I actually submitted this as a paper for English 129 during my freshman year of college. It’s about a previously unknown circle of hell in which fratboy lacrosse players are forced to wear black turtlenecks and berets and listen to feminist theory and Beat poetry. The whole thing is in Iambic pentameter. I think I got a B.

March 2, 1992
English 129

Dante’s Lost Canto

            From a turbulent sleep I opened my eyes

only to wish they were closed once again.

For here I saw the angst of brawny men.

            In their lives, these had never felt such pain. (4)

I could not see terror within their eyes,

because these sinners  all wore dark glasses.

            Each man was shielded from every other. (7)

But my ears clearly detected their torment

as their wailing shook my heart’s foundations.

            These men all wore black turtleneck sweaters, (10)

with goatees and black berets on their heads.

Their legs, covered with black flannel trousers,

            were grossly deformed:  call forth the image (13)

of a Mr. Potato Head, with legs

far shorter than the torso.  So here, these

            shades’ legs were the same length as a toddler’s, (16)

except that their bodies were fully grown

and their faces hosted the beards of men.

            Each man was stationed at a table, where (19)

he sat alone, with a flickering candle.

Like at Demery’s, where patrons look forward

            to watch the dancefloor, never to look back, (22)

so here the tables were set loosely, all

pointed in the direction of a stage.

            On this platform violent fires danced, (25)

So that the evil light was reflected

in the sunglasses of every man.

            Seated before the flames was a woman, (28)

if that be her truest identity:

for she was not feminine, not at all.

            Her hair was cropped short and she wore a beret. (31)

In agony, the men cried out, “We want babes!”

and, “She ain’t a chick,” but to no avail.

            The woman ignored them, and instead strummed (34)

her guitar while reciting beat poetry.

At every verse of “Howl,” the men screamed.

            But their suffering was individual: (37)

no man could hear, see, or join his neighbor.

And so it went on, ’til I could stand no more.

            “Source of all truth,” I cried, sensing my guide (40)

approach from behind, “who are these men who

in anguish cry out from their isolation?

            Insular by darkened lenses which divide (43)

their ranks, each man seems to be an island

unto himself.”  Here my master said to me,

            “In life, these men played the sport of lacrosse, (46)

with all its accompanying indulgences.

Treatment of women as simple objects.

            Overindulgence in male camraderie. (49)

Perfect attendence at the country club.

A Jeep, a summer house in Nantucket—

            all of these and more were these men’s sphere. (52)

Their women were ‘chicks,’ their sustinence, beer,

and never did they accept others’ views.”

            And I:  “But why have their eyes been darkened, (55)

and who is this Fury, who sings to them

as they sit solitary at tables?”

            And he:  “In life, these men mimicked each other, (58)

always conscious of their neighbor, always

blindly imitating another man.

            They all wore the same baseball caps, and shirts, (61)

and each man wore his jeans around his knees,

for that was their fashion.  Now, their legs, once

            long, are the same length as they wore their pants. (64)

Because they are blind to one another,

they cannot ape;  and now they are confused.

            They know not what to do or what to say. (67)

Their image of the long-haired sorority

woman is shattered by Joan, the Fury.

            She is not only a muse of folk songs, (70)

but she reads feminist doctrine aloud,

as well as passages from Kerouac.

            Joan bombards them with what they despised most: (73)

opposite viewpoints, and unshaven legs.”

But my master was here interrupted.

            Fifty screaming men stood around a keg. (76)

For though the men pumped the device, and did

headstands to drink from it, futilty reigned.

            Black coffee flowed from its metal belly. (79)

I approached the group in its deep sorrow

and said, “What is it that you drink from this?”

            And one man, fingering his black goatee (82)

(which resembled that of the Devil himself),

opened his lips as if to speak to me.

            But all he could muster was, “Me want beer,” (85)

and then he engaged in a piercing wail,

throwing his cup of Sanka at the rocks.

            Then I questioned:  “Who were you in that life (88)

in which you played lacrosse on fields of green,

then, after, drank gin and tonics at the club?”

            He answered, “On the mortal surface above, (91)

I was Dirk;  my home was in Darien.

There was no woman I could not charm.

            Lax I’d play for hours;  my other time (94)

was divided between the club, the frat,

and picking on those less fortunate than me.”

