As the story of Parzival - in this case specifically the verse account by the German Minnesinger Wolfram von Eschenbach (1170-1220) - may seem a little abstruse, I'm including some explanatory notes down at the end of the set. Wolfram's epic was a required text when I was studying mediaeval German a few years back (50, to be exact), and I loved it then and it's been a bit of a pleasure coming back to revisit it - which I didn't exactly intend to, in fact I didn't realise until the last lines of the first poem that that's what I was going to be doing. In fact, I think it all kicked off with a contemplation of the current new function of the pronoun "they", which was not really a very great concern of mediaeval poetry. The poems (mine, I mean) betray some evidence of their ease of construction - ie they're a bit rough - but I'm disinclined to tamper with them. I'll try and put in links to the various posts in which they first appeared, as there are probably some real-life events here and there which went into their subject-matter, though I don't think there's any real need to know what these events were; I'm just doing it "for the record", so to speak. Some of these posts contain more detailed comments on the Parzival story, including the odd dash of the scholarship which has naturally accrued to a work so fundamental to the cultural history of what eventually became the German nation. But like I say I'll put in a simplified precis of the story at the end, at least as it concerns my effort, with the relevant names (as in relevant to the poems) all dutifully put in in bold, which may give a slightly magpie-esque look to the text, but I'm afraid I have very little control over how all this looks (the WordPress templates are completely beyond my control, and I suspect the whole thing will come out against a lurid but unwanted background of pale blue). Long this precis may be, but I do reiterate that it's much simplified, as going through the whole thing would really be a bit too much of an undertaking: Parzival is what you could call a classic mediaeval rabbit warren - holes everywhere and in every direction.... This page is titled Parzival in Poems 2 because the original "Parzival in Poems" page refuses to yield up its subject matter or be affected by any of my attempts to edit it - but I'm initially going to post them up one by one, just for fun, starting with the first (duh), where I first realised that Parzival was going to be the main protagonist of whatever-it-was - apart from indigestion - that was bubbling up in my post-Christmas langour.
1. Siege They are alone. And I think Are they not lonely? Is lonely any State for the human? – Why, they have Themselves, what more would they need Everything in one place and Oh oh oh oh oh – don’t interrupt us – It’s all just so good, and Everything just so, the Way they like it. For sure It’s the only possible condition Hermaphrodite expansion, Or contraction, under The entirety of heaven. There’s an old legend, two Split from the one log Two that fitted – but Don’t be absurd we say, their Island paradise is formed By their self-made words There was only ever One Onanistically aware, they Lob curses on whoever comes, on The trumpeter at the gate The Fool in rusty armour, the seer. Siege 2. Condwiramurs Three drops of blood are Enough to stop him in his tracks To turn him aside, seek out the Conduit of love. I can speak for him, though I never rode that way Through the snow, through Such delirium That shimmered on the surface of A world turned desert, I Saw it, so did you, so Did we all, without knowing. At the source of madness You say, there seeking out The healing drink. And You say, likewise Cheers, your health and Have a good year. But The three drops of blood Remain, enough To stop us in our tracks
3. Four-and-Twenty’s Plenty If I could be heard By the tongue-tied one What would I be saying? No point in speaking of The wall of silence is there Because I’d be heard, so The question wouldn’t arise. But tell me again What would the question be The one that isn’t heard because Never voiced. Don’t you think I could disentangle birdsong from The rustling in my ears The rustling in the trees? Dear, I never wanted To bind your tongue Here I am on the table An opened pie, with All the songbirds in the world In its steamy depth Piping hot, not singing 4. Young, Dumb.... Don’t laugh at Gawan, he’s Just an ordinary jock Undid his fly and came All over the lady’s couch, When all she’d done was Offer him a cup of tea He can’t be held responsible For the world he grew up in Meanwhile my lady Turned to queenly matters Starvation, mainly, and the Medical distress arising. I kept Her badge on my lapel A keepsake maybe or maybe Some memento of some Thing transcending love So Gawan teamed up with Parzival, the plough-ox Hitched with the donkey . They both knew Gawan would Not pierce the wall that He liked too much anyway His manly laughter Over the king’s unfortunate accident Ruled him out, so to speak, but He was content to boast of his conquests Rule number one, he laughed Don’t get caught. Well, all the chaps knew One vulnerable spot Of inadequate armour where Man and horse meet, ooh It gives me the shudders He laughed, bulletproof As any jock Parzival was Slightly impressed Wondered if he should pay More attention to the man’s world Risk more, care less Treat illusion more Caressingly My dear lady Meanwhile, looked out over Her grey mud and its Starveling inhabitants And thought of unattainable Happiness. 5. Cundrie Comes to the Round Table What did she say to him? What did she say? So The twitter ran all Round the table, round the high table And back again in a circle Baffled, and so good and well Paid well justified What a tongue-lashing she gave him, what An earful, even at height Of my own rage and grief I’d fall short Cursed him, the dog-faced Cundrie Bear-lugged Cundrie, piggy- Tusked Cundrie, all Blackened nails and monkey-skin, cursed The most beautiful one of all, the Youngest the honourablest, the Most-lady-dandledest, just watch that Hide-scarred nag sagged under her limp Off into the forest, scuffing The blackened leaves, cursed Him to lose the tongue in his mouth, what Use is a tongue that won’t question, that Won’t enquire, cut it out Cundrie The useless member, the organ Of no-speech, crunch it Between pig’s teeth, between The grinders of your rage What did he do? the twitter ran Round and round the Round Table where everyone Was justified – and so well dressed And don’t you think her shoes are just The sweetest? and what Could that creature ever And he, so young, radiant, a Beauty beyond compare and such A reputation for kindness. So Amidst the darkness of the trees only A tremor, the ghost of a rustling Well after sunset, after lights-out Told that she had been. 6. Cundrie Song So grateful for your charity Kind gentlemen, kind dames A penny for the old guy A penny for your thoughts, my dear We’ll all have tea I went to furthest Turkey Beelzebub was belching there I came back home with nothing, To charity, just charity My old mule’s coat is falling out I broke her back with grieving I like a muffin now and then They’re far too dear, my dear, to buy So grateful for your charity Sukie Polly and the muffin man The muffin man the muffin man A penny for your thoughts, my dear They’ve all gone away 7. Parzival Returns So I say, bless this child What else is there for us so bless? And I say Gather in a knot around this child And smile to every prowling predator Bow down or pass on by. And I say The knights are still coming over the hill But by and by they will stop Burning our ricks and roofs, soon The galloping men will rock our cradles, For Parzival is here, the Red Knight Mars the good shepherd, Ares the lamb Whose red armour is rust, whose lance and sword Are for tilling the soil. And behind Every twitching curtain There will be not accusers, not judges But images of the unseen Of what can still be, despite. Parzival, child of Heart’s Sorrow, will not hesitate Look, he swoops as Falcon, even as dove, he Stoops and gathers up The blood-drops on the forest-floor, on The snow, forming them Into an image, a known face. So Innocence is sacrificed but Without loss. 8. Gurnemanz So, after a bumpy start, He made good and went To University. There He learned how a question was To be properly framed, and how Some questions were not To be asked at all, how the professors Were to be revered, if casually, and be Understood as the Experts, something To aspire to, even emulate. So after a sprinkling Of blessings they turfed him out, hoping He’d be back some day and do them proud. It was always a bit of an ordeal They joked, sipping their dry sherries Of course, later, and in Hindsight, retrospectively, everyone Knew what a dunce he’d been, you Can’t just learn by rote, they proclaimed There’s more to it than Jumping through the hoops, what Did he think it was some performance routine? Few record how Gurnemanz Conjurer of many pigeons, rabbits and Rector bursar or something Prepared his bath, sent in the girls To see what they could fish up Out of the murky water. He was So beautiful, was about all They could manage between titters. In those days, of course Girls were pretty uneducated, and way Too prone to follow their feelings. Luckily Parzival kept those fine Legs well crossed. Avaunt, girls. So he set forth into the world Well prepared, more inept than ever. As for posing the Sphinx’s Riddle, the unanswerable, there Was never any fear of that. 9. Clamide’s Siege Oh lady, he called up, have You no feeling for me? No morsel Of pity for my distress? Well, I’ll show you the meaning, if You want, of not a morsel, you can Soon feel it for yourself. I wonder what she told The splendid stranger who Came galloping into The quiet of the boudoir Did she speak of any hunger, even of Starvation? Did she display The gaunt skin stretched on Her cheekbones or Was there a last despairing burst, a Temporary display, like Snowdrops before a March blizzard Of her radiant beauty? Ah, she called down, you Are gawking sidelong in a mirror The planes are not true, the Angles are not right No I’ve no morsels here and No remorse like you’ll have Or did she plead, sorrowfully or Perhaps in anger, turn The light of your eyes from me Not on me, not my Face in the light, look elsewhere, look At yourself. So he Besieging her loneliness and he In the quiet of her silks and Hangings - they never saw; And so it was, remorseless Victim of his love, left Without a morsel On her licked plate, she Let her inner room be penetrated yet Regarded him only from her high tower. 10. The Muffin Man And so he knelt there on the grass, one Bright fire and the small kettle sizzling and All the flirty maids would crowd round But he said oh just eat for Christsakes.... Was it really five thousand? he pondered in Some quiet moment after They’d stretched him out and hung him up In a stuffy gallery. Five, would You believe it, he’d chuckle, gazing down Askance at all the kneelers while His ears just hurt from the pounding Organ, and he longed for just a little Song, a nursery rhyme say, something With no exaggeration. 