Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Charles Harper Webb’s "Vikings" is a rollicking, irreverent exploration of boyhood imagination, masculine ideals, and the intoxicating allure of warrior mythology. The poem juxtaposes childhood fantasy with cultural and religious frameworks, revealing how mythic narratives shape identity and defiance. Through humor and hyperbole, Webb crafts a portrait of a child obsessed with Viking lore, contrasting it with the more restrained, domesticated world of modern Christianity.

The poem opens with a declaration of conquest: "Overran my boyhood dreams—fierce / Blond beards, slab chests, / Biceps gripped by bronze bands." The imagery is immediate and visceral, sketching a world of larger-than-life figures who embody strength, brutality, and glory. These Vikings serve as the ultimate boyhood idols, their dragon-headed ships terrorizing the "Weak Britons who whined to Christ." This phrasing carries a note of contempt, framing Christian submission as weak in comparison to the defiant, war-hardened followers of Odin and Thor.

Webb’s speaker finds himself at odds with the mainstream fantasies of his peers: "While other kids clutched / Toy guns and grenades, I swung / My plastic war ax—immune to bullets, / Refusing to die." Here, the Vikings provide not only a source of fascination but also an alternative model of masculinity—one that prioritizes brute force and heroic endurance over modern technology. The boy’s identification with Vikings is all-encompassing, linked to his own psychological landscape: "I dreamed of fjords, their crags and storms / Matching my dark moods, my doubts / Of God, my rages and my ecstasies." This moment marks a significant shift—the Vikings are not merely figures of power but vessels for emotion, rebellion, and existential questioning.

The speaker’s devotion to Norse mythology extends to his choice in entertainment: "I snuck in twice to see The Norseman, / Wincing but bearing it as the Saxon king / Chopped off Prince Gunnar’s right hand." There is a fascination with suffering here, a willingness to endure pain in pursuit of something greater—a boyish sense of heroism modeled after the unflinching Viking spirit. The poem revels in the "sulking gods / And ravens and great trees, roots / Reaching underground to realms / Of dwarfs and trolls." This is a universe rich with mysticism and dark grandeur, standing in stark contrast to the tidy, sanitized version of the afterlife that the boy has been raised to accept.

Webb uses biting humor to highlight this contrast: "I gloried in the Valkyries bearing slain / Heroes to the mead halls of Valhalla / To feast and fight and fondle blonde / Beauties forever, while we sad Methodists / Plucked harps and fluttered." The repetition of "gloried" underscores the speaker’s complete immersion in this mythic world, while the word "sad" deflates the Methodist vision of heaven into something insipid and emasculated. The boy sees the Viking afterlife as a place of eternal revelry and masculine validation, while the Christian one is reduced to a passive, almost ridiculous state of "fluttering." The phrase "Sissies Mommy had to dress / For Sunday school" further reinforces the poem’s undercurrent of defiance, painting organized religion as infantilizing and restrictive.

The poem reaches its climax in an eruption of real-world Viking-inspired violence: "The day before Christmas vacation, when Danny Flynn / Called me ‘a fish-lipped fool,’ I grabbed a trashcan lid / and slammed it / Like a war shield in his face." This moment is both hilarious and deeply telling—Webb transforms a schoolyard fight into an act of epic warfare, complete with a makeshift shield and a bloodied opponent. The Viking influence is no longer just a fantasy; it has infiltrated the boy’s actions, pushing him toward a kind of ritualized aggression.

In the aftermath of his attack, the speaker imagines the authority figures responding with similar mythic grandeur: "While teachers shrilled their whistles, / And Mr. Bean, the porky principal, / Scurried for his ax." This moment stretches reality to absurdity, as if the entire school has become part of a Norse saga. The speaker, victorious, enacts the final flourish of his warrior persona: "I leapt over Danny’s blood and bawling, thrust / My sword-hand in my shirt, and stalked out / Into the cruel winter of third grade." The self-mythologizing here is both exaggerated and deeply sincere—this third-grade battle is, to the speaker, no different from the heroic struggles of Viking lore.

"Vikings" is a poem of grandiosity and humor, reveling in the absurd ways childhood fantasies collide with reality. Webb captures the way mythologies—whether religious or cultural—shape self-perception and behavior, particularly for boys navigating the expectations of masculinity. The speaker?s obsession with Vikings is not just about admiration but about rebellion, a rejection of the meekness and passivity he associates with his upbringing. The result is a playful, poignant exploration of how history and mythology provide us with the tools to craft our own identities, even if that means waging Viking warfare on the playground.

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