Vicki Feaver: The Gun

What thoughts spring to mind when you read the first couple of lines of this

poem?

Bringing a gun into a house

Changes it.

A home is a place of safety. Imagine a gun brought into your own house. How

would your family react? What possible reason could there be for its arrival?

How would it change the atmosphere?

Immediately in these two lines the poet establishes a sense of tension and

danger. Notice how the poet uses space to generate suspense:

• A mini-space is left between the first line and the second. Feaver could just

as easily have written the sentence as one line, not two. Which option is more

effective? Why?

• These two lines are isolated from the body of the poem - another brief space

for us to contemplate the lines’ significance.

• The poet doesn’t give too much away; we know the gun changes things, but

she doesn’t tell us how, another space for speculation.

• A fourth uncertain semantic space is created by the non-specific pronoun ‘it’,

which can refer to the gun or the house. For now, the resolution of meaning

remains suspended.

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We are then introduced to a second person, the poem’s auditor, ‘you’ who has

brought in the gun. Unhurried lines convey unhurried action. The poem’s

paradoxical theme is subtly suggested: The gun is itself ‘like something dead’.

In the last four lines of this stanza there is a tightening of syntax and attention.

Shorter lines are a series of concertrated still images, one per line. Ominous

details signal the gun’s potential danger: ‘jutting over the edge’, for example,

implies transgression, crossing boundaries. The phrase ‘Over the edge’

implies losing control. The poet increases the foreshadowing – a ‘shadow’ is a

common poetic metaphor for a ghost.

The tone changes with the casual sounding, looser and more conversational,

‘At first it’s just practice’. But this stanza moves very swiftly and suddenly from

harmless shooting inanimate objects to shooting a rabbit through the head.

The level of violence has escalated unnervingly fast. In this light, that ‘at first’

becomes more ominous; if this is what happens ‘at first’ what might happen,

we wonder, ‘at last’?

Feaver’s poem is in free verse. No metre or rhyme scheme determines either

line or stanza length. Or, indeed, the overall length of the poem. This

structural looseness means the lines in the poem are hard to predict – they

are not following a predetermined pattern which the ear and the eye can

anticipate. What stops free verse poems being prose randomly arranged into

something looking like verse?

Firstly the stanzas themselves; some principle must structure them. As we

have already noted, in The Gun, for instance, there is clear design in the

isolation of the first two lines. Subsequent stanzas outline the stages of a

narrative. In the second, the gun is brought into the kitchen; in the third is put

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to use; the fourth stanza outlines the results of the gun’s use; an isolated line

follows echoing but modulating the opening and the poem concludes with how

the poet/ the poet’s persona reacts.

Secondly, lineation, the choice of where to start and end lines is particularly

important in free verse. A good rule of thumb is to assume the poet has put

careful thought into this element of structure. Try re-arranging the lines, as we

did with the opening two, to highlight the effects of the poet’s choices. If the

lineation is not purposeful then we do have prose chopped up and

masquerading as poetry. The middle lines from Feaver’s fourth stanza

illustrate her precise lineation:

Your hands reek of gun oil

And entrails.

Four elements of arrangement come together here to generate impact:

• The choice of syntax so that the most important aspect comes at the end of

the sentence

• a small delay created by cutting the line before ‘and entrails’

• the placing of this phrase at the start of the next line

• the caesura after ‘and entrails’, allowing its effect to sink in and linger.

Compare, for instance, an alternative arrangement:

Your hands reek of entrails and gun oil.

We have here exactly the same words and broadly the same meaning, but all

the tension, the shock impact of ‘and entrails’ has been lost.

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The central theme of the poem, that closeness to death and killing

paradoxically makes us feel more alive, is made more explicit at the end of

the fourth stanza. The ‘you’ character is rejuvenated; they feel more alive,

more youthful, more energetic: ‘There’s a spring/ in your step/ your eyes

gleam/ like when sex was fresh’. The language of the poem is also invigorated

here; sibilance, a stronger, more emphatic rhythm and running assonance

combine to put a spring in the poem’s quickening stride. In fact, the rhythm

becomes almost a regular anapaestic one:

There’s a spring

De de DUM

In your step, your eyes gleam

De de DUM, de de DUM

Like when sex was fresh

De de DUM de DUM

Here the close semantic connection between the words ‘carnivore’ and

‘carnal’ spring to mind. The resuming of the role of hunter has wakened other

sensual appetites. After this quickening, there is a pause. And then Feaver

delivers the long delayed information about exactly how the house in

changed:

A gun brings a house alive.

What’s surprising about this? Clearly as the gun is a bringer of death it’s

paradoxical that it can bring something back to life, like a miracle cure. Tonally

too, the line’s surprising. Up until this line the attitude of the poem’s speaker to

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the introduction of the gun has remained tensely unclear. Now, it seems, the

speaker is not appalled as we might suspect, despite the gruesome entrails

and the dead animals; rather they too are excited, caught up in the increased

intensity that the gun has brought to the couple's life. To say the least, this is

not a stereotyically female response to violence, bloodshed and the piling up

of carcasses.

In the final stanza sees the speaker takes

their full part in the enterprise. There is no
squeamishness; like their partner, they are
‘excited’as they perform a series of
transformative actions which swiftly turn
carcass into meal. The poem ends with an
extraordinary simile that relocates the
action intp some sort of mythical
dimension. The figure of ‘The King of
Death’ suggests both the Greek God Hades and the Grim Reaper, but is
Feaver’s own invention. The medieval flavour ‘King of Death’ is enhanced by
the reference to his arrival ‘to feast’ from the ‘winter woods’. It is as if, the
awesome figure of the ‘King of Death’ has been released by the couple’s
return to hunting their meat. And out of his ominously ‘black mouth’ are
sprouting ‘golden crocuses’. Here the central paradox of the poem that life
comes from death is made concrete in a brilliantly visual, evocative image.
Out of death’s mouth new flowers blossom; beautiful and precious flowers -
they are ‘golden’.

According to Oxford Journals online the crocus specides ‘in spring are a
symbol of the awakening of nature, of resurrection, even of heavenly bliss’.