Selected student poetry projects aiming at reproducing Pushkin's Onegin stanza:
letters, breaking up with beloved, typical day in the life of a Mac-student,
love affair with Alexandr Pushkin, etc. from various years by various students
(unedited)
Jane's Thursday
I.
Jane tries to move to stop that buzzing,
hit snooze again and roll on out.
And off to class with vision fuzzing,
they're sure to start while she's en route.
She's late and can't remember reading
the book despite professor's pleading,
"Take notes, read close, you'll learn a lot."
But Jane just skimmed and smoked some pot.
Another class and still more napping.
Her classmate's presentation sucks
until he moos and barks and clucks—
it's just a dream! She wakes to clapping.
She runs on home to get some food
and finds herself in quite a mood.
II.
A shabby second floor apartment:
refrigerator, cupboards bare.
At least the Poli Sci Department
has cookies, brownies—all to share!
So back to campus, Jane is fated
to find out Drew has stopped and waited
to see her go inside to work.
"Oh god," she thinks, "he's such a jerk!"
His messed-up hair, his beard and cardi
are topped off by a cigarette.
She offers him some Nicorette.
"No thanks, but you should crash our party."
Jane cringes inside but simply shrugs,
"I don't have time for doing drugs."
III.
Two hours go by and work is finished.
Jane clocks on out and heads for home,
desire for napping not diminished.
In hand, the latest lit class tome.
She sleeps until she wakes in darkness
and sees what time it is. With starkness,
she realizes how very much
work still not done she's yet to touch.
She sees her roommate's brought home pizza.
Two slices later, fifty-one
more pages left 'til ev'ning's fun.
She pushes through, "At least this beats a
long paper. Hey! What do you know?
It's ten! It's time for Daily Show!"
IV.
Jane's roommates drift in, they're enticed by
the sound of Jon's voice drawing cheers.
A friend arrives with snacks—a nice guy
who'll smoke them up, his fav'rite peers.
Festivities continue later.
They talk about who voted Nader.
The phone then rings. "Hey, Jane." It's Drew.
"You're drunk," she says. "But like that's new."
"What's up? We should hang out." "Uh, no. Not
a chance. Good-bye." She hangs it up,
they all approve, but must split up
and sleep. Jane's midnight snack, a donut,
she brushes off her teeth. The week
nears end, but first—a test in Greek.
1
I know that letters are old-fashioned,
Propriety is not my forte.
For when I grew to be impassioned
With you, I knew not how to court.
How could I mask my base intention?
For subtlety I have no penchant.
Ingenuous I chose to be,
Relying on naïveté.
Grown bored you had of cynicism.
With me you simply could relax,
Impressing me was not a tax,
No matter what te amavissem.
However I am trop stupide
To meet your intellectual needs.
2.
Allow me one last recollection;
The past is where the future lies.
Do you recall our predilection
Of river walks replete with sighs?
My memories of those are vivid,
Including everything insipid
Discussed between us in the fall,
The weather, movies, things banal.
Now I will bluntly state my purpose:
To you I was a detriment;
In idleness was our time spent,
Now I must love below the surface.
To tell you that apart we’re best,
Creates an earthquake in my chest.
3
If life were fair you’d be the author
Of this sad letter poorly writ.
Your words are gold and mine are copper,
When reading this you’ll surely spit
Upon the page, for my effusion
Will bring about your disillusion:
You’ll see that my straightforward charm,
Is but a crude way to disarm
A woman used to ostentatious
Displays of wealth and culture too,
But I’m a lustful vulture who
Has intentions as salacious.
So please accept me as a boor,
I’m an Iago, not a Moor.
4
To few my fingers aren’t to tally
The days until we meet again.
But let me warn you I’ll not dally;
My speech will not likely amend
The clumsy damage I’ve engendered.
My consolation won’t be rendered-
Nobility is out of place,
Instead I plan to self-efface.
The breach that I have instigated
Will not be vocally explained.
A lowly coward I’ll remain-
I just don’t want to be berated.
I know that bitterness revives
All of your latent diatribes!
5
My expectation of your spurning-
It leaves me feeling satisfied.
For masochism is my yearning.
So if you wish, please do deride
Me to your friends, forever eager.
So make me socially beleaguered!
And as for me, I’ll simply roam,
Impervious and all alone.
Perchance you’ll notice my expression-
Aloof and proud-it’s just an act,
Inside by grief my heart is racked.
To manliness I make concessions.
Lermontov’s Demon is to me,
The paragon of dignity.
6
This stanza will complete my letter,
But I will not go out in style.
To peter out I think is better;
I shouldn’t have the strength to smile.
To bear one’s troubled soul’s not easy.
In fact it makes me rather queasy.
Tonight as I lay down to sleep
I won’t feel cleansed-I’ll probably weep.
