I have spent a lot of time as of late reading Donne’s poetry. This, combined with my pudding brain and the few essays I have left to work on, resulted a few days ago in the parody below. If you’d like to see what the original poem is (and you should as it’s brilliant), see the previous post where I speak about Holy Sonnet 15.
To his self, upon staying up late working
What if this essay were the last thing I write?
…..Mark on this page, O Pen, the measure of thy worth
…..When set against the journals of the earth,
And say whether mine has any might.
The thesis is obscured by inky plight,
…..Brought on by using words with too much girth.
…..Can I unto this mess have given birth,
…..Which now’is abomination in mine sight?
No, no, but as I claimed in essays past
…..When readers found them hard to understand,
…..Such error entered not by my own hand,
But to the text by audience imputed wast.
…..The teachers say we cannot learn intent;
…..How judge me then, not knowing what I meant?
