.
If a lion could speak,
we’d hear how Kruger has flattened his vowels,
how Longleat’s left him with a lisp,
how he’s zoo-mute,
and how his tamer wields a whip
then delves between his jaws
to extract the stammer.
If a lion could speak,
we’d correct his grammar,
purge his syntactical savannah
of herds of double negatives,
then wince if he ripped
apart just one infinitive.
If a lion could speak
he’d sphinx-talk about the thorn in his paw,
how MGM lip-synced his roar
and how Albert gave him heartburn for weeks.
If a lion could speak,
we may deign to reply,
though very loud and slow,
like a lion’s really a scarecrow in disguise.
If a lion could speak,
we’d insist he use English
but he’d cleave to Lionese.
The few of us who’d learnt Leopard
might grasp the lack of past and future tense,
while the rest would be baffled,
more concerned to learn
how to order a beer in Giraffe.
If a lion could speak,
we’d tire of his whinges of wardrobes and witches,
of how Richard filched his heart
and how his rampant act on flags
has knackered his hips.
In time, we’d surely ignore him,
drawn to the wit of warthogs,
and antelope banter instead.
If a lion could speak, he’d say Take a degree
in my language of strangling ungulates
and wrangling with vultures for the meat.
Then we’ll talk.
2.
Wardrobes lack wit.
Warthogs insist on the use of a disguise.
We’d whip the rampant scarecrow if we could,
then, flattened, he’d rest with the lion he’d just filched.
For if his savannah-heart could grasp a lion’s paw
who’d then speak of a grammar?
In the past, a baffled Albert gave the flags
a degree of order, while in future,
he could act like a giraffe.
How slow and how correct and how very English.
We’ll speak to more ungulates
and wince with the vultures.
Kruger has a language of negatives but, in time,
his mute lion-hips could learn to talk.
How about a lion? Might a lion say how?
Witches would double-take if one really knackered lion
could ignore his thorn and tire of his infinitive.
We’d speak of his meat and we’d speak
of strangling him instead – him! him!
If ripped Richard has a Lionese lisp in his beer,
he’d cleave to his syntactical antelope for weeks.
How tense. How could he!
Vowels apart, surely we’d purge the lion
of his heartburn if lip-synced wrangling
between Longleat’s jaws could be concerned.
Though tamer, his leopard delves
in his stammer and wields a roar.
If few reply to a left lion extract
and if herds learnt a loud sphinx of whinges
then how may my if-zoo deign to talk?
Speak, speak, speak –
we’d hear his MGM banter.
He’s drawn to us – and how.
3.
I, alone. Cold. Bleak.
Wed her now. Nougat is fattened with owls –
so wrong. Pete’s laughing – it’s Alice
(oh, she’s too cute!)
Anne’s cow is famous – fields unzip
themselves, as green as yours.
Go – unpack this summer.
In an iron hood, creak –
bleed, infect sick grandmas.
Urgent, impractical caravans
of words have troubled relatives.
Head winds have been tipped
to start. Trust cunning primitives.
Misaligned woods – specks,
seeds, lynx, hawks are out, reborn of this whore-
house. Energy in whips sinks this sore
land. Now all hurt paving can’t learn to shriek.
Is our crying good? Weak
tea, they claim, could repel
those scary-sounding hose-
pipes. Our crying’s merely a shadow in these eyes.
Whiffy loins. Cod-piece.
Please desist. Refusing swish
butties, we got Chinese.
A blue office would spurn Leonard’s
tights. Clasp a slack oaf, blast a few chairs, then
smile. At best, Ruby’s raffles
are upturned, so burn
now too, border on fear of bar graphs.
Ivy lines old cheeks.
Weeds spiral in spring’s onward probe. Banned wishes
have now stitched up rich wizards
around this lamp and baton. Flans
as lacquered as ships
win bindweed. Poorly pigs snore in
dawn’s other pit. If bored dogs
stand on the slope, panda skin’s red.
With a fine food geek, we may make a green pea
on rye sandwich. If handling young shallots,
add sand. Bring six sculptured forks, then eat
ten peeled stalks.
