The Poor Poet: Der arme Poet

Poem by Janice D. Soderling

Carl Spitzweg, The Poor Poet: Der arme Poet, 1839, Neue, Pinakotnek, Munich, Germany

 

If only I can hatch a heartfelt rhyme,

(with thought and frowns, it can't be very hard),

I'll take my rightful place with the sublime.

 

O! gradus ad parnassum, one quick climb.

I'll be crème de la crème and avant-garde,

if only I can hatch a heartfelt rhyme.

 

Top hat, cravat and walking stick meantime

are ready—attributes to reap regard.

I'll take my rightful place with the sublime.

 

No more damp attic life, no fleas or grime.

My poem will be perfection—a petard!

If only I can hatch a heartfelt rhyme.

 

My peers will shout "Alors, a paradigm!

Such lofty wit, a wise camelopard."

I'll take my rightful place with the sublime.

 

I bite my quill: crime, slime, Mülheim, enzyme.

The world will bow, salute and call me bard.

If only I can hatch a heartfelt rhyme,

I'll take my rightful place with the sublime.