Hold the Mayo

February 20, 2008

Primary Poetry

The inspiration started at Instapundit, who linked to this brilliant adaptation of one of my favorite poems.

Hillarymandias

I met a pollster from an antique land,
Who said--"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand, one in Texas...., one near Canton,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose brow, and wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

The rest is worth reading and it inspired me to try the same with another of my favorites. (The unedited version of each is in the extended entry for your edification)

THE SECOND COMING

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The candidate cannot stand the voter;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The Barack-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of victory is drowned;
The best lack all experience, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Chappaqua
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with woman body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant pundits.
The polls drop again but now I know
That eight years of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a smiling Bush,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Washington to be sworn?

Actually, it would have been pretty accurate unedited as well.

OZYMANDIAS
Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

THE SECOND COMING
William Butler Yeats

    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.

    Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
    The darkness drops again but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Posted by: Stephen Macklin at 04:45 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment