Aunque sea una empresa muy osada
De cuyo lío siga ignorante,
Empujo todavía adelante,
Tejendo esta estrofa enredada
En español, aunque no sé nada
De su ritmo delicado y elegante,
De su fraseología chispeante -
No importa, yo desdeño la retirada!
Asimismo, si quisiera conocer
A alguien, olvidando la prudencia
Debería avanzar, y atender
Esta sola advertencia: un error
En la poesía es de poca consecuencia,
Sino que es peligroso en el amor.
I like to touch the trees as I pass by,
To give a friendly pat upon the bark
Of some rough pine or, reaching shoulder high,
To shake hands with a willow in the park.
Tug gently on a leaf; a root may know
Your gesture to be one that it can share.
Grasp a low branch; the highest one may blow
About in answer, in the calmest air.
Perhaps we should treat people just like trees:
Enjoy them without saying very much,
And comfort them, or help them feel at ease
With nothing but a light and simple touch.
If only we were all made out of wood
We'd talk less, and be better understood.
Ludolph van Ceulen's not a household name,
Not one to conjure with, nor one to drop;
For us today, his only claim to fame
Is that he never knew just when to stop.
Now Ludolph spent his life computing pi
With methods that were cumbersome and slow;
Meticulous the care with which he'd try
To add another digit to the row.
No sooner, though, is L. van Ceulen dead
Than comes to pass his unacknowledged fear:
They switch to using calculus instead,
And take a day where he once took a year.
I'll point the simple moral with this rhyme:
One's life's work is a complete waste of time.
Ye god's! Is nothing sacred any more?
Justice, throw off your blindfold and your torpor's!
For those who scoff at Punctuations Law,
Rescind the Bill of Right's and habea's corpu's!
How are the mighty fallen! The urbane
"New Yorker", once the magazine of choice
For would-be literati, may again
Run ad's, perhap's, for Lexu's and Roll's-Royce?
Yet Neiman-Marcus too must share the blame;
They'd think one both plebeian and obtuse
If he should write or speak their famous name
Like Herbert's brother, thus: Neiman Marcu's.
If N-M and "New Yorker" hatch these horror's
What hope remain's? O tempora! O more's!
all ©1990 The Tolson Press Ltd.