I am making this post to share some unpublished poems I found in a manuscript by a previously undiscovered author. This reclusive genius once roamed a part of the earth that used to be a boring suburb in the fallen state of Canada. Their name was "Snekcoatl," which is a really weird name. This manuscript was unearthed near a high school in the suburb that has the same name as the suburb. We've found artifacts from that high school too, which has been abandoned for some 500 years since The Incident. There were plaques from the English department of the high school commemorating the genius Snekcoatl, who was apparently a prodigy. There was also apparently a rival writer named V*c. Apparently she had strong ties to Snekcoatl, though it is unclear whether the two were the best of friends or the worst of enemies.
Some other manuscripts unearthed in Tkaranto, the city that was then known as Toronto, suggest that Snekcoatl and V*c spent a brief part of their lives there. They could have been academic rivals in the academy that once stood there, competing for influence. We have some obscure and threatening letters from V*c that were sent to Snekcoatl. It appears that there was also a building at the institution named after V*c.
Snekcoatl did not get the recognition that they deserved during their lifetime. But perhaps some of these poems will help to shed some light about what life was like in "Canada" before The Fall. So I am sharing them because they could be useful to historians, and also because they do a fine job of capturing the feeling of yearning and languishing, which appear to be the two main themes.
Poems of Yearning
Snekcoatl's handwriting, though childish and messy, was not impossible for me to transcribe. The only thing that was really annoying to me as transcriber was that Snekcoatl did not attempt to give their poems respectable titles. And so the first one is simply called "Poem I wrote for a Femboy who made me lose #NoSimpSeptember (it's so over for me)." From this we can guess that the poet was unlucky in love. This one appears to be insulting the sun as a symbol of masculinity.
You must have been starving where you were,
as you hungered for beauty,
you turned to the ancient, the flowery, the romantic,
when they wanted you to see the light of reason and become a critic,
I never wanted the splendid sun,
that ball of light,
nor the urns decorated with images of heroes, warriors,
the bold speeches of leaders that conceal wicked deeds,
the bloody conquests,
I only longed for the pale moon,
She's like you in your black gowns like raven's wings,
with your love most chaotic and unreasonable
Poems of Languishing
I would like to shift the focus now to poems of languishing. Although they contain less simping, they are still a bit depressing. And they can teach us a lot about the lives of immigrants, which Snekcoatl certainly was. And about the kind of culture they were part of.
This one is called "Quetzalcoatl (devotional)." From the title, we can guess where Snekcoatl gets their pen name from. We don't know their real name, but the name Snekcoatl was certainly inspired by this Aztec deity. It also references a gathering for Indian Muslims, and so it gives us a huge clue about what Snekcoatl's culture was. The whole poem seems to reflect a desire to escape from the boring suburb where they lived, to seek love and refuge elsewhere.
Under your soft wings
Watched by your
Eyes full of love
With pupils like slits
Sheltered in your green plumes
And your endless mercy
I remember at the majilis
They said there is a world
Beautiful beyond imagination
But they must have been mistaken
About the pomegrantes and date trees
Because I am certain they must have meant
Your land of cloud forests and quagmires
The next one references Norse mythology and is called "conversing with the Fates." The language used here certainly seems conversational, I suppose. And it is natural for one living in a world with harsh winters to turn to Norse myths for references.
Oh, if there be Fates spinning my destiny,
Then we must all be at their mercy,
Sitting under Yggdrasil, those ladies,
must not know how to continue my story,
Fates! What is this?
You are cruel ladies,
and I will never understand your ways
If all you can dream up is so outrageous,
so inconsistent with the past,
How can the trajectory of my life end up like this?
I've never been more certain that there are no gods.
The last thing that I'm going to say about this poet is that they were probably young when they wrote these. I would say not far into adulthood. Their invocation of the Fates may be because their life was unfurling in a way that they never would have imagined in their childhood. And they were shocked and disappointed by this.
I will be back if I discover more manuscripts by this author.
