Gavin

for Dr. Bonnie Wheeler, SMU

Amar Shah · Gavin

Good would be if I could say that Gavin
gave his all. One gift held back, not garter, but
his soul. He got, when knife to neck, a blessed
wounding, gift of greatness: god and animal
collide in wounding, in glory on the cross.
The gaping wound, the fount, the front of Man.
Gavin turned away and tried to give
it back.
The garter, thought Gawain, disgusted.
If I'd given garter back. That's what
I didn't do, that's what I lacked. A woman
trapped me into keeping keepsake.
Aye,
a woman, says the bard, yes woman, queen,
received the tears of Gavin, terrified
of going into gloom. A queen who held
the steadfast Gavin to her breast, the boy
who sobbed into her dress. A man to peel
the dress away, a man accepting all
her womanhood.
A woman, eye of woman
saw Gawain, the good, the true, the man.
Gawain, who only Man, both beast and god.
Gawain, afraid to make his peace, afraid
to go to Death, afraid to meet his God.

Gawain afraid. That's Gawain, could not be
told, could not be sung in saga. That's
what he lacked, the courage to be known,
the valiance to be seen—craven, cowering,
shy and anxious, gutless, faint, weak-kneed,
and faithless, No-Guts Gawain, Retiring Knight
of Table Round, when danger reared its ugly
head, Sir Gavin turned his tail and went
to bed, another hero's wife to bed.
Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Gavin!

Would good I be that said, would say that Gavin
gave his all? He didn't give you squat.
When gruesome green, the giant knight said, Rise!
Gavin's heart lay twitching on the floor.
He'd ventured for a year to go that far,
a year, depressed, a year of doubt and fear.
For his heart, he'd not return next year,
nor any year.
Gavin roams the marshes
and the fields, the forests of the waste,
the green and gangly waste—Gavin, gracious
of the green, the green and given Garter:
garter never given up, not given
up when bid, not given up when hid
his eyes, his mouth. The garter was his shield.
The garter was his sinful, heinous, vile,
indecent shield.
Oh, Gavin. The queen who loved you
calls to you. She calls to you, Gawain,
Gawain, Gawain, Gwalchmei, yes, Gavin,
I know your name. I saw you, Gavin, saw you,
know you, know you as a man, know you
in the flesh. Gavin, be my man,
you, Arthur's man, stand and be a man.
A man, Gawain, not perfect like a statue.
A man, who growing old, balloons and belches,
fat and farting, calling, Wine, more wine
to toast and dance the life of Gavin, graceful
Gavin, graceful, droll, grotesque and goofy
Gavin, Fool, the lovable, Gawain
the man.
Oh Gavin, come to me, it's not
too late. Discovering your heart on icy
ground, I knew too late to place it back,
to place back heart I found where it belongs,
the home it longs, reside in yet again.
I wrapped it in, Gawain, the other garter,
the other emerald, lush and verdant garter.
Come to me, my man, come and take,
partake of what I give you. Give me grace,
Gawain, your grace, give me grace, replace
your heart in place, hold you to my breast
again, take your blade in place, and animate
the heart in chest of Gavin, Brave, the Man.