The Ravin'

Inspied by Jack's Poe assignment, it began it's life as a review, but it so tickled me I knew it had to be a poem in its own write...I hope you agree!

THE RAVIN'

April 2, 2013

Once upon a keyboard bleary
While I read work dull and dreary
And strove to forget the stanzas that fogged my mind and made ears roar
Suddenly, I came to Jack's page
Emulator of a finer age
And thought of earlier, sorrier scribbles not again, nay, Nevermore!

As though they were a mist, they vanished
(Would I could have sooner banished
Them from my memory, with their grammatic gaffes galore!)
And I read then with much gladness
Poetry which assuaged my sadness!
Longing then for longer days in which this scribe to read the more...
But Alas!, am limited yet to these lonely twenty-four!

(July 11, 2014)

Nervously my neck knew nodding,

As their pap, so puerile, plodding

Lay its formless, pointless paws athwart my heart and slammed its door.

The sickness that suffused their stanzas,

As graceful as a hippo's dances,

Sophisticated as Tony Danza's have left my cerebellum sore!

And urged my poetry processor its arms to ope, Nay!, Nevermore!

Yet as it seems they'll no more ope,

As their ability to cope

With that proliferation of mediocrity that they abhor,

Then, once again, with but a click,

My screen and soul cease to be sick;

I wade once more through meadows thick with fragrances and hues galore!

And pluck again bouquets of phrases I would read, Yes, Evermore!

Jack's Iambs, Trochees and his Dactyls

Engage the page like flowing fractals;

His tear-duct titillating verses caress my heart, yes, by the score!

(September 15, 2014)

As more sophisticated stylings surface,

Then once again, proved to be worthless

Are those the word "poetry" besmirches, whose "work" in diaries belong. not more!

I'll sing his praise, Yea, Evermore!

But for now I must contain my blather;

In generalities I'll speak rather

And unto my soul I'll gather those profound few whom I adore.

We'll strive to start a trend, a groundswell

Encourage those who choose their nouns well

And their verbs, from whom the tones knell more rarely, but yet never bore

For whom the work's a challenge, but not a burden sore!

And yearn bad poetry to endure, No!, not a single stanza more!

Then shall I, from my bust of Pallas

Desist from my beratings callous

And retire to my home in Dallas to read and think of fair Lenore!

For though I am but lowly Raven

My pal, Ed Poe, thought me not craven

His peace he sought in manner brave, 'n often write his fingers sore...

But Edgar sleeps now, Ever more!

Author's Note

The stuffed raven and the bust of Poe were imaged by me, during a recent visit to the home of E.A. Poe, in Baltimore, Maryland, where, though he was not born, lived, wrote the vast majority of his better-known work and died under appropriately mysterious circumstances. My thanks to Lisa and the remainder of that home's excellent staff for their enlightenment and co-operation.

Reviews

[emmajoy]

Laughed and wondered at your amazing ability to combine great meter with .. errrr .. umm.. unusual methods! As ever you show how and why or why not, use phrases that belong in the best book of quotes et al.

' (Would I could have sooner banished ~ Them from my memory, with their grammatic gaffes galore!) ' You always have made me think or giggle.. thank you for doing both at the same time, Mark.

[Philip Muls]

Great use of language, impressive !

[Great Aunt Astri]

What an enjoyable read! Don't top writing.

[Roland Petrov]

A brilliant parody (in the style of a flattering tribute to the original writer) and satire (for improving bad writing). Your visit to Baltimore has gifted us with noteworthy enjoyment.

[David Lewis Paget]

This is an absolute hoot, Mark. I laughed out loud, even though I knew you were destroying my favourite poem for me forever.

We'll strive to start a trend, a groundswell
Encourage those who choose their nouns well
And their verbs, from whom the tones knell more rarely, but yet never bore

Classic lines, Mark.... Classic!

[Mark]

Praise from a scribe of your caliber (calibre?) is never amiss, my friend. I will strive soon to remount my Reviewing hoss, and gallop back into pagetville forthwith!

[emmajoy]

Tried to leave you a new review as requested but for some reason, there was a ginormous gap between the start and what ended up being an apology for the gap! Hopefully things will go smoothly this time.

As a year ago your metre and ability to create a more than witty view of Poe's tale with your own unique (and missed) wit is incredible. You've top and tailed the 'Ravin' and turned it into a wild cacophony of thoughts. Laughed here and there, wondering what next - in a way, I think of Alice in her wondering all about it land up turning but praising Poe with strange reverence!

Great writing, an academic view with loads of wit and more.

(Hope this does the trick, though might need to return, re.read YOUR wording and then, re.hash this review)

[Mark]

What a blessing and a grace to hear from you again, my darling birdie! Yes, I know it is I who left, but let's let that go bye-the-bye for now, can we? If you'll recollect some nigh-on four years ago when first we "met", it was my ability (your term) to make you laugh that I took as the highest praise--glad to see that's not yet lost ! I admit to reaching, indeed, GRASPING for rhymes in the last few stanzas, but I'm sure Edgar went through such torments as well--I'm in good company! I was tickled with the revelation in the last stanza that the entire script was not Poe speaking OF the Raven, but the Raven speaking of Poe! I won't promise (again!) to keep showing up more often, as the last time I did, I broke it nearly immediately--hardly ever on the 'net anymore. But praise such as this is strong inducement! Take care of YOU, my first and best Cafe friend!

[TL Boehm]

Nervously my neck knew nodding,
As their pap, so puerile, plodding
Lay its formless, pointless paws athwart my heart and slammed its door.
The sickness that suffused their stanzas,
As graceful as a hippo's dances,
Sophisticated as Tony Danza's have left my cerebellum sore!
And urged my poetry processor its arms to ope, Nay!, Nevermore!


That's brillant. I know Jack isn't around much anymore - seems like the dancing plethora of "pap" never ceases these days but there are gems. This poem is a big fat diamond. This is how its done.

[Mark]

Thank you so much, Tammi! That's one of my favorite stanzas as well. I guess I'll have to tackle Coleridge next: how about "The Rhymes of an Ancient Marrier"? About a guy who, out of boredom, slays a innocent "bird", then carries the burden of that selfish decision about for the rest of his days? When last we spoke, your life was rather in disarray; I hope things gave calmed down since then! Just remember, in case you feel the need of a pick-me-up unce more, that Vegas is only a half-hour away from Albuquerque by jet, and only three hours by car...just sayin'! (yeeccchh!)

[Samuel Dickens]

No ghost wrought upon the floor? No nodding, nearly napping? Oh well, it's close enough.

[TL Boehm]

Oh man! This is a gem. I'm guessing this made Jack smile....

[Mark]

Thanks, Tammy. He did. (See below)

[Tate Morgan]

you and jack have a polish that only comes with living a good life.I appreciate you both This was great. You do him justice . Poetry the elixir of life