11. Anfortas, Repanse To sweeten the air and ventilate The stench of his wound Perfume and odour of turpentine, Musk and aromatic; theriaca And sandalwood, cardamom Ground underfoot on the carpet, Clove and nutmeg likewise To sweeten the air, so The foul stench was dispersed, and A fire of lign-aloe. He said, Lady if I could live I would wander in the chestnut woods Of Garfagnana, I would pick oranges In Mignon's bay- and myrtle-scented groves, I Would breathe the sea-tang on The North Atlantic shore where The summer night is never dark, but This has all passed away and I can only Wish for death to heal my wound But she the response-girl said You have made your choice and now Have no more choice, now You must just live with it. So saying She held up the Grail to him And he lived again and The agony continued. She said I speak only as vessel of The truth, don’t think me without Compassion – but look at him! What chance one with Such narrow horizons Ever seeing the Grail? You knew The question he must ask, why not Simply tell him? Whisper it even, would That have been such terrible Cheating? Old fool Arrogant old fool, I Think you must deserve Everything you suffer. So saying, she blew gently on The fire of lign aloe To sweeten the air and ventilate The stench of his wound – Perfume and odour of turpentine, Musk and aromatic; theriaca And sandalwood, cardamom Ground underfoot on the carpet, Clove and nutmeg likewise To sweeten the air. 12. A Fools Triptych. i. Cunneware Why did she laugh why did she laugh? It’s natural for girls, you say, it just spills Out of them, a font of mindless merriment So why did she go through sixteen years With a big frown and a big pout, where Was her font then? You say I know nothing. So when He wrapped her hair around his wrist and Beat her till her bodice And the back in it was tatters, all the Blood and wailing – where’s Your laughter gone now, sweet maid? Parzival the cause of it all Was not oblivious. He vowed Justice would be done but All in good time. She laughed because He was a fool, at last here was a fool Worth a few strips of her smooth flesh. ii. The Seneschal So the girl who never laughed laughed The boy who never spoke spoke – What was going on? The donkeys Were braying in the yard, the swans Swinging in wide loops around The court of the King, singing The mute ones, singing to themselves, But the donkeys everybody heard So the girl who never laughed laughed The fool girl, and inappropriate noise It was: not so much as a smile for All those other fine chaps, well Mannered and well endowed Every one. Well, she got flogged For her inappropriateness till Bodice and back were indistinguishable. Then the boy who never spoke spoke The fool boy – Parzival’s Gonna get you sir, gonna get you good Gonna get you sir. So of course The fool boy he got it too As good a flogging and to boot A pummelling from his iron fist The solid old man, the Seneschal They got it good, that unearthly pair And everyone stared aghast but Judged the old weighty seneschal Had acted fair. In time the record would be set straight And silver bells on knightly reins Be tinkling as Parzival’s hooves came down on His twitching remains. iii. Parzival Comes to the City Good Friday daffodils Lined his way, the not-quite-opened Buds dipping swan-like And high clouds in The spring-blue sky ran with him Like a heavenly hound-pack. Don’t be fooled by the similes When Parzival came to the city He was as full of shit As any of the kids who come to get Their innocence soiled. Parzival stood witness How the old bouncer pinned her To the deck (the boys will Go quietly, prioritising their dignity but The girls never know when to stop) Well, he witnessed it and He thought, Um…. That was about it. He was A newcomer to city ways, which he reckoned Had been around longer than he. Of course, Parzival had A destiny – to be the king of fools but We don’t like to speak of destinies Do we? For the time being Um was his main thought. And so they celebrated Good Friday, and how fools Were better treated than the old days When they strung them up By the thumbs, or drove nails Through their tender parts; when deep-chest Screaming was common as birdsong.
13. Trevrizent and Parzival You want to go back to your ma? What, Didn’t you know she died? Died Of grief even as you frolicked down the forest tracks... Yep that beautiful lady Condwiramurs, she’s Your only hope now, your only sustenance, the rock That never moves, however you do. Beautiful Lady’s not enough for you? Well tough, mate Most of us have to make do with less. I don’t have to tell you, you Grew up snuffling in a pigs-trough Not of your making, and why Would anyone even think Of wanting to return to that? And yet you did. Why? Why? Well – duty.... attachment.... Ah, Someone forced you! Yes! There’s nothing so enlivening as An enemy! Don’t we all just Need someone to jib against Someone to beat down, grind Into the ground, ride our hooves over Twenty, thirty times? In the stall There’s a grey mare, her udders full As any milk-goat, as any cheerful nanny She’s a gentle creature, but You have to handle her right. You see, Amongst all that farmyard Mess, all that compound Muck, mud, spilled slops, old meal The original jewel fell, oh Forgotten for so long now, buried. Coax her out, gently now, a weightless Spring to take you astride her, she Can show you a new direction, she Can hoof up rubies from The farm-floor debris. So sorry about your ma, Parzi, but you know She was always an illusion. You were alone All the ways from the start, no different from Any of us. But get yourself together, lad – just As there’s no escaping the shit, there’s no Escaping the jewel, the blood-drops in the snow, the Unknowable First Face. I can tell you Who’ve always been an expert in The unknown, indeed the unknowable. You think Mooching about the forest grubbing for roots or Sniffing leaves is really what it’s about? These Are ways of passing the time, little more. No All that is solid is the knowledge, the empty frame Of something left behind. 