America's Zoo

Since reading The Crock of Gold by James Stephens, I've been thinking about the myths I encounter in everyday life. Stephens' work is steeped in old Irish and classical myths, including leprechauns, fae, faeries, Angus Óg, Pan, and more. The blending of these cultural myths bring about the idea that cultures are changed, forgotten, and blended: they are dynamic, and never the same. 

My own encounters with American myths (though I use this term very loosely, as some of the figures are historical and their struggles real) began early, with Disney's American Legends film rented time and time again from the library. The characters are pictured here. This cartoon is about some of America's earliest heroes and is absolutely worth watching, as cartoons aren't made like this nowadays, and all of the fables are about success of, The American Obsession.

Our discussion in class about American myths brought me to think further about their role in American society, for people now. I can only imagine the role of the leprechaun for Irish people, let alone imagine it in a culturally appropriate way of understanding their relationships to this myth (or reality--who am I to decide). I've notice more and even more often that myths in American society are profited from. For example: the Paul Bunion chain of stores, Johnny Appleseed shoe sellers, the cowboy as the mascot for Levi's, among the many. 

Our American concept of branding and spending also recalls the idealized version of what Americans might see as myths. This shapes our ideals of success, image, and business around perfectly heroized ideals. In response to this discussion about The Crock of Gold, I wrote a poem about the way that America employs their legends:

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America's Zoo, Corinne (2025)

Paul Bunion sells onions 

on each cornersquare

and all else he's peddling

in meek psuedoculture

exists in legends, promised

as things sold un-a-wares; 

His giant hand stretches o'er 

land, on earth his heaven be,

doling prices and quantity at

market price paid by the free:

cherries, nickels, stones and sludge

dance haphazard step, he whips

each sunk and rotten pit into 

national-standard fee--

Oh don't forget the cowboys, 

Johnny Appleseed too, grinning

with unseeing teeth at riches

eating agenbite anew. 

Legendary profit--a dream 

wide as it's hairy brow--holds

myths locked in zoos, American

haunts, profits, screeching at bands

and bars, to a mythical you. 

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It might be a tad dramatic, but if it weren't it would be trite. I've been reflecting on the differences since leaving the States--and the lack of advertisements, commercial noise in public spaces, and noticeable  opportunities to monetize something--and all has astounded me. I didn't realize I was so entrenched in the American dream of profit. Now, I doubt I can go back to life within the commercial. 

The American dream implies that we are sleeping, docile, and most of all out of our mind. I wonder what the Irish myths say about Ireland, and if these meanings have changed over time, as our legends have.