I visit the zoo.

Sunday, December 12, 2004

Visitor: Where's my BAP2004?

Rhino: Well, I offered to quote some Bruce Andrews from it...

Vulture: And I told him to put it somewhere.

Visitor: And?

Vulture: And a rhinoceros has a very literal mind.

Dung beetle: But we are certain to find it eventually.

Rhino: Heh.

Vulture: Meanwhile, we are looking through our old anthologies.

Rhino: Do you want to hear some Robert Frost?

Visitor: You know what you can do with...

Vulture: Not so hasty, hooman.

Visitor: Right, then, let's hear some Robert Frost.

Rhino: Ahem.
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening, by Wobert Fwost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Vulture: And...

Dung beetle: Short, isn't it?

Rhino: Yes. Yes, it is, short and simple, but it has fiber. It's concrete. It's full of the stuff of good poems. Only sixteen stubby lines, but it has a house and village and horse and harness and bells and wind and snow and dark and year and night and lake and miles and woods and woods and woods and woods and sleep. Things are little, queer, frozen, dark, darkest, easy, downy, lovely, deep. Things think, watch, fill, stop, go, shake, sweep, ask, promise, keep, sleep. And peaceful death pops up from the snow at the end, life and death in the doubled line.

Dung beetle: I am fond of the horse. I want to let the horse go in the woods and make Robert Frost walk home. "My little horse, that fucking shit / Has dumped me on the ground and lit / Out for some brighter, greener place / Before I got my poem writ."

Vulture: Maybe Frost would get lost out there between the woods and frozen lake. "These woods are lovely but they bite. / I should not be outside tonight / In just this silly overcoat / My nuts are freezing, small and tight." And he would wander out on to the frozen lake and crack! and under he goes for the rest of the season.

Rhino: Or maybe he would have to stop overnight at a farmhouse and he would get laid and write the funniest poem in the world about a farmer's daughter and a lost poet.

Dung beetle: Could someone help me roll this ball of dung over the curb?


At 7:30 AM, Blogger Brian Campbell said...

Your critical menagerie is hilarious! You'll be on my blogroll very soon... feel free, to put me on your list of poetry blogs. I'm from the Eastern time zone...Quebec, to be precise.

At 9:29 PM, Blogger Okir said...

I hope this gets published as a book. It's hilarious, mischievous, nasty, smart, oddly endearing. All qualities I like in books. See: there's your first review.


At 10:51 PM, Blogger eeksypeeksy said...

A thousand thanks. I'm glad you like this stuff. But I don't know about it being published. I like it, but I always figured I was writing mainly to myself. People who buy books about poems generally want higher levels of fallutin' in their discussion. I don't really know what I'm talking about, not in the I'm-a-professor-and-you're-not sort of way. But for better or worse, you're encouraging me to at least try to bang out more blog entries.

At 2:46 AM, Blogger Russell Ragsdale said...

Having fun with poetry, is this normal? Absolutely not, but is sure is fun! I agree with jean, this is good book material (a lot more useful for introducing students to poetry than any hundred "I'm the professor and you are not" approaches)!


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