14. Trevrizent’s Reliquary The man had given up All quest for praise or achievement Lived solitary in a cave in the forest, with His little box of tricks. Parzival Found it before he found the man, nine Equinoxes before, to be exact, and swore On it a solemn oath as To Jeschute’s innocence. Jeschute and Cunneware thereafter Became quite the pair, both Bearing scars of manly violence The one accused Of adultery, the other Of unrestrained merriment – both Offices of the Great Mother – Set up a sort of sanctuary For battered wives. So that Was some box of tricks, wasn’t it? Now he was back, the oaf Who’d snatched Jeschute’s brooch away Then lost it, the way men do The rapist who everyone forgave Because he was so stupid and so pretty, now Grown a little wiser, a good Deal sadder, led to the place By an un-reined horse, to begin An apprenticeship in hermitry. Trevrizent, so named Because winter froze his bollocks off Kept his stuff in the box, God Knows why – he could Have sold those geegaws and got a square meal. But you and I don’t understand Hermitry, only Trevrizent And Sigune who kept unending vigil over A corpse she’d never even married And they’re of a different order You can see by the leaf shadow, the branch-like Unpredictability in their eyes that They’re of a different order. 15. Sigune Parzival the forest boy Had never met his cousin He didn’t know his own name, just Endearments by the dozen That’s how Sigune identified The stranger in the canyon “Good boy”, “dear boy”, “pretty boy”? – ha You’re Parzival, for certain Don’t think some family gossip had Allowed her mind to wander Her grief was unalloyed for her Beloved Schianatulander Now sprawled across her lap and out Of reach of any pleading: No, calculations stirred awake Profuse as any bleeding See, Parzival was the lost prince For whose broad lands and honour This man had sacrificed his all Beloved Schianatulander What made her stay her hand and so Deliberately misdirect him? A story old as Eden’s curse: She wanted to protect him She feared his vow of vengeance would Lead him to harm for certain She saw his light of innocence Shine through her own tears’ curtain A warrior she, but not from ranks Of some armoured commander, Renounced all claim, trained her eyes on Beloved Schianatulander 16. Cundrie Dreams of Munsalvaesch How did they get me to prophesy, you ask. Well They pinned me through the wrists, uselessly Flapping hands being little threat, bound My chest round with some sort Of ratchet device, feet skewered and wrenched Back almost to my neck and fastened To the bit in my mouth, there’s no doubt They knew what they were doing, and the cloth Dipped in something vile slapped To my nose, so prophesy, sorceress Cundrie, Now prophesy, they said. And prophesy I did. Well, that’s how I got uglified. It wasn’t just the once, it was As often as they needed. To be The only one that sees in The country of the blind, there’s little else To be expected, they’re not bad just Averagely stupid. And I I had the misfortune of seeing. I saw All things, laid out like a table, like Farmlands from a hilltop, the Roads, the dead ends, the pitfalls The fences and the gaps in them, the movement Of the small life along its barely Noticed pathways. I saw it all. The averagely Stupid, they think prophecy is about the future. They don’t see the future is the same as Now, and prophecy Concerns only the words spoken, and how They’re spoken. So if they’re grunted out with The groans of pain, they’re allowed Especial resonance. So, well I’m progressively Uglified, but they tell me much appreciated and Always good for a quote in the papers Or down at the pub. And no, the Grail Is not the future either. She’s hidden In the selfsame forest where they stumble about, the Averagely stupid and the one or two True questers. I hold the secrets Of Munsalvaesch, and that’s one word That won’t be leaving my mouth However much they squeeze. 17. Fisher King Now, in this year This time of year When you can see snow Pinching the apple blossom Pinching out promise This year, I say, this time Of year, is a time to remember What’s been forgotten. As I say, this year Now, it shifts Suddenly shifts, the thick Mist lifts, as I say This year, name it by name The Grail was brought home And home it came And a child looked up and Clapped her hands, Whose child is that? we said But as I say this year It all collapses again Collapses like blossom On an old man’s cuff That he brushes off And stands Shaky enough, but stands For one more year Waiting for the saviour To appear The fisher fishing from the pier Old fool, the king Who’s lost his marbles Even his boat Bereft of all his lands He capers like a goat He sings and claps his hands My dear, he beams, I’m one of the Infallibles. 18. Cundrie in the Cellar You said we were all lonely Lonely from birth and all the way through Bar a few moments’ illusion along the way; Ah Cundrie, did you mean it? Inevitable It may have been for you with Your big snout and bristly chin But are we all to be so condemned? Poor Cundrie, you don’t Need to pity the rest of us Reasonably pretty for the most part Really you don’t need more than that Cundrie laughs out on The rocky ridge, Come out my pretties Come into the biting Wind, come where the wolves howl I’ll show you what Your comforts are worth Likewise the achievements You so believe in, and all the lofty Principles you so betray. Come eat out of my hand Come where I stand In the absolute land I’ll show you fear in a glassful of sand Have you no compassion Cundrie Why must you always give us your Curled-lip look, answer with oink Or heehaw sometimes, do you not understand We suffer, we know loneliness? Your hand’s engrained with dirt, what Gives you right to stand on that high ground So lonely, so olympian? Come On down Cundrie, come to the fire Come eat, come feel the fellowship Come out of the shadows Cundrie laughs, stuffing Her face in the cellar You locked me in and here I’ll die Of starvation, die amidst plenty. I only showed you The way, I never said, follow, I’ve no heart to afflict You with my affliction I’ll show you no way to atone Hollow words like “do” or “must” Lest you like me be thrust Into a lifetime of loyalty and trust I’ll show you love in my cupful of dust 19. The Grail. Polly put the kettle on Polly put the kettle on Polly put the kettle on We’ll all have tea Sukie take it off again Sukie take it off again Sukie take it off again They’ve all gone away Cundrie states flatly You’re in the wrong place You see the wrong face The infinitude of space Is not enough to hide her in Oh Polly put it on again Blow the ash with might and main Resurrect the muffin man Who died in vain Oh Sukie you’re so light I’d blow you like a feather I’d blow you all apart Then back together. 20. Misunderstanding. He was not fishing The hermit told the young fool: When his suffering grows too Much to endure They take him to the lake For the moon to change. The hale so Complacent, never understand Suffering, so they make up stories. I daresay the Fisher King will endure When all the truth is forgotten. This is not your horse He remarked to the fool, who Parried, I won him fair and square The horse meanwhile chewing Nonchalantly, had led him to the Grail That being where his stable was The hermit scratched his head No-one, he said, comes to the Grail By fighting, is this truth Also to be forgotten? But if it was a just fight? The fool protested. The hermit’s Face remained stony. Above The trees storm clouds gathered. It seems, he said, that the old Truths are gone from the world; I see no reason in it and No good. Get up, fool, mount, Follow the broken ways misunderstanding Leads you, and God speed. So the moon slid over the lake’s edge Saluted by staring shoals of lampreys. And across the dim stretches Lights appeared, the ghosts Of fools to come who would fish there Thinking it the Thing To Do. No-one Knew how the first fool, guided By his mad ugly sister and A horse with no reins, found what Could never be found, or spoken of. ..... 21. Cundrie Look for the biggest wart on the biggest toad Said Trevrizent, for that’s where your journey will begin And end there too, if all goes well – don’t go thinking in Terms of some grand revelation, that’s for puppets and toys. If normality’s what you want, no-one will blame you Even the high spaces the swift-bird enjoys Are normal in their way, though he sees all lands Of the world in his epic flight. But though I name you The biggest fool of all, nothing is expected That you can’t deliver just by breathing; because the air Is common to all and subject to no big squatter’s commands Even if he calls himself a king. But as to that normalcy, You can take it or leave it. But no-one got great Sitting astride a horse; no-one acquired a fate By turning away, and no-one embarked on a road By staying put; and so I say, the biggest wart’s For you, my lad – the biggest wart on the biggest toad And don’t expect it to be pretty, or forget that Lady Cundrie Is the mistress of all this land and she’s a stonker A honker, a slap-you-on-the-bonker A trip-over-your-own-footer A startle-you-with-a-midnight-hooter A right-between-your-eyes-sharpshooter You’re dead if you don’t pay But she needs you, she needs you Today and every day. ..... 22. Condwiramurs Spare a thought for the lady Of Pelrapeire, for Condwiramurs Who had no Grail to feed from When her people went hungry Whose suitors jostled To snap her up for breakfast Who was left alone Gazing from the narrow turret As the kingdom fell apart. Spare a thought for the lady Who had some months, it’s said Of wedded bliss with A hero, a great hero Who had a quest to make amends For his stupidness A great quest, a singular quest Which left her in the shadow Spare a thought for the Conduit of Love Spare a thought for the lady She had learned no nursery skills Only some old saws and never-do’s Inherited from her dam, at that much Garbled and misunderstood, left To deal with it as best she could Left to gaze in a sort of trance As the strangers grew apace, the way Children do, with or without a mother. Spare a thought for the lady When they told her how happy she was How proud she must be And all the other feelings Assigned to her, and she Gazing blank-eyed from her turret Thought only, am I here? Do I exist? Spare a thought for the Conduit of Love For Condwiramurs. ..... 