In preparing a class about Percy Shelley's poetry, I remembered a funny poem I once read (using Shelley's poem, "Ozymandias") talking about how a math major became an English major for life. The poem is below--and I think most of you can relate to the sentiment! So much crazy stuff happens on the Third Floor!
Prof of Profs,
by Geoffery Brock
I was a math major—fond of all things rational.
It was the first day of my first poetry class.
The prof, with the air of a priest at Latin mass,
told us that we could “make great poetry personal,”
It was the first day of my first poetry class.
The prof, with the air of a priest at Latin mass,
told us that we could “make great poetry personal,”
could own it, since poetry we memorize sings
inside us always. By way of illustration
he began reciting Shelley with real passion,
but stopped at “Ozymandias, King of Kings;
inside us always. By way of illustration
he began reciting Shelley with real passion,
but stopped at “Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!”—
because, with that last plosive, his top denture
popped from his mouth and bounced off an empty chair.
because, with that last plosive, his top denture
popped from his mouth and bounced off an empty chair.
He blinked, then offered, as postscript to his lecture,
a promise so splendid it made me give up math:
“More thingth like that will happen in thith clath.”
a promise so splendid it made me give up math:
“More thingth like that will happen in thith clath.”
See you in class...and watch out for flying dentures!
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