            Then, angry, he added, “But who are you, (97)

living, here in our realm?  Could it be that

you like not lacrosse, and instead are a journalist?”

            In fright I jumped aside, and then he turned. (100)

His teeth were brown through aeons of coffee;

and looking at me, he roared, “Me smell beer!”

            Then he grabbed my frock, and pulled me toward him. (103)

Putting his cursèd mouth against mine, he

tried to suck beer from my very insides.

            I pushed him away;  he fell to the dust. (106)

My gracious master could sense my alarm,

and, soothing me, he explained this man’s deeds.

            “The absence of women requires that (109)

they reevaluate their sexuality—

a terrifying process for all,” he said.

            My mentor never ceased to guide me, and (112)

soon we approached the center of this circle.

This was where I heard the harshest screams yet.

            Massive vats sat before us, with scaffolds (115)

leading to their peaks.  The damned marched upwards,

and then, in one leap, disappeared inside.

            After many minutes, they reemerged, (118)

drenched in brown liquid that repelled my eyes.

In fear, I cried to my guide, “What is this?”

            And he, sensing my qualms, comforted me: (121)

“Your fears are unneeded, there is no danger.

Those tortured are those that chewed tobacco.

            For years they sat in class with cups, spitting (124)

brown juice into them, and into water fountains;

now they must reckon with the juice themselves.

            Each day they bathe in a vat of their juice; (127)

then they are clothed in black, drink coffee,

and listen to the early works of Dylan.”

            And after these words, he moved to his right, (130)

so that I followed him to circles yet

unexplored in my trip through the underworld.

Notes on Dante’s Lost Canto:

1-3  Historians remain unsure of the Lost Canto’s exact period, but most agree that it would have been placed between the third and fourth circles of incontinence had it been printed with the original Inferno..  Most likely, the song was written by Dante in Gubbio, after he had been chased there by a band of Perugian athletes and swordsmen, who claimed that he was a “sissy.”  Others (Gershowitz, 1974) claim that the canto was the product of Dante’s frenzied mind when he was bedded with scarlet fever;  still others (Mandelbaum, 1980) completely deny the lost canto’s existence.

10  This was the period of the Daily Cafe’s rebirth, in which sullen poets, folk singers, and artists convened to listen to acoustic music and sip capuccino.  Black turtlenecks, along with black trousers, berets, and goatees, had been standard fare at the Daily since the Beat generation.  Shakespeare’s Hamlet was equally influenced by this establishment.

14  Mr. Potato Head, now obsolete, was a toy that featured limbs and facial features that could be plugged into a plastic potato.  Potato Head lost a hard-fought battle to Teddy Ruxpin in 1986 and never reemerged.

21  Demery’s hosted fraternity rush parties, as well as lacrosse team banquets.

32-33  “Babes” and “chicks” were colloquial expressions denoting women, used often in Demery’s (see 21).

36  Written by Ginsberg in 1957, “Howl” is an almost completely incomprehensible representation of Beat sentiment.

46  Lacrosse, a sport played on a soccer-sized field with two goals, a rubber ball, and men with netted sticks was originally a Native American sport.  Within two hundred years its appeal was uniquely preppy, and while George Carlin continued to mock the sport on television, it was clear that lacrosse had taken polo’s place as the high societal sport of choice.

69  The Fury Joan probably represents Joan Baez, folksinger, but could also be Joan Sullivan, with whom Dante went to high school and of whom he remained frightened to his dying day.

76  The keg was the central icon of fraternity religion, and always stood at the center of every party altar.

79  Coffee, the drink of the Daily (see 10), was looked upon as the sustinence of the weak.

90  Probably the Bedensbrook Club of Princeton, New Jersey.

92  Probably Dirk Kennilworth, also of Princeton, whose parents were members of Bedensbrook (see 90) and who attended Princeton Day School and Princeton University.

99  The reference to journalism probably also refers to the author, who was beaten up daily in front of the girls’ locker room by lacrosse players.

109-10  Lacrosse player sexuality was never, ever, intended to be scrutinized.

118-26  Tobacco juice, which for years has stained the drinking fountains of Princeton Day School (and probably the Bedensbrook Club as well), was exhaled as frequently as carbon dioxide by lacrosse players.