Dr. Faustus

[Hawkman]

Dr. Faustus to a gun shop came
To buy a flammenwerfer,
He’d always wanted one you see,
Since reading books by Goethe.
For flaming passions were aroused
By such incendiary prose,
He wanted to ignite a beacon
And cremate, with malice, those,
Who didn’t share his inspiration.

So armed now with his latest toy,
Into the street he boldly walked
And then he asked a passing boy,
If a match he might supply,
For unable to perform his mission,
To cleanse and purge the literary arts,
For with no source of primary ignition,
The flammenwerfer wouldn’t start.

In good faith, perhaps unwisely,
The transient lad a match supplied,
Its naked flame unto the lance
Then Dr. Faustus, carelessly, applied.
The fuel spilled out with more advance
Than the doctor had anticipated,
For he had opened the wrong tap
And consequently, was incinerated.

So heed you this my caution
Don’t let passions rule your head
Don’t fixate upon an author
Or you’ll surely wind up dead.

[PrinceMyshkin]

I will indeed remember the moral of this the next time I'm tempted to criticize any one of your final lines, or your favourite paisley tie, for that matter.

To have rhymed "flammenwerfer" with "Goethe" is the crowning achievement here! Zeier gut!

[AuntShecky]

Although I applaud and admire you for attempting to write metrical poetry, I believe that the following lines are examples of "wrenching," that is, putting a greater priority on the location of the stressed syllable of the iamb:



Dