The Beloved Luke Has been Busy

First, he writes me:

Here’s a typically silly media-meets-church article on the Pope’s new YouTube channel. My favorite line:

For the Vatican, it was the latest effort to keep up to speed with the rapidly changing field of communications and new media. For a 2,000-year-old institution known for being very set in its ways, it was something of a revolution.

OMG, THA CHUCH HAZ INTERNETS!!!1!!?? One gets the impression that Vatican officials posting things online is something akin to a walrus wearing the latest fashions and using sophisticated construction tools. I also enjoyed this bit: “While the YouTube initiative was novel, it was in keeping with the Church’s history of using whatever means available to communicate: parchment, printing press, radio, television and Internet.” Well, I guess the Church eventually got ’round to using the printing press, so this shouldn’t come as a real surprise…

Then, a while later, I get this totally unrelated bit of whimsy:

This is a silly, silly poem I wrote in a fit of linguistic joy upon discovering the name for a poetic device I knew I liked but didn’t know the name for. Just thought you’d get some kind of a kick out of it.

Procrustean Enjambment: A Lesson.

Gleefully composed by Luke Shea

The title of this little rhyme,
which you have now glanced at,
has likely drawn forth from your mind
the question “What is *that*?”

“What on earth’s ‘Procrustean’?
And how is it Enjambed?”
These all may be ques-ti-ons
you’re asking, Sir or Ma’am.

For the minds which may inquire
about this lengthy phrase,
let my knowledge burn like fire
across mental pathways

to light your minds like match to torch.
Allow me to explain
these words. It will not burn or scorch.
It won’t cause any pain.

In fact, the last word of the phrase
I have here demonstrated
in a rather clever way.
I’m proud of just how great it

sounded when I did. And lo!
I’ve done it once again!
I think that here within this po-
-em I’ve enjambed more than

most folks can pack into one day,
or even twenty-one!
And if you’ll look upwards a ways
you’ll see I’ve gone and done

the craziest thing possible
and demoed word one, too!
And let me say it was a pl-
-easing thing to do!

“Out with it!” you may now cry.
“Don’t beat around the bush!”
Alright! Okay! I will comply!
There is no need to push.

To start with, let me tell you of
Enjambment’s humble duty
to make a couplet much more love-
-able and full of beauty.

Simply put, Enjambment means
a sentence which continues
from line A and goes on to B’s
geographic venues.

Enjambent starts, and then goes on
And stops, but in the middle
Of the line that’s next. It con-
-tinues onwards to fiddle

with upcoming stanzas. It
just doesn’t know its place.
The lines jump on in starts and fits
and soon, across your face

you’ll find a smile a-creeping
as you come to know and love
this new and wondrous leaping
the words are partaking of.

I like verse which works this way
a lot. I think it’s better
to let your words join in the fray
unboxed, unchained, unfettered.

Now, if you haven’t caught on
to the second thing I’m teaching,
*Procrustean* rhyme is brought on
by leading words to breaching

through the binding limits
of a poem’s metered structure.
by slicing words in two bits
and placing this disrupture

at the ending of a line
so words are carried over.
Bisected words are very fine!
More rare than four-leafed clover!

It’s a funny way to cheat
that lends a line hilar-
-ity. It is a noble feat
to be so here-and-there.

And now you know, dear readers,
just what Procrustean En-
-jambment is. The meter’s
Tyranny is at an end!

Be sure to use it frequently,
And don’t fall out of prac-
-tice. Go and rhyme intently!
Address this awful lack!

Enjamb and Procrust everywhere
You can Enjamb and pro-
-crust! Keep the rhymes from ending square
anyplace you go!

A Post-Script on the Origin of the Term “Procrustean”:

Procrustean rhymes are named for one
Procrustes, from a myth
from ancient Greece. His story’s fun.
I’ll end this poem with

A brief recital of the way
He passed his name to rhymes
Which start and end in stranger pla-
-ces than most other kinds.

It seems he had, or so they say,
A hotel on a road
Which many travelled in his day.
And inside this abode

He kept an iron bed which was
Adjustable in size.
When folk came in, our man would pause
And measure with his eyes

And if he found is visitor
To be of ample height
He’d go and shrink the bed before
The guest lay down that night.

And once the guest was on the bed
He’d cut them down to size.
Or, if too short, he’d stretch instead.
Rack, or hacksaw to the thighs.

“No one will ever fit just right!
I’ll change it as I pleases!”
Said Procrustes, but one night
Our man ran into Theseus.

Theseus was smart and fed
Old ‘Crusty his own drug
By leaving both his feet and head
Bleeding on the rug.

Thus Procrustes met his end,
And thus this rhyme meets its.
And when you stretch and chop and bend
A word until it fits

You’ll know that old Procrustes
Is the one behind it all.
He taught us how to bust these
Words until they’re neat and small

Enough to jam in corners where
A longer word is needed.
A syllable will fit in there
When whole words are defeated.

My heart swells with paternal pride.