And if my tears dry out my spirit,
Replenishment will come with dreams.
And when I wake my heart will teem
With sorrow drowning me-I fear it!
I’ll bid adieu with this last rhyme,
I’d hate to waste more of your time.
-Sincerely, Your former servant.
A Prisoner of Romanticism *
O woe! To be a Russian Poet,
To pass a rather pointless life
So Right and people never know it.
Withstanding son ennui and strife --
But why? What need or person's passion
Could deceive so fine a man of fashion
And foil him in a deadly duel
Or dump him in the Caucasus cruel?
Forlorn with his superfluous living,
Awaiting lofty games of fate,
The facts of life are his debate
But answers found are angels' giving.
I hope I never know so well
Such wicked heights of earthly hell
* The above poem was submitted by a student smitten by the Muse as EXTRA work and may well stand as a model for the stanza form and serve as an epigraph to this collection.
Pushkin, Dear Pushkin
Mon sejour de l'ete dernier,
Across America's terrain
Collected many tales that were
Filled with humor, hardship, and pain.
The story I remember best,
A love that started with much zest.
For all to see it was a gem,
They often said the words je t'aime.
Je t'aime, je t'aime - I love the sound
Trav'ler and poet both am I.
The things I see I write by nigh
Oh, friend what stories have I found.
With you dear reader I will share
The best of all, the one so rare.
Oh pardon for the tangent long.
The story that remained with me
Was of a love unique and strong,
Yet ending in great tragedy.
They met in elegance so fine,
Yet bored with excess, wealth, and wine.
They, in each other, saw a chance
To love again, and also dance.
Their love was mutual and true,
Not like Poor Liza, no not so.
At times, so strong they said woah, woah
Their love was of a lucky few.
And so they were engaged to wed
And last forever it was said.
Their married life etait parfait,
Until the bride began to read
The works of Pushkin every day.
Her husband said to her I need
You darling every day and night.
My pleas are taking all my might.
Yet as she read she fell in love
With the dead author from above.
She told her husband by and by,
Her love for him had faded gray.
"Nice feet you have and do not cry,"
said she, "with Pushkin I must stay."
The groom he found another bride
To her what happened I'll confide.
She spent her fortune on his books
And ended up without a home,
She stopped caring about her looks.
Crazy, she would just read and roam.
One night asleep in the gutter,
Lines of Pushkin did she mutter -
A great deluge came from on high
And washed her into days gone by.
Oh friend, I must depart from you
I hope the tale did not depress,
Perhaps, the tale was told in jest -
But we find a lesson not new;
One must refrain from sacred verse,
Lest havoc strike or even worse.
******************************************************
Gabriel Costello
"Dear Anna: How my hand does tremble
Just as a young and fragile bough,
Or matador who faces the bull,
For I must break our wedding vow."
Like that began the fateful letter
Which you or I could write much better,
My reader, for we are well read;
Shakespeare, Pushkin, Illiad
Allusion, and alliteration
Are part of our great repertoire of terms,
but we could not get far without
enjambment. But no relation
does this have to our Costello,
who wrote the letter I'll now show . . .
Costello's Letter to Anna
"I hate to think of your great sorrow,
A tear, the quiver of your nose
When you will read this note tomorrow
And boundless anger in you grows:
It's pain to see your leg's outlining,
Your elegance and beauty shining,
Your rounded cheek a shining peach,
You move so sleek that you could teach
A Dionysus how to saunter.
I sweat and tingle when we touch,
And when we kiss it's far too much.
No happier man de la monde
Could hold you like a fragrant rose,
Which brings us to your great big nose.
"I am a man of many talents,
Good looks and good taste dominate
But I do lose my mental balance
When awed by one specific trait:
A nose of beauty of a woman
Does send heart and soul a tumblin'
Just like Onegin's love of feet,
The nose for me just can't be beat.
Please do not think these words outlandish:
I think your nose is not quite right,
It's bent a little to the right.
And has the air of being blandish.
I've met another woman, dear,
Farewell, and keep up the good cheer!"
********************************************************
Dear reader, here's a tragic taleÐ
Bur comic, too, I must admit
A true melee of Aristotle
Though failed love escaped his wit.
'Twas one year past I met my lover
Un vrai amant I had discoveredÐ
An actor prancing 'cross the boards
Impersonating dreary lords
(And ladies, too) this fine chameleon.
Dear reader, how I was amazed
When in each others' eyes we gazed
And soft I knew my heart was won.
But just as Hamlet 'proached his end,
My one sweet love went round the bend.
Do I presume to be so bold
To tell you of our true demise?
Mais non! You'll see this tale unfoldÐ
He left me when he caught a cold!
(Dear reader, do not make me pay
When brief from Pushkin's form I stray:
When speaking of a higher love
My muse brings forms from Heaven above!)
