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| Epistle to Alexander Pope , Esq. | |
| By patterjack | ||||||||||
| 28 May 2007 | ||||||||||
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Epistle to Alexander Pope Esq. Dear Sir , believe me , I 'd not dare to name you less nor would I make a more familiar address or else it could , I fear , make hackles rise -- then I'd receive my dunce's hat as prize. Your elegant precision , Sir , I've long admired and to its rhymed perfection for long I have aspired but I lack in all respects the exact poetic skill to emulate its grace : and I lack both courage and will. Some others , standing apart on their draggled dignity, Have from thence imposed on you a deep malignity and see you as deformed , a tiny venomous spider spreading a fragile web but entrapping wider and wider the bugs of Grub Street , who then all loose their smells as bugs will do , when such entrapment compels them to face the facts , whenever you criticise , and see their frailties revealed through perspicacious eyes . But Sir , if I myself could just possess that skill that forces them , unwilling , to ingest the bitter pill that would clarify their muddy minds and bring their verses from the muddier depths to make them sing , then my personal furies I would not restrain and would before Muse Clio 's court their sins arraign. Because , Dear Sir , 'tis true , we have grubs with us yet and , now that around us all there exists the Internet they spread their thickness and their dull Ignorance too easily abroad with never a let nor hindrance. The etheric medium allows such fools to foster their poetic pretences , though there's many an impostor. Their souls in tatters there to us displayed, they reveal the pangs of adolescent love betrayed ; and there are those who think that excrement is part of any verse's complement : and others still with rhymes and rhythms flimsy indulge themselves too much in fanciful whimsy feeling that they can provide sweet verses lyrical but in fact present a way for reviews satirical. I myself , ( and I admit it with some shame ) Could never to the first rank make a claim. I see your impeccable alexandrines stroll the page allowing your words to explode in acidic rage, the neatly placed caesuras to hold the sense ; then build Till all poetasters ' pretensions are dispelled . I have no wish to be someone that bothers To sit in judgment on the follies of others, and so with all the verse that I myself present If you just pass it by , I'll be content . Therefore I'll simply sit back and maintain the hope That another will assume the mantle of Pope .
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