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Wednesday
Being in need of some humor at this dark time, I share today a poetic parody circulating on Bluesky that had me laughing out loud. Actually, as you will see, it is a double parody—two poems simultaneously parodied—and while you may know the two originals, I’ve included them below so that you’ll fully appreciate how much fun the parodist had. (I believe the author is Rose Ruane.)
First, there’s Shelley’s “Ozymandias,” which I recently applied to Trump tarting up the White House with gold trim everywhere. (This was before we saw him level the East Wing for yet another vanity project.)
Ozymandias
By Percy Shelley
I met a traveler 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 shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked 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 other original also was the subject of a recent essay, Philip Larkin’s grim but highly quotable poem about child-rearing. That essay, incidentally, itself featured a parody of Larkin’s poem by someone with a more positive take on mum and dad. But here’s Larkin:
This Be the Verse
By Phil Larkin
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.
Do you have all that? Now for the two combined. The final result reminds me of “Jabberwocky,” written by one of literature’s greatest parodists:
They Oz You Up
By Rose Ruane (I think)
They Oz you up, your mandias
They may not mean to, but they do
They give you vast and trunkless legs
A sunken shattered visage too.
But they were ozzed up in their turn
by Mandias upon the sand
Who half the time had wrinkled lips
And half in sneering cold command.
Oz hands on mandias to man
Like mighty works upon the shelf
Look on them early as you can
Ye mighty and despair yourself.
So there you are.
