It Could Be Verse (And Is!)Dearest readers, give a cheer A column that's a poem is here! Yes, lots of words in metered gait, Stanza, metaphor and — wait! Is that the page I see a-turning? Are you off to the funnies, spurning? Anything that reeks of rhyme — An art you rate right up with mime, Writ by ladies round as jugs Who read their sonnets to their pugs, Or English teachers, drunk on Auden, Geezers who a World War fought in, Girls drowning in mascara, Guys who high heels own a pair-a, And all the hacks at Hallmark who Spend whole lives rhyming with "to you!"? That's what you think of poets, right? And (does this rhyme?) the stuff they write? Of course it is. But let's examine it: What is it about verse that's damnin' it? Just recently an obit ran In ye olde Times, and it began: "Maureen Cannon, a heavy hitter In the world of light verse" OK, the obit, it rhymed not But if you read ahead — guess what? This Jersey gal of 84 Wrote bubbly ditties by the score And got them published far and wide By bravely swimming vs. the tide. (She also wrote more weighty stuff. But we have come to praise her fluff.) Here's one that still deserves a toast, Titled, "Showers, Coast-to-Coast:" We've never seen the lawn so green Praise be! And yet we're mirthless Because what made the grass this shade Made our vacation worthless! What's not to like about such verse? When did rhyme become a curse? I called a Yale smarty-pants — John Hollander — and asked, perchance Could he explain this form's decline? He could, he said.
The problem, as he figured it, Is back when we were literate — The 19th century and early 20th — Everyone education or money with Knew how to write a metered gem Just like the kids today IM. But then came verse so free of form Sloppy glop became the norm Till anyone who kept on rhymin' Was oh-so-surely not his prime in. Moreover, piped another trill — Bruce Michelson at U. of Ill. — As colleges gave poets jobs That gang became the worst of snobs Penning work so hard to crack It guaranteed them tenure track. (And if they wrote an utter yawn They shipped it off to William Shawn.) That left poems who dared to rhyme Withering until the time That folks like you say, "I was wrong! I like a poem that snaps along, And has some fun and makes me grin And maybe isn't 'Gunga Din' But still, it's kind of fun, you know?" And off to find light verse you go. Off to Google Maureen Cannon, Or read the rhyming works of "Anon," Or just peruse the Hallmark rack! Trust me: It's hard to be a hack. Lenore Skenazy is a contributing editor at the New York Sun. (lenore@lenoretown.com), find out more about Lenore Skenazy and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com. COPYRIGHT 2007 CREATORS SYNDICATE INC.
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