My Doggerel Ate My Poem 1.0
Who doesn’t dream of becoming a great poet? Well, possibly almost everyone. Still, some do dream and they say that dreams come true. I wouldn’t know.
But like Ogden Nash, I long to contemplate the technical limits of the Bard’s tongue. BTW Mr. Nash, a Beacon Hill fire’s a three alamma. I prefer Egyptian cotton; it breathes.
I started one of my poems with ‘Something there is that wants to leap over a wall or burrow beneath.’ The next line ends in ‘teeth.’ But the editor sent it back saying that the subject matter was timely but the poem was too controversial. Really? Since when did Red Poets worry about controversy? I think it was just a lame excuse. Better dead poet than red poet.
I have friends that will not go to Shakespeare plays, and it’s just not because they didn’t graduate from eighth grade. Think about it. It’s like a different language and mostly it doesn’t rhyme. The truth is that Shakespeare’s father wasn’t even his father.
Many learned professors believe that Francis Bacon’s father was Shakespeare father, but it was kept all hush-hush, see. They know this because Shakespeare was uneducated and a better writer than Bacon. So . . . obviously . . . you know. They say it must have been someone other than Shakespeare just calling himself Shakespeare. Okay, okay. I don’t understand it either, but then I don’t claim to be very smart.
Plus, in Shakespeare’s sonnets there are all those ‘Thees’ and ‘Thous’ and ‘If Thou Please-ests.’ It really is like a foreign language. I didn’t even know Shakespeare was a Quaker. But doesn’t work in today’s world.
‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? thou art more temperate.’ Translates as ‘you’re not that hot.’ Try that on your lover and see where it gets you.
Doggerel in French never seems like doggerel at all. The French don’t even have a word for doggerel, but if they did it would probably just be ‘silly poem.’ For this reason, I have switched to writing my poetry in French. I don’t understand it, but it sounds good, and after all, Shakespeare himself wrote in a foreign language.
Limericks are, as the French say, ‘silly poems.’ I like the Limerick because it is so easy to write; all you need are three words that rhyme: say, Nantucket, a bucket, well chuck it. Hence
There once was a lass from Nantucket
whose speeed was as big as a bucket
she went out one day
in a relative way
I forget how it ends, oh well, chuck it.