23. Munsalvaesch Look at those banners flying, the swans Circling round the spires, the sunlight Flashing on the Temple soldiery, and all The milling and rejoicing and renunciation Of the darkness passed. For we forgive Everything, mistakes and misdeeds, It’s the Christian way my dear We don’t even persecute the Jews, well Not too much… – and here’s little Lohengrin Borne on the Conduit of Love, and Papa Parzival – he’s king now, did you know? What a thought! and even old sulky Sue Thunderface Cundrie is cracked In smiles, because don’t you know It’s the Christian way, you make A serious mistake, a crime, a grim one And you should pay; but someone comes Says, put back the clock, let’s say It was just a rehearsal, but now For the real event. And the whole thing’s staged And this time everyone knows their lines Everyone knows it’s a fudge, yes, a fake But have a heart, let them smile, let them sing At least for a little space. And so it’s Whitsun, when everyone Babbles nonsense anyway And there the calm Grail Maiden Is all a-flutter beside her magpie groom His pale parts we respond to, who knows What’s in his black heathen heart But it’s Whitsun and we’re all Babbling nonsense so it doesn’t matter – Was there ever such a festival of love And we’ve all so much to spend…. Did anyone need to prove That the old tales come right in the end? ..... 24. The Muffin Man Summon up the muffin man The muffin man the muffin man Or if you like the little lad Who lives down the lane It’s very quiet here Perhaps it’s the end of the world The end of the world’s a quiet place They say, where everything Dissolves in mist – Everything I loved, and missed It might be the end of the world. Cundrie explains it, First railing, then blessing First bewailing, and then laughing She says the past’s a field of snow Not even her tracks to be seen What’s this Cundrie? A pine cone What’s this Cundrie? A lump of dog What’s this Cundrie? Moon-dust, maybe Poor Cundrie’s mad. Parzival has dreams, memories, reflections They’re what we call his feelings He has feelings you know, we say, A king’s not just an object He had years of tribulation Cut off from his true love. What more Do you want of me? he would say Talking to the trees – why would you call this Complacency? Professor Jung was a very old man And a very old man was he And he was the very wisest man Of his whole century. He told us all to be aware What happens in our dreams And everyone thought he meant the thoughts The hopes the fears the schemes; They consulted all the horoscopes And read up all the books That showed the maps the graphs the charts Of how the cellar looks Yes Doktor Jung was a very wise man And a very wise man was he But in the end they rumbled him And dumped him in the sea Now everyone knows the shield’s device Is what makes the true knight And whoever blows the loudest note Will be the one that’s right And everyone knows your label’s all That anyone needs to see It’s simple maths and simple words And simple ABC They march in overwhelming style Arms linked and with one voice Decry the fools and questioners Who doubt the obvious choice But Meister Jung still laughs and swims And frolics in the tide And nobody ever guessed how deep His world was, or how wide You see that Eiffel Tower there: It’s mainly made of air Weigh it if you don’t believe The iron grid just holds your stare Distracts you from the truth The air you never see You see? you don’t see at all The tower at Munsalvaesch Is built of similar stuff All the seeking in all the world And all the libraries and annals Of the secret cliques won’t be enough Won’t bring you a step closer. If you get into that forest and say Are riding some knight’s charger Let go the reins, let the idle nag Find her own sweet way. And what is even harder Is when you hear the Grail King, Oh – Fisher King, the Wounded Healer Was fishing for himself down in The murk and all the while his half-drowned name Was yours, no other Young Parzival was a very wise fool And a very wise fool was he But nobody knew till they dropped a plumb And fished him out the sea. You were always looking the wrong way The words you spoke were not the real words you spoke The way you went was not the real way you went What you achieved was not what you truly achieved The freedom you won was not real freedom It’s very quiet here I see everything like a reverse image The seeds grow in the empty spaces Not in the drilled seed bed Three bags full, you say Airbags, I say Nothing but air It may be the end of the world Here comes the muffin man The muffin man, the muffin man The muffin man, the muffin man…. There’s nobody there
Parzival is the "young fool" who, after his father Gahmuret is killed in a joust - Parzival still being a baby - gets taken away by his mother Herzeloyde to be brought up in the forest where he would know nothing of battle or warfare or even the Knight's vocation. He grows up innocent and without contamination by courtly ways, though becoming a pretty skilled hunter with his javelot. He does not know of the destiny put upon him, which is to ask the Question of the Grail King, Anfortas, which will end the king's suffering and restore healing to the land. Almost inevitably, as he approaches manhood, Parzival encounters a trio of knights riding through the forest, one of whom (being such an idiot) he assumes is God, and he immediately conceives the notion that this is the vocation he wants to follow himself. His mother, realising he is not to be dissuaded, packs him off in fool's motley with a few words of advice, the main part of which Parzival understands is that it's incumbent upon a knight to "win a lady's ring" (love token or hand in marriage) and he accordingly sets straight off to find the court of King Arthur. Little knowing that his mother has died of grief before he even got out of the forest, Parzival continues on his merry way and by and by encounters the Lady Jeschute, whose husband is from home, as she lies asleep in bed. Mindful of his mother's instructions he sets about overpowering, embracing and robbing her of her ring, but as his actions were clearly not amorous in any way Jeschute, realising he's an idiot, doesn't