Harold Bloom’s critical essays: “Poetry about Wolves”

Some would say that all poetry, at its heart, is about wolves. The primal desire of man to suck at the eight teats of some beastial she-wolf is inherent in all masterful works. From T.S. Elliot’s wasteland to Dickenson’s moors, the wolf roams free and proud, bringing inspiration as though from the heavens, even as fear of the fanged beast clinches one’s bowels in a sick, sloppy desperation.
But still, man’s fascination with those wild creatures has manifested itself in far less subtle ways. The great works of such poets as Manfred Mann, and Pete W. Ishingwell Jr. masterfully capture the essences of the wolf by direct confrontation with the piercing gaze of that which has horrified cave men.

THE WOLF
By Manfred Mann

The Wolf
Who’s piercing gaze has horrified
Cavemen
I confront you directly.
















SHE-WOLF
By Pete W. Ishingwelle

Oh great she wolf,
How I long to suckle from
Your eight teats
Sweet honey milk.

Their short form is direct and to the point, just like a wolf lunging for the jugular of some wild elk they grab you with their language as to never let go.

(Hey Lenard)

A WOLF IN THE NIGHT
By Brad Paris

At night
The wolf visits my dreams
As arbor and snow scents fill
My nostrils
The wolf is sleeping with my wife
Damn you, wolf bastard.

Paris is torn between the wolf and his love for it. How can he manage to survive with out the beast? It tortures him by his dreams, then slips in and bangs his wife. Paris cannot confront the creature whose great wolf penis is pleasuring his love with only the light of his dreams; he is too paralyzed by its magnificence. He goes on in later verses to confront both the wolf and his father, revealing what is probably the greatest surprise in all of western literature.




(verse 5)

Oh, great wolf
Tell me who my father was
Was he a great man?
He Was a Wolf!?!?!?
NOOOOOOOOOO.

It is a heartbreaking analogy to the quest of every man to seek out where he is from. As Paris correctly tells us; Look to the wild.