My thespian from Harvard hailed
"Creme de la creme!", he often roared
Not seeing that his friends were bored
When with his boasts we were regaled.
But in our fit of love, I own,
We decided to move to London-town.
We went with courage and with gutsÐ
The war had just begun:
Our hearts were followed with no "buts"
To act, to love, and to have fun.
The time, alas, I see was wrongÐ
We only feared terrorist bombs.
The passion strongly felt in BostonÐ
Beneath Big Ben it went quite rotten.
A week or two was sweet, I say,
But soon our paths diverged
Each possessed a different urge
Our laughter slipped away.
Yet to conclude this star-crossed tale,
My letter to him I thus unveil:
"My darling love (as once I called you),
It seems our paths have split at last
Tho' once I loved you deep and true
I now can grinÐour time has past!
Your snuffling voice beside the Thames
Whined on and onÐit had no end.
I watched you pull your hat down closer
And warm your hands a-top the toaster.
Sick, sick, sick! You moaned and shivered
Dark clouds fell across your faceÐ
What happened to your actor's grace?
I hoped I would soon be delivered.
When finally from London you fled
With you went my sense of dread."
*******************************************************************************
Poet's Lament
My dreams are dead, the palace tumbled,
Destroyed in one harsh blow today.
The weak apologies you mumbled,
Did not relieve me where I lay.
A-moaning, groaning, deathly stricken,
In my despair I thought to sicken,
And die right there for all to see.
But I regained a sense of me
And raised myself up very lightly,
And summoned grace and wit and charm,
And left without allowing harm
To overcome my damaged psyche.
You've been deceiving me all year:
There's someone else you hold more dear.
Suspicion came while I was dreaming
Of you and this fine friend of yours.
'Till then I had not grasped the meaning
Of all your precious trips and tours.
You looked surprised to be discovered,
Your ludicrous affair uncovered,
I followed you until the proof
Was clear and tried to stay aloof,
But confrontation brought a pressure
Too great in my enfeebled state.
Like when I was a child of eight
And tried to stop a rolling dresser.
It overcame my frail from,
Momentum crushing like a storm.
But I digress, so hear my tirade!
Some certain things I don't forgiveÐ
Inclusive of the role that you played.
I wish we could the scene relive.
But something was just quite distressing,
The sight of you with him undressing.
Just making love with my best friend.
My heart, I think, will never mend.
Before you were my senorita,
Your praises I would always sing,
Now thoughts of you are harsh, they sting.
Just leave, you little cabronita.
Perhaps one day we'll talk again,
But I will hate you 'till the end.
************************************************************
Cher Gregg
In hindsight now, we seemed two fated
Since that fall day five years ago
In my blind youth I oft equated
Desire with loveÐwhich I now know
Was false at firstÐbut later altered
Yet not without a pensive falter!
Please do not think me too naive,
I beg of you, because you cleaved
Into my mind with subtle nudging
That even though I was so young
Our hearts would speak in faithful tongue
With time, if I would not be grudging
And thus to you I gave my trust
Sans foresight it would soon be crushed.
In time we shared an odd existence
YouÐthe poetÐwords came with grace
Your prose could capture and embrace
My spirited mind with no resistance.
"Je te manque, ma jolie fille," you said
On lettes stashed beneath my bed
(I interject for explanationÐ
He left to continue his education
But we stayed faithful to each other
Though he, five hundred miles away
Was likely tempted by another!)
Then three years passedÐ
That fateful day so bleak and cold;
Our time was due
Regretfully, I said, "Adieu."
*********************************************************************************
Liubov' konchilas'
I.1.
Today I've reached a revelation
At last I'll free my soul from you.
And now I must complete my mission,
The time has come unto it's due
For us to part and welcome others
Into our lives to be our lovers.
To think of you reading these lines
Oh friend and former love of mine
I long to know what you are thinking,
To know if you have even seen
How our relationship has been.
In that we are forever sinking
Into a deep and evil sea
Of fading passion and ennui.
I.2
We met one day among a chorus
Of lovers young and so naive.
And there I set a pathway for us
For an affair free of deceit.
Not one ami did dare to warn me
That such a love c'est impossible.
Thus I began with fervor great
To love you and to seal our fate.
A victim of pure innocence
Imagining a life of bliss
I failed to see what was amiss
And lost myself in ignorance.
Alas, true love was not your plan,
You cruel and cold and heartless man.
I.3
I thought our love would never vanish,
If only I were not so blind
That in my mind I thought to banish
All thoughts that were a bit unkind.
Perhaps our love could have grown stronger
If we had talked a little longer.
But no, you sleep and watch TV
Instead of spending time with me.
I've waited for a transposition,
Perhaps in time you'd see and change
Your feelings you would rearrange.
