Doing The Maths

[parakleseos]

The concept and synoptic trajectory of this poem is solid. I see it working better as a 'performance' than a 'page' poem.

My main issue with it is the awkward mix of elevated and colloquial language. I think this is may be intentional and designed to reflect the two historical periods referenced, but the way it has been done feels haphazard.

It's also a bit fatty, but if it has been written with performance in mind that's probably fine. If not, I'd edit down.

The ending is cute.

In time all things shall be counted and weighed,
yet not until Seventeen Ninety Eight
did Monsieur Pinel, famed breaker of chains
which bound the insane, pause to explain
that there were but four mental disorders:
madness had been drawn and quartered
and hung from above.

You might be manic or melancholic,
maybe demented or idiotic;
you could suffer combinations of it -
Monsieur Pinel knew his stuff.
With that absence of equivocation
shrinks use when they talk to patients,
he said that four was quite enough.

There’s no evidence that angry punters
disappointed at the dearth of numbers,
manned barricades or raised their voices
to express displeasure at the meagre choices.
What were they thinking of?

I’m guessing, but as near as dammit
a billion souls lived on the planet.
Now mankind’s increased seven-fold
and madness populates the globe.
Four hundred mental illnesses
unearthed in the last two centuries.
We’re beaten, I reckon,
a hundred to seven
by burgeoning insanities.

The medicalisation of everyday life
isn’t likely to keep me awake at night –
I never go without my sleeping tablets.
But how many planets shall we require
at some future date, so all may aspire
to their designated quota of madness?

Make that four hundred and one.