Photo courtesy Maradilla Syachridar
What’s really scary
Are miniature horses, pink ribbons
In their tails, prancing around the fair
While everyone conceals and carries
And cotton candy fills the air…
That’s a brief excerpt from a poem by award-winning poet Dobby Gibson, published in the August 5 issue of The New Yorker magazine. I don’t normally read the poems in The New Yorker, because they’re typically too intellectual for me. But the title of this poem caught my attention:
This is a Test of the Federal Emergency Management Agency Wireless Warning System
When you pick a title like that for your poem, even an unsophisticated person like me is likely to read it. And maybe even share a brief excerpt in a humor column.
Mr. Gibson’s was not the only poem in the August 5 issue, as it turned out. In a story about the Republican National Convention in Milwaukee, journalist Anthony Lane revealed that he’d purchased a “finely bound hardcover copy” of a book titled, Collected Poems of Donald Trump, in which the book’s editors — Gregory Woodman and Ian Pratt — had laid out hundreds of the former President’s Tweets, in the form of poetry.
Mr. Lane quoted one of the poems from the book.
I like
thinking big.
I always have.
To me
it’s very
simple: if
you’re going
to be thinking anyway,
you might as well
think big.
Apparently, we’re now allowed to make poems out of online tweets, and ordinary speech.
So I’ve created two poems, using the final minute of two recent speeches: the final minute of the 60-minute speech by Kamala Harris at the Democratic National Convention, and the final minute of the 90-minute speech by Donald Trump at the Republican National Convention.
The Final Minute of Kamala Harris’ Speech at the Democratic National Convention
We are the heirs to the greatest democracy
in the history of the world. And on behalf
of our children and grandchildren
and all those who sacrificed so dearly
for our freedom and liberty,
we must be worthy of this moment.
It is now our turn to do
what generations before us have done.
Guided by optimism and faith,
to fight for this country we love,
to fight for the ideals we cherish, and to uphold
the awesome responsibility that comes
with the greatest privilege on Earth.
The privilege and pride of being an American.
So, let’s get out there and let’s fight for it.
Let’s get out there and let’s vote for it.
And together, let us write the next great chapter
in the most extraordinary story ever told.
You may have noticed that this poem generally doesn’t rhyme. Nor does the Donald Trump poem shared by journalist Anthony Lane.
When I was in elementary school, I got the impression that poetry was supposed to rhyme. But in high school, I learned that rhyming was rather old fashioned, and the modern poets had better things to do with their time.
I did notice, however, a couple of rhymes, or near-rhymes, in the Kamala Harris poem.
“Uphold” rhymes with “told” even though they’re in different stanzas. And “dearly” sort of rhymes with “liberty” if you squint your eyes. If you squint even harder, “done” could rhyme with “comes”.
To be fair, you need to be an experienced poet to find a good rhyme for “American”. Maybe “pelican”? But I hardly think a pelican belongs in this poem.
The Final Minute of Donald Trump’s Speech at the Republican National Convention
Win, win, win, win, win, win.
Nothing will sway us. Nothing will slow us.
And no one will ever stop us.
No matter what dangers come our way,
no matter what obstacles lie
in our path, we will keep striving
toward our shared and glorious destiny
and we will not fail.
We will not fail. Together
we will save this country,
we will restore the republic,
and we will usher in the rich
and wonderful tomorrows
that our people so truly deserve.
America’s future will be bigger, better,
bolder, brighter, happier,
stronger, freer, greater
and more united than ever before.
And quite simply put, we will very quickly
make America great again.
Obviously, Donald Trump doesn’t care one bit about rhyming. He’s too modern for that stuff.
I was a bit concerned about the line “and we will usher in the rich”. I have no objection to ushering people in, but I’d like to see the poor also ushered in.
I also wondered about the word, “great”. Vice President Harris managed to fit one “great” and two “greatest” into her final minute. But the former President gave us only one “great” and one “greater”. I expected a bit more effort on the part of Mr. Trump.
Maybe that’s an omen?
Underrated writer Louis Cannon grew up in the vast American West, although his ex-wife, given the slightest opportunity, will deny that he ever grew up at all.