4.
rrrrrraaaaaw
raarrghgh [ ]
hffngh hffnggh hffngggh
rraaw rraaw rraagh
rraaaw [ ] raaaaghgh
rrgh rrgh rrrghhhh
rrrrrrraaaaaw
hffn hffngh rraaa hffn hffn hffn
[ ]
rwaaaarrw rwaa rwarrw
hff rrrr rrrr rrrr hraaaa
rraaaaghhh
rrrrrrraaaaaw
raaaaaaooowwrrrrrr [ ]
aaaarr aarr aaaaarrrr
rrrrrrraaaaaw
rrr rrr rrrrrr
hff hffngggh
rrrrrrraaaaaw
grrauuuw
rrrraaaaaaawwwr raaaaaawr
hfffnghgggh hff [ ]
rrgh rrgh rrgh rrrrrghghgh
rrrrrrraaaaaw
[ ]
rrrrrrraaaaaw
aaaaaoowrr aaaaawr aaaaaaaaooooowrrrrrrrrrr
A Note on the Lionese Translation
For those less than familiar with Lionese, it will come as a surprise to see that Emeritus Professor Ross Sorenson’s translation of the poem is significantly shorter than the English original. This is principally due to the fact that many of the concepts expressed in the poem are outside the realm of lions’ experience and therefore have no direct Lionese equivalent; square brackets within the text indicate sections for which there is not even a distant approximation. In addition, some of the nuances of the translation are, of necessity, based on assumption[1], albeit assumption gleaned from Professor Sorenson’s lifelong field research – studying, transcribing and translating the language of lions in every practicable context, from pre-hunt to post-coitus.
In addition to having no past or future tenses, Lionese has no passive voice and no conditional. It employs a surprisingly wide vocabulary[2] and there is manifest evidence of leonine self-awareness, as demonstrated by the use of both the first person singular[3] and first person plural[4] pronouns.
Although other languages in the Big Cats family, including Leopard and Jaguar, are notable for their frequent utilisation of the roar, the lion’s is by far the most complex, ‘arguably conveying more meaning, layers and intent than a Shakespearian soliloquy’[5]. Sixty-three different Lionese dialects have been identified by Professor Sorenson and although the lexicon of this poem approximates standard Lionese, it also bears some characteristics of the dialect of the Ngonyama pride of South Africa’s Eastern Cape[6].
As for the current and future status of Lionese, the language is, at present, classified as vulnerable due to substantial population decline[7]; however, unlike certain other languages, such as Quagga and Pyrenean Ibex, it is unlikely to fall out of use in the foreseeable future. Interestingly, members of the UK’s immigrant lion community continue to utilise their first language and resist acquiring even the rudiments of English[8]. Zoo residents, however, speak, at best, a diluted version of Lionese, drawing on a much-reduced vocabulary. Inhabitants of safari parks display a broader range of articulations but this still represents a fraction of that which they employ in their native land.
Further information about Lionese may be found in the quarterly Journal of Leolinguistic Studies, of which Professor Sorenson is Executive Academic Editor. Lionese is now offered as a module on a number of undergraduate Animal Studies degrees and although it is not yet available in the Teach Yourself series of books and downloads, the first certified intensive TLFL course is currently recruiting.
[1] Sorenson, Ross – personal communication, 15 November 2013
[2] The first Lionese-English dictionary is forthcoming from Dēor Press in 2016
[3] ‘hffn’, as used exclusively by the male lion
[4] ‘hffngh’, as used by lionesses
[5] Sorenson, Ross (ed) Exit, Pursued by a Lion, p 862 (Warminster University Press, 2007)
[6] Sorenson, Ross – personal communication, 22 May 2014
[7] Animal Languages of the World, p 31 (Bestia Books, 2011)
[8] Ibid., pp 98-114
Susan Richardson is a poet, performer and educator based in Wales. Her third poetry collection, skindancing, themed around human-animal metamorphosis and exploring our dys/functional relationship with the wild and our animal selves, will be published in 2015. She is currently poet-in-residence with the Marine Conservation Society. www.susanrichardsonwriter.co.uk
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