hold the assault against him. Not so her husband who, when he comes home and hears of the incident, publicly shames her for her supposed infidelity. Parzival meanwhile has continued on his journey and comes upon Sigune weeping over the body of her newly-slain beloved Schianatulander. Through Sigune Parzival learns of his noble birth, that Schianatulander was killed defending his lord's - Parzival's - rightful lands, and that he therefore has an obligation to avenge both Sigune and his birthright. He accordingly continues to King Arthur's court despite Sigune's attempts to misdirect him for his own safety. Parzival wows everyone at King Arthur's court due to his beauty and strength and there folows the strange incident of the Lady Cunneware, who laughs aloud when she sees him arriving. Cunneware has never smiled or laughed before, and the word is that she will not laugh till she beholds a knight worthy of her laughter. King Arthur's seneschal, Sir Keie, is outraged that she should have saved her laughter for this fool of a youngster, and flogs her mercilessly with his staff of office; her brother, the simple-minded Antanor, thereupon prophesies that Keie will pay dearly for this action, thereby earning himself a second flogging from the vigorous old seneschesal. Parzival, bemused by these events, holds his tongue but requests that King Arthur make him a knight. To earn this honour, Parzival goes out to confront Ither the Red Knight, who is parading up in down in the field challenging Arthur's kingship. Ither considers the unarmed fool beneath his dignity but Parzival kills him with a well-aimed throw of his javelot. Queen Ginover's page arrives on the scene and helps Parzival take off Ither's armour and put it on, so himself becoming the Red Knight. Parzival sets off for a period of training in knightly ways with Gurnemanz, who teaches him among other things not to open his mouth and blab about whatever comes into his head, specifically not to go about asking personal questions. Parzival promises to marry his beautiful daughter Liaze if he should become worthy of the name of knight and sets off for the town of Pelrapiere where the Queen Condwiramurs is being besieged by the wicked Clamide who has laid claim to her lands and her hand in marriage. Despite the starvation being suffered by Condwiramurs and her people because of the siege Parzival finds her even more beautiful than Liaze. Condwiramurs comes to his bedchamber to beg for his help. She even gets into bed with him but this is because she trusts his boylike simplicity and the encounter is entirely chaste. However Parzival falls in love with her and marries her after trouncing Clamide and his seneschal Kingrun and their armies and sending them off to do penance by serving King Arthur. After little more than a year of married life Parzival wants to return to see how his mother is getting on, and possibly pick up some knightly adventures on the way. This destiny leads him to the castle of the Grail where he observes the wounded Grail-king, Anfortas, as he thinks, fishing in a lake by moonlight. Anfortas, who turns out to be Parzival's uncle, invites him to stay at his magical castle of Munsalvaesch, where Parzival is feasted royally thanks to the magical powers of the "garnet hyacinth" they call the Grail. He observes that there is great sadness in the castle and witnesses Anfortas' suffering due to a festering wound in his groin which he sustained in a joust, but politely refrains from asking any questions about it, having been so well-schooled by Gurnemanz.The Grail is displayed to the company by Anfortas' sister, the wondrously beautiful but entirely unavailable Repanse de Schoye, into whose care the magical object is entrusted and from whom is expected no falsity. Morning comes and the entire court has disappeared apart from one page, who berates Parzival for not having asked the appropriate question as to Anfortas' suffering, which would have brought about healing to the entire kingdom. Parzival, now wearing the magical sword given to him by Anfortas, wanders on and falls in once again with his cousin Sigune, who has enbalmed Schianatulander's body and is preparing herself for a life of celibacy. She gives him some information about the wondrous castle of Munsalvaesch, including that it is the home of the Grail and that it cannot be found except by chance. She too reproaches him for not having asked the question destiny had required of him. Parzival realises the depths of his failure and sets about trying to redeem himself. He comes upon the outcast and half-naked Lady Jeschute, the victim of his first adventure, and restores her honour in a successful joust with her husband Orilus, who incidentally was also responsible for Schianatulander's death. Orilus is initally still not convinced of Jeschute's innocence, but Parzival takes them both to the cave, or shrine, of the holy hermit Trevrizent where Orilus finally accepts Jeschute's oath of innocence. Parzival sends Orilus to the service of the wronged Lady Cunneware, whose brother Orilus is, this being Parzival's apology to the lady for being the cause of her suffering at the hands of the seneschal Keie. As Parzival wanders through a strangely snowy May-day he comes upon three drops of blood in the snow, left after a hunting incident, which by their arrangement remind him poignantly of his wife Condwiramurs. He falls into a deep reverie, which is interrupted, but only barely, by three attempts to challenge him: these challenges are made by members of King Arthur's court which is nearby and on the move as King Arthur tries to find the Red Knight who fought against the challenger Ither in order formally make him one of his knights of the Round Table. Parzival, rather absent-mindedly, beats the three challengers, the third of whom is Sir Keie the sencheschal, whom Parzival beats so humiliatingly that the wrong done by him to Cunneware is properly paid for, as Antanor predicted. Parzival is helped by the peerless knight Sir Gawan who helpfully throws a scarf over the three drops of blood so bringing Parzival out of his love-trance. He is befriended by Gawan and taken to King Arthur's court where he is knighted and duly praised and feted, but in the middle of all the goodwill and congratulations the high-born, learned and irredeemably ugly Cundrie - otherwise known as Cundrie the Sorceress - appears on her mule and gives Parzival a public dressing-down for his failure to ask Anfortas the fateful Question. In response Parzival vows to seek out the Grail and redeem himself. After some four and a half years of errantry Parzival riding through the forest chances again upon Lady Sigune, who has now shut herself in a hermit's cell built at the tomb of Schianatulander. She is nourished with food provided by the Grail and brought to her by Cundrie. This tells Parzival that the Grail Castle, Munsalvaesch, cannot be far away. This is confirmed when he is attacked by a Templar knight, one of those who guard the Grail castle. Parzival unhorses the man who disappears off into the forest. As his own horse has fallen into a chasm he takes the Templar horse instead. As the weeks of fruitless searching go by Parzival becomes bitter about his fate, but one snowy Good Friday he meets a friendly family of pilgrims and is advised to seek out the hermit Trevrizent. Parzival doesn't know where this man is to be found, but lets go his Templar horse's reins, and the horse takes him straight to the hermit. He spends some time with him, foraging in the forest and receiving instruction from the holy man. Neither of them recognises the other from their encounter years earlier with Jeschute and her husband, and Trevrizent recounts the story of Anfortas and his suffering and the failure of the destined one to ask the Question. He has a lot to say about the dangers of pride and incontinence and warns Parzival that no-one can win the Grail by fighting and warfare or indeed come to it at all unless called by it. It is only when Parzival speaks of his own sorrow, of his longing for his wife and for the Grail, that Trevrizent realises who he is, and like the page and Sigune and Cundrie previously, gives him a good dressing-down for his failure; he also reveals that he is Parzival's uncle, the brother of his mother Herzeloyd who died of grief after Parzival left her, and for good measure chastises him for his slaying and despoiling of of their kinsman Ither - all of which, of course, Parzival did in all innocence and as a result of having been hidden away in ignorance in the forest by his mother. Trevrizent also imparts a lot of arcane knowledge, for example the crime of Cain, who robbed his mother - Mother Earth itself - of her virginity. The story becomes quite confused here, as there is a long digression involving Gawan and his various adventures, including his much-spurned love with the sharp-tongued Orgeleuse (who may be the same lady on whose account Anfortas previously received an iron spear-shaft in his testicles during a joust with "a heathen", the shaft being left embedded and causing his subsequent suffering). Gawan and Parzival eventually meet again, luckily recognising each other just before they beginning a joust, but shortly after this Parzival is involved in what turns out to be the hardest joust of his life, with the heathen prince Feirefiz, who turns out to be his half-brother. Their father Gahmuret had been about a bit in time past, including in India where he sired Feirefiz on the "black" queen Secundille (or possibly Belacane). As a result Feirefiz is described as "spotted", black and white, or "like a magpie". The joyful aftermath of this joust - both brothers come from it unscathed - leads to Parzival persuading Feirefiz to come with him to the court of King Arthur, where there is much jollity, in the midst of which occurs the unlikely re-appearance of Cundrie the Sorceress, who anounces that, presumably because he has suffered enough, Parzival will now be allowed to take over from Anfortas as the Grail King. Parzival, Feirefiz and Cundrie immediately set off for Munsalvaesch where they are greeted by a welcome-party of Templar knights and maidens, and in a not altogether spontaneous set-up, Parzival asks Anfortas the fateful question, "what ails thee, Uncle?" and Anfortas is immediately healed. Condwiramurs now turns up with her and Parzival's two young sons Kardeiz and Loherangrin (otherwise known as Lohengrin), who were clearly conceived in short order during the fifteen or so months of their parents' early marriage, and there is great rejoicing at the newly-restored Munsalvaesch. Feirefiz beholds the Grail Maiden Repanse de Schoye at the great feast which ensues at Whitsun and, apparently forgetting he already has a wife, falls head over heels in love with her and the two get married, Feirefiz having now been baptised a Christian (which apart from meaning that he can now marry Repanse means also that he can see the Grail, hitherto invisible to him) and the couple set off for Feirefiz's kingdom in the East. A brief reference is made at the end of the story to the strange tale of the next Grail King after Parzival, the swan-knight Loherangrin.
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