Alas, you keep your disposition,
And now you'll lose what you once had.
Could even this not make you sad?
I.4
Like poor Ophelia I did languish
Lost in a mania of love.
I made myself a life of anguish
By trusting in the gods above.
You were so kind and so carefree
Until our meeting came to be.
And when you conquered my amour
Life suddenly became a bore.
To you I am but one more bother
I'm nothing more than a mere pet,
Something too easy to forget.
I'm but a token, not a lover.
No longer will I be suppressed.
Be gone! You've made my life a mess.
I.5.
One moment you choose to ignore me.
The next you come with penitence
And toss bare trinkets down before me
Thinking these come to your defense.
I do not want your rings or flowers.
Such gifts from you have all been sour.
Am I too forward or too bold
To recognize this tarnished gold?
Since we began, not one true feeling
Has come out from your hardened soul
At last your actions take their toll.
My time has come to commence healing.
A few more moments, je vous enpris
I'm sure you've had enough of me.
I.6.
I've spent much time in preparation
A student lost within her cause.
Now in the passion of rebellion
Love's crushing ties are thrown and lost.
Night closes on this vast oppression
I've suffered through your cruel suppression
My love has taught me how to feel
Emotions somehow not quite real.
Love's ardor transformed into anger
A new strength has been born in me.
At last I'll set my being free.
I found in you not friend but stranger.
I will not hear another lie
So with this strength I say goodbye.
****************************************************************
Oh listen love, to my next musing
And interrupt me not for now;
Think not on what you might be losing
And pray, try not to start a row.
Your tears will not arrest my speaking,
I'll not abide by any shrieking,
I realize you worship me,
And so I'll say this tres gently.
I do this not to hurt you, truly.
It's just I need my sanity
And so can't feed your vanity.
For lack of time I state it cruelly,
At this you'll likely be distraught;
I must admitÐI love you not.
You weren't my first or only lover
And never meant my life to me.
What else to say but c'est la vie.
Don't call me evil or unfaithful,
Though at our parting I seem grateful.
I know you'd much prefer the truth
To lies or some such thing uncouth.
Dfc k/,bkf - ytyfdbcnm ctqxfc [the Russian here was irretrievably lost,
alas!]
The Russian poet might state it short,
When love she tries to fast abort.
Now, to steel myself and couse your loss,
It's far past time to end this talk.
I'll say it clearlyÐtake a walk!
****************************************************************************
I
My longtime boyfriend, here's a letter
Explaining all my feelings, sap!
My horoscope hints someone better
To knock you (bastard) off the map!
A fortuneteller saw confusion:
My admiration--blind illusion.
The psychic ordered by next post
To scorch my lover crisp as toast!
This cold epistle for my service
To stars above is rather fun.
Mordacious stanzas written, son,
Deserved by you for being churlish.
Redeeming qualities are few;
Why was I passionate for you?
II
When we were introduced I tumbled
Hard. I was eager to suggest
A date. Stupidity--I bumbled
Bad. Maintenant, Je te dŽteste!
With morals far worse than Pechorin's
Your conversation's trite and borin'.
Thin body like a totem pole;
That does not harbor a pure soul!
A lack of effort quite horrific
(Although once you gave me a rose)
Your attitude has made us foes--
Afraid we cannot be pacific.
Repugnance all that's in my heart
For you: offenseive, fetid fart!
III
Unless the lovers grow more smitten,
Relationships turn flat and stale.
Time for declaring that I'm quittin'
A twosome destined fast to fail!
Perspicuously, no persuasion
Will win back long-lost admiration
If I believed that you would try,
'Twould be a self-defeating lie!
Becoming highest of the scholars,
Now I'll devote my precious time
To the rewarding art of rhyme.
But take this token of three dollars;
And you play Liza, I'm Erast--
Remembrances are fading fast!
**************************************************************************
Letter to a Girl Named Bertha (in verse)
So fevered is my brow and temple,
Like Byron's foot * I find my tongue. *Lord Byron is known to have suffered
from club footedness
I make complex what should be simple, (author's note)
I've got my hand stuck in the bung-
hole of my life's pent up emotions,
They form a searing acrid ocean,
But should I move my hand away,
This acid bath on me would spray.
Your lovely face I've not forgotten,
C'est comme une statue faite en or,
There's never dirt lodged in your pores,
Your teeth are straight and far from rotten.
but all these thoughts are happenstance,
To bloom, our love's denied the chance.
My Bertha you have grown so sullen
Your eyebags now are quite pronounced.
You wonder as your eyes wax swollen,
"Is he in jest?" --The tension mounts.
But please I bid you cease this mourning,
This no appeal, but more a warning.
Have you not heard that shattered trust
More oft than not was merely lust?
Who said that? Who?
