Clerical Conversations (Fifth Letter)

The following is the latest in an ongoing communication between two clerics, Professor Cesario de Torium and Professor Recamundus de Gelgadongo. Most recently, the gauntlet has been thrown off and the pleasantries of their profession have all but disappeared, leaving only scarcely concealed candor. What started as a request by Prof. Recamundus for Prof. Cesario to denounce his poem that painted a criminal, in the land of Caelon near Prof. Recamundus, in a somewhat sympathetic light, now has devolved to spiteful critiques of each other’s character and body of work.

Professor Cesario,

Shall we do this? If by quill and ink we must come to blows, then crimson shall be the parchment of our strife. O, the glory to be had by the champion who stands victorious, stamping one foot down upon the trunk of the fallen!

Yet, and I would have thought that with the years of study under your belt that you might have already understood this, but apparently it is up to this man to explain it – there can be no victor in a war of words; both contenders will claim only a besmirched reputation if the battle is to ensue. Furthermore, as leaders in our class, it is pertinent that we refrain from sparring like petulant children. Yet, you have slung arrows from your tower upon this “man with the height and physique of a boy,” and thus I am afraid I must defend myself.

You claim that my words have never been so layered and have always been met at face value, and thus you must have forgotten your own words, which themselves are transparent as sea glass. Shall I recant for you your poem about the sunset?

My light, so bright where birds take flight, where children’s kites all fly
Now goes with those whose sails blow home to where sea meets the sky.
Colors, which tend to upend the senses now flood my reach,
As glittering, tittering waves crash, littering the beach,
Thus giving me shivers as night’s quiver delivers death.
While bustling and rustling people go thrusting out of breath
I sit and admire the fire that burns higher than any.
Though an end is at hand, I understand there are many.

This poem was not written by some adolescent version of you; this poem was written most recently – in fact within the last three years. It’s a popular poem, I admit, but where is the great example of subtext here? You, a master of subtext and layering your words, who feels so charged to deliver stern words to a contemporary regarding the subject, seem to be guilty yourself of this crime which you have charged of me.

Before casting boulders in my direction, perhaps consider where they are coming from? It could be that the rocks you fling are the stones of the base of your tower. Take care not to crumble your tower’s foundation, professor. You might not make it out so well from the wreckage.

Prof. Recamundus