Monday, December 12, 2011

Poetry Break: "Illegal"

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

I've long liked Tennyson's sharp, concise poem "The Eagle":
The Eagle
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

But despite liking it, I want to contradict it with a parody, a "paradiction":
He grasps the rag with crooked hands;
Closed to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd by an assured whirl, he stands.

The wrinkled skin upon him crawls;
He washes plates from mounting walls,
And like a blunderdolt he falls.

That'll likely raise the hackles of some sensitive souls, but I worked as a dishwasher for three years, and I've sometimes in my life had to support myself as an 'undocumented' laborer, so I've got street cred and can compose this sort of poem.

If I feel like it . . .



At 7:08 AM, Blogger Kevin Kim said...

"Oh, look! An eagle!"

At 7:20 AM, Blogger Horace Jeffery Hodges said...

I don't see an eagle . . . uff!

Jeffery Hodges

* * *

At 2:03 AM, Blogger Carter Kaplan said...

When I was 16 I put in six months as a dishwasher. $2.10 an hour.

Today, I look back on it with something well nigh horror, and ask myself, "Why?"

At 3:53 AM, Blogger Horace Jeffery Hodges said...

I did it as part of a work/study program at Baylor, where I worked at the cafeteria. I wasn't always in the dishroom, but the management put me there a lot.

I suppose I should more accurately say that I worked three years in a cafeteria, usually in the dishroom.

To what purpose are we allowed by Providence to endure such horror? To learn the value of a life without horror . . . and without having to learn this the way Mister Kurtz did.

Jeffery Hodges

* * *


Post a Comment

<< Home