I wasn't so pressed for time in July 1998, so that month I included a decent-sized poem. Unfortunately, the poem doesn't originate with me. It's a translation of "Ma Mignonne" by Clement Marot, a poem I found in Douglas Hofstadter's latest book, Le Ton beau de Marot: In Praise of the Music of Language (a book I still need to finish). Anyway, enjoy...
Precious Girl
Precious girl,
Don't you hurl.
If you're sick,
Make it quick,
My sweet pet. 5
Once you get
Out of jail,
You'll feel hale,
Not it bed.
J. has said, 10
Once you're free
Come see me.
I'll feed you
Tons of new
Jellies, jams, 15
Lambs and hams
(You're quite round,
So I've found).
Don't stay ill.
That could kill 20
Anyone;
That's not fun.
Of the smiles
Necrophiles
Wear, I can't 25
Say, or shan't
Spoil your pearl,
Precious girl.
Ahem. I wrote this in June of last year when I started the Hofstadter book. The original is in French, which I can't read, but Hofstadter was kind enough to provide a couple literal translations and then enjoined his readers to take their own shots at the poem. To be charitable, mine does follow it for the most part -- that is until I get to line 23. There is absolutely no intimiation in the original that the poem's subject will die and then have her body be violated by sexual deviants. That was purely my invention. Hey, I had a rhythm going. Blame the rhythm.
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