The name eludes me
Was it not Chaucer, Proust or Yeats?
Perhaps. But I confess: of late
My brain works not, I'm far too moody.
But the important thing for you
To know is that our love is through.
So why have I begun another
Stanza, now that "tous s'est dit?"
Without sounding like your mother,
I want to say I like your feet.
And one more thing I guess I'd better
Tell you now about this letter,
A publisher, one Thomas Grey,
For this private communique
Has said he'll pay me many dollars,
He quoted half a grand I think
And then we, of Champagne, did drink,
I hope the price was nothing smaller.
So Bertha, darling, you won't mind?
I'll give you half to ease your mind.
******************************************************************
A summer dandelion meadow
Awakes to autumn's surging winds.
The tufted seeds waft, making shadows.
A sail at last; no longer pinned.
The blossoms, like our friendship, falter
With age, and in my soul the water
Of love runs dry. I go beyond
Your meadow seeking brighter dawn.
Don't follow me. Because I am leaving
Don't beg me, whining. Go, I must.
Don't waste tears; the world is not just.
Another comes to stop your grieving.
The autumn equinox has come,
Seeds fly adrift with bounds undone.
***************************************************************
The Plumber A Painful Tale
"It's the plumber. . . I've come to fix the sink!"
-The Electric Company Dear *****,
To write this letter is not easy
Words like these don't freely flow.
What I must tell you makes me queasy
And so, in verse I'll try to show
The reason why I've been so distant,
And to your touches so resistant,
And why I never seem turned on,
And why your stories make me yawn.
Oh, and yes, I'll try explaining,
Why, when you called "hier matin,"
The phone was answered by a man,
So that you'll quit with your complaining.
It was the plumber, Harold Fink,
He came to fix my bathroom sink.
That awful sink -- do you remember --
How night and day the faucet dripped
And how, one morning last December,
I went into that room and slipped
Because the pipes were leaking water
And, thus, a puddle made me totter,
So that I slipped upon the floor
And cracked my head against the door?
My throbbing head was such a bummer,
But far worse than the awful ache
Was that the drip kept me awake,
So finally I called the plumber.
At fixing leaks he's highly skilled.
He found my hole, and it he filled.
Oh -- pardon me for that digression --
Its just that its "tres difficile"
To come right out with this confession
And let you know just how I feel.
Your eyes at one time made me woozy
My head would spin like I was boozy
One glance from you made my heart pound
And anytime you weren't around
I'd cry because I felt an aching
(like from that fateful bathroom trip!)
Except that not a constant drip,
But love was keeping me a-waking.
But love's ache waned as time did pass,
And now my pains are more like gas.
I used to find your wit astounding.
Whenever we were out with friends
You'd make us laugh with jokes abounding.
We'd giggle 'til we got the bends.
Impressive tales you'd always tell us
About run-ins with famous fellas
And mad affairs with wealthy dames
How awed I was by all those names!
You wowed me with a wealth of knowledge --
You talked of God and books and art --
To me you seemed extremely smart
Because of all you'd learned in college.
But now your smarts and friends and jokes
Are flat as wheels without the spokes.
I found you sexier than Elvis
When he would wiggle 'round and sing
Yes even when he shook his pelvis
You turned me on more than The King.
I thought you smoother far than Bogie
Compared to you he was a fogey
The line "Here's looking at you, kid"
Just did not thrill me like you did.
Frankie Sinatra sang so sweetly
That girls would faint when he would croon
But it was you who made me swoon
Because I loved you so completely
It used to be you were my star . . .
Now Harold takes the cake by far.
Okay -- it's this that has been coming
This is the truth I must impart
The guy who came to fix my plumbing
From you has stolen my true heart.
You would not think him very witty
And his face is not as pretty
He doesn't have any degree
But I love him, and he loves me.
When he was at my home on
Tuesday It wasn't just to fix the sink
I am in love with Harold Fink,
And he's become my new fiance.
Although he's not as cute, and dumber
I'll be marrying the plumber.
So there you have it in a letter.
I think that I have said enough
And now I really feel much better
It turned out this was not so tough
I'm sure that you'll find this annoying
But I am actually enjoying
Letting you know you're not so great.
In fact, I think you're second rate!
Yes, I can say that without question,
Your looks are really not so fair
And you're a big bag of hot air!
You really give me indigestion.
It's Harold Fink that I adore
I do not love you any more.
***************************************************************************
Episode in the Life of a Fickle Girl
I
A tale of sadness and revulsion
I now shall tell, and not digress,
is of a menschliche compulsion -
he fell for her, I must confess!
Dear reader 'twas a girl so loathsome
but this poor churl, he was so lonesome.
One could describe him as piteux,
he saw not that she was grincheuse.
between them was l'amour ill-fated
although it started as a lark.
His friends' predictions hit the mark --
a love like this makes not elated!
And now without much more ado
I wish to tell their tale to you.
II
But first, dear reader, a description:
this boy was simply far too tall
for her. You see, 'tis a prescription
-- the man is large, thus long her fall.
Her love life's always problematic
and she finds love to be sporadic.
She finds herself drawn to tall men
yet every time swears, "Not again!"
Though all her life she has been foolish
and wasted love on such tall boys,
she's learning to see through their ploys
and recognize such love as ghoulish.
But, my dear reader, I digress,
from the fine tale of one big mess.
III
Poor girl, she wrote a biting letter
which she to him did send with glee.
She wrote it quite maliciously --
Pechorin could not have done better!
She wrote, "My dearest Douglas, charming,:
(Dear reader, please find this alarming
the name of her scorned lover 'twas not!)
"at last it's done, this boring plot!
The other man whom I've been seeing,
you know he was a nasty bore
and dumping him was quite a chore
but now it's done -- my heart a-freeing!"
John had not known, the foolish lump.
Cuckolded he was -- silly chump!
IV
"This man called John, he was so boring,
he loved to spend his time with me!
Each hour with him would set me snoring,
I crushed him, like a bug, with glee!
He thought I was his true love (really!),
that boy, how could he be so silly!
I led him on, he never knew
It was a game -- my heart's with you!
Ami, you set my heart a-beating!
My small charade with John was fun,
but you know that you are the one
for whom my love is not just fleeting!
But now I must explan to you
the reason that I've been 'untrue.'"
V
"My stormy past was full of sadness.
Tall boys have been sadness's source,
and now for me to find some gladness,
revenge must run its full, due course.
I now find boys of large proportions,
I send them into love's contortions --
and then, with malice drop them flat!
I am so mean, imagine that!
Revenge was sweet, but now completed.
Poor John, he was a handy tool.
The trap was set -- he was a fool.
Through him the punishment was meted
out. Now my thinking is more clear,
I love you all the more, my dear!"
VI Ah, girls! They are so very vicious!
My reader, you by now must know
That just to be spiteful, malicious,
the note did not to Douglas go.
It sped its way to bring John sorrow,
but trouble did that fool John borrow
when, for a girl, he did lose sleep,
and, for a girl, did sadly weep.
Remember, reader, girls are fickle!
Use caution with them, yes indeed,
they'll get revenge, that noxious weed,
in that your fancy they will tickle!
I leave you now, but I feel,
there's still one question: is Doug real??
*************************************
"A Day in the Life of the Typical Macalester Student (Onegin Style)"
1.
On Monday morning he awakens;
the sound of his alarm does chant.
He rises from his slumber, shaken,
and puts on a black shirt and pants.
Some coffee stimulates his thinking
and counteracts last evening's drinking.
A cigarette will set him straight;
is's off to class, a little late.
Once there he pays the most attention
that one could hope from such a lot.
To do the reading he forgot;
somehow he must achieve redemption.
So he pretends to be confused;
he acts as if he's been abused.
2.
His classes finished for the evening,
he heads to Kagin for some food.
In there he finds the masses grieving;
he wishes things were not so crude.
Alas, he has no other options;
his wallet's empty from addictions.
The beer and smokes and others such
just seem to cost him too damn much.
So like a peasant he accepts them;
the terrible things he must endure.
The greasy burgers he is sure
must be unfit. He does condemn
the way of life he's forced to lead
good food and sleep are all he needs.
3.
From there he heads for the gymnasium
where he attempts to get in shape.
He swims in Leonard Natatorium
and jogs to his most favorite tap.
Worn out from the events transpired.
He trudges home, run down and tired.
His friend shows up, a bowl in hand;
they smoke some drugs, then cannot stand.
In their dorm room's a television
O joy! is Star Trek on again?
They watch religiously and grin;
"Our lives are full" is their conclusion.
The Simpsons will be on quite soon
and then a show about the moon.
4.
Eventually they come to realize
their homework won't get done alone,
So sadly they do part and chastise
their current state. Oh, how they moan.
The future's bleak; his spirits broken.
It's been a while since he has spoken
to parents which he quite adores.
Though without money, he abhors
their letters in which they keep nagging
"Do study hard and be a saint.
You are in college; cheap it ain't."
The art of concentration's lagging
in our fair hero, it's for sure;
his mind and soul are far from pure.
5.
Insult to injury we've added,
for now his Macintosh won't work.
As if the gods themselves had stated
"Priotrities you mustn't shirk."
What's left to do? Recycling, maybe?
for Mother Earth is a fair lady.
Or maybe he'll go out tonight;
companionship might be his plight.
A beer or two, that would be dandy;
just what the doctor ordered, eh?
After a while, though, sleep sounds gay
and home he goes, alone and tipsy.
So here is where our tale must end;
to it I will no longer tend.
****************************************************************
My friends, I bring to you a story
of misery and friends gone wrong
Misfortune rides with treachery
They laugh and sing a battle song
The war they wage is not with fury
But rather more like a Grand Jury
A sentence, sometimes worse than death
Man must learn to smell his own breath
I wish that I could tell a sweeter
Tale to you than one like this
My muse, not blessed with happiness
(perhaps more of a dinner-eater)
The story of Dan now has begun
I fear that it's my only one.
Uninformed in so many subjects
Unworthy of exalting praise
Dan exceeded his checkbook budget
While sitting watching Happy Days
A small yet gross miscalculation
Wouls bring Dan mucho frustration
A check had cleared from long ago
A soiree oubliee at the Escargot:
Ah! Now it seems that Dan remembers
The wicked evening long forgotten
Since then his feelings have turned rotten
For that night of long-past December
It was a night of northern cold
The kind of which stories are told.
After a day of final-taking
Of stress like needles all-too sharp
Of frantic answers, knowledge-faking
And playing the professor's harp
Dan called up Joe and said "D'you wanna'
"Smoke a bunch of marijuana?"
A year, it seemed, well far too long
Since they'd touched their precious bong
Thay called up more friends to come over
And partake in the luscious smoke
They burned it up to the last toke
And climbed into Bob's Land Rover
Where to go, nobody knew
It just was the thing to do.
They sped past frozen super markets
Past bowling alleys in the snow
'Twas then that someone cried to park it
In front of the French Escargot
Together through the door they stumbled
The other guests began to mumble
And to the waiters, they were rude
They ordered massive plates of food
They ordered wine and beer and spirits
And continued to get drunk
The food they ate! Who would have thunk?
I would have loved to just be near it
My food experience is a bit drab
But they were eating Alaskan crab!
The servers kept the dinner coming
The sauced-up kids had ate the bait!
They kept the minds of students humming
For the bill they'd have to wait
Wouldn't they love a cappucino
And a piece of La Nochallino
"Don't you know it's very good,
Have some more! You realy should. . ."
And so the evening never ended
More soups and salads he'd ne'r beed scarfed
It's a surprise--nobody barfed! --
The strangest evening ever attended
After the last morsel was ate
Dan passed out upon his plate
My friends, it seems that Man's condition
Is from hell, not heaven-sent
Poor Dan's troubles gained their fruition
When all his friends got up and went
Since then he has been less-than stable
He was passed-out upon the table
When first appeared the dreadful bill
"There you are. Have you ate your fill?"
Upon reading the eight-foot paper
His friends decided to make haste
"Out to the 'Rover! No time to waste!":
And off they took their filthy caper
They drove swiftly back to the school
And left poor Dan to play the fool.
So our friend Dan was left to wake
up Hung-over with a creaky neck
The waiters asked if he would take up
The task of writing out the check
He cursed his friends for their endeavor
and told himself that he would never
Allow himself to play the role
Of stupid clown--Ce n'est pas drole!
He took the bill and thus he started
To feel an icy chilling numb
He swiftly signed the gahstly sum
And returned home broken-hearted
The next morn he awoke at last
His mind: a blank of evening past.
It seems Dan chose to not remember
A time in which he was not smart
He left behind that cold December
That pierced him deep into his heart
Yet in a world that's based on money
The deed became no longer funny
His check, it seems, bounced several times
A victim of a banking crime
The numbers added, multiplied
And soon became ten digits long!
Our friend began to sing a song
And something deep within him died
Daniel held up a Texaco
And made his way to Mexico.
This is where I met the fellow
He seemed a bit out of his head
His way of speech was less than mellow
and his eyes were glowing red
He seemed to want to tell his story
And parts of it were more than gory
I've given you my favorite part
I hope it has not chilled your heart
I stayed with him till it was over
His tales, they chilled me to the bone
So much I had to be alone
I jumped into my old Land Rover
And to this day, I shall not dine
With anyone--These men are swine!
*****************************************************************
Marlena Reagan
I
We find our friend, Marlena Reagan
Returning books long overdue.
She's stopping on her way to Kagin
From class, which she was sleeping through.
She fell asleep instead of waiting
To hear the end of some debating
About the topic of the day --Because
the final's months away.
She'll read the books and study later.
Now other thoughts possess her mind,
Scholastics now, can't stimulate her.
It's Friday afternoon at last;
Another week has swiftly passed.
II
Marlena pulls her jacket closer
In order to avoid the bite
Of wind that makes pale faces rosier
And snow that turns the courtyards white.
The cold has quickened Marley's paces,
And flurried snow blurs passing faces.
She stops a while to check her SPO
And to relieve her cheeks from snow.
She and her friends bemoan their station:
Old winter's spread her frosty paint --
A justifiable complaint,
But uttered more for conversation.
This shared distress, so often tossed,
Helps shield their hearts from winter's frost.
III
But soon, in Kagin, all feel better.
Familiar with the dining hall,
And stripped down to her jeans and sweater,
Our Marley feasts on Black Beans Dahl.
Her roommate, Sally, is confiding
In her some matter for deciding
The two stay late and sip on Sprites,
And Marley chain-smokes Camel Lights.
But though the chat's like any other --
About the issues of the day,
The gossip up on third Dupre--
Our heroine seems not to bother.
Although she loves dear Sally's voice
Today she seeks another choice.
IV
Throughout the evening Marley's glances --
Though unbeknownst to Sally Smith--
Have scanned the room in case she chances
To see who Charlie's sitting with.
It's him with whom she's captivated;
Her interest is just escalated
Each day she doesn't know the boy.
His presence brings her secret joy.
We've heard that absence makes hearts fonder,
But Marley's dreams have not come true;
The picture, yet, is one she drew:
Colorful fantasies to ponder.
Can any claim to be above
The passion of untested love?
V
Marlena soon notes Charlie's presence;
Her searching has not been in vain.
Excitement rises in her breast, since
She senses what she hopes to gain.
His laden tray he carries gently,
But strides through kagin confidently.
He merely nods to someone's wave;
His features remain rather grave.
But closer friends he greets with passion,
And this makes our Marlena smile,
As does his mussed, haphazard style
(In keeping with Macalester fashion).
he wanders with a roaming eye,
And Marley hasn't been passed by.
VI
Tonight Marlena felt excessive
About the time she took to dress;
But she achieves, at the progressive,
A style of thrown-on casualness.
The keg is tapped and music's pumping.
The early party's started jumping;
And Marley hopes for nothing more
Than Charlie's presence at the door.
But even this, her heart's obsession,
Is put aside for Friday's cheer.
She pours herself another beer,
Intently hearing some confession. . .
To keep composure she contrives
When, at long last, her man arrives.
VII
As Charlie scans the crowded room
He's sprinkled by a sloppy toast;
His disapproval borders gloom,
But still he turns to greet the host.
Then comes the fateful introduction,
And with disdain at the production
His friend has made at his expense,
He waves his hand in slight defense.
Amused, he smiles, his eyes are rolling;
Marlena is surprised to learn
How easy it is to return
The gaze that knows not it's controlling.
She wishes then to boldly flaunt
That moment as his confidant.
VIII
As night wears on and keg is waning
Marlena feels she'd never dreamt
That Charlie was so entertaining
And truly from all flaws exempt.
Her eyes are curtained by the shading
Of nights of dreaming; days of waiting.
And barely veiled is her delight
That she's retained her wit all night.
Thus, Charlie finds Marlena charming.
He's bored with girls in his own grade;
And, feeling inhibitions fade,
His forwardness is quite alarming.
They fill their cups with one last beer
And from the party disappear.
IX
The two no longer care to mingle.
They set off for another dorm
To be alone in Charlie's single.
They hurry through the bitter storm
When Marley isn't reappearing
Her roommate smiles knowingly,
And others can't help overhearing
Sally guess where she might be.
She cannot wait to hear the story;
To find out every little bit.
Her curiosity, admit,
Oh reader, is a little gory.
That night she slept, as she is prone,
A trifle sad to be alone.
X
So Marley's hopes came to fruition
Much sooner than she could have dreamed,
But readers with some intuition
Will know it was not what it seemed.
The fantasy of love impending --
For Marley--found as quick an ending
As was the start of her romance,
Which never really had a chance.
Marlena was another token . . .
For Charlie this was just a spree -
-A product of frivolity.
His heart was cool while hers was broken.
And his indifference to her tears
She was to feel for many years.
XI
The night they spent was bliss completely
And when, at noon, they parted ways
he grinned at her and kissed her sweetly
And said he'd call in several days.
Marlena laughed with mirth within her,
"But I'll see tonight at dinner."
She trotted back home to relate
The circumstances of her date
To eager Sally's intent listening.
But Charlie barely glanced that day
At Marley, who had looked away
To hide her eyes--already glistening.
And Charlie never showed remorse.
"Well, life," he shrugged, "Must take its course."
XII
I cannot now help but reflect --
And reader, please to me allow
A few short lines in retrospect,
Because I am a senior now.
I, too, have felt Marlena's tremble.
The words I've written may resemble
A part of what I might have been
If passion had deceived me then.
Who can't relate to this distress,
endured by Freshmen all the while?
Who hasn't tasted sweet beguile
Of sophomores feigning tenderness?
But I've been spared from Marley's pain
By keeping secret love arcane.