Large Fierce Mammal

"Night Eyes" by Kay Singleton. Source: http://www.alpinearts.com/Ltds-NE-Ecl.html

I first heard The Griesly Wife recited to me late one night over a camp fire by a lake shore deep in the woods of darkest Nova Scotia. The person who recited it had learned the poetic tale without knowing its author, and believed the story was set somewhere in a remote part of northern Quebec. I have long since learned that the poem was written by Australian poet John Streeter Manifold (21 April 1915 – 19 April 1985), and in the original version, the role of wolves in what follows was, as originally penned,  predictably filled by dingoes.

Nevertheless, I have set my hand here to presenting Mr. Manifold’s tale in as close to the way I first heard it as possible. Read it after dark.

The Griesly Wife

by John Streeter Manifold

(With certain LFM liberties taken)

“Lie still, my newly married wife,
“Lie easy as you can.
“You’re young and ill accustomed yet
“To sleeping with a man.”

The snow lay thick, the moon was full
And shone across the floor.
The young wife went with ne’er a word
Barefooted to the door.

He up and followed sure and fast,
The moon shone clear and white.
But before his coat was on his back
His wife was out of sight.

He trod the trail where’er it turned
By many a mound and scree,
And still the barefoot track led on,
And an angry man was he.

He followed fast, he followed slow,
And still he called her name,
But only the wolves upon the hills
Howled back at him again.

His hair stood up along his neck,
His angry mind was gone,
For the track of the two bare feet gave out
And a four-foot track went on.

Her nightgown lay upon the snow
As it might upon the sheet,
But the track that led from where it lay
Was not of human feet.

His heart turned over in his chest,
He looked from side to side,
And he thought more of his warm wood fire
Than he did of his griesly bride.

And first he started walking back
And then began to run,
As his quarry wheeled upon her track
And hunted him in turn.

Oh, long the fire may burn for him
And open stand the door,
And long the bed wait empty:
For he’ll be back no more.