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Michael, 

thank you very much for taking the trouble to key in Wendy Cope's poems -- you're right she's a scream ("Met Stetson and gave him an earful"!). 

Has she done a parody of The Four Quartets? (Since, obviously, nothing's sacred..)

Rhythm is so crucial...I mused once wondering if it would be possible to compose a "serious" piece as a limerick. I have not put the slightest effort into doing it as yet but I wondered. It would seem on the face of it to be impossible (but surely, nothing is is it?)

Thanks again

Nicholas

  ----- Original Message ----- 
  From: Michael Snider 
  To: [log in to unmask] 
  Sent: Thursday, June 21, 2001 10:26 AM
  Subject: Re: humor and poetry


  Wendy Cope! Wendy Cope! Wendy Cope!

  hoping it will gain her some readers and boost sale of her new book _If I Didn't Know_, some selections from _Serious Concerns_ and _Making Cocoa for Kingsley Amis_


  Another Unfortunate Choice

  I think I am in love with A. E. Housman,
  Which puts me in a worse-than-usual fix.
  No woman ever stood a chance with Housman
  and he's been dead since 1936.

  Her Waste Land Limericks are brilliant:



  In April one seldom feels cheerful;
  Dry stones, sun and dust make me feel fearful;
  Clairovates distress me,
  Commuters depress me--
  Met Stetson and gave him an earful.

  II

  She sat on a mighty fine chair,
  Sparks flew as she tidied her hair;
  She asks many questions,
  I make few suggestions--
  Bad as Albert and Lil--what a pair!

  III
  The Thames runs, bones rattle, rats creep;
  Tiresias fancies a peep--
  A typist is laid,
  A record is played--
  Wei la la. After this it gets deep.

  IV

  A Phoenecian called Phlebas forgot
  About birds and his business--the lot,
  Which is no surprise,
  Since he'd met his demise
  And been left in the ocean to rot.

  V

  No water. Dry rocks and dry throats,
  Then thunder, a shower of quotes
  From the Sanskrit and Dante.
  Da. Damyata. Shantih.
  I hope you make sense of the notes.



  and one of her Strugnell's Sonnets

  The expense of spirits is a crying shame,
  So is the cost of wine. What bard today
  Can live like old Khayyam? It's not the same---
  A loaf and thou and Tesco's Beaujolais.
  I had this bird called Sharon, fond of gin---
  Could knock back six or seven. At the price
  I paid a high wage for each hour of sin
  And that was why I only had her twice.
  Then there was Tracy, who drank rum and coke,
  So beautiful I didn't mind at first.
  But love grows colder. Now some other bloke
  Is subsidizing Tracy and her thirst.
  I need a woman, honest and sincere,
  Who'll come across on half a pint of beer.


  ----
  I think she's a fine poet when not being funny, but her parodies and other comic pieces are brilliant.