So Seuss Me

In my last semester of college, I turned in a poem for workshop that I really loved, especially for its neat rhyming mechanics and its closeness to my developing emotional condition.  In this particular workshop, we got to share several copies of our poems and collect them back with notes from the other students for the improvement of our art.  Now, for different reasons, the poetry veterans in my college didn’t seem to look very favorably upon rhyme as a method, supposedly because it’s childish to implement and distracts from any real art in the poem (whatever).  My heart sunk when it saw a message that had been curtly scribbled in the corner of one of my copies:

This reminds me of a depressed Dr. Seuss,

staring out the window in a dark room,

as if he were looking at his tomb.

It made me angry, because she decided to take only the bad from the poem and ignore the good, thus distorting the message in a way that I can only assume was sole method of her relation to it.  I fumed for the rest of the afternoon, sitting in the back of my car and trying to figure out why it was so easy for her to cut into another person’s words like that…until I realized that she had unwittingly complemented me.  Out of these musings came the following poem, which I read aloud after recounting this very story in front of the English department at the open recital that night:

So Seuss Me

Pity like pennies

For the author of meaningless cynicisms

Meant to twist and mar progress

In justipetrification of insecurity.


Misunderstate me, if you will,

But I am that which sustains your apatherapy;

Pretend you don’t care for me, then scream at the top of your fingertips

At the implicomplications of my existence.


I sacrifice my children to you in the Bradstreet tradisedition,

But you lack the inhibition to become more than sepia

Fantasies of a sinister Dr. Seuss,

Embodying the blissful bitterness you feel

In failing to aquirequire the simplicity

Of contentment that I finally achieve.


Am I to grieve at the relation to a beautiful mind?

I’d sooner enter twelve dark rooms to attain his happiness

Than delve through your aversion in only one such duress.


If, then, flattery could be the sincerest form of imitation,

I can only be pleased with the succeeding implication.

Published in: on April 19, 2010 at 9:03 pm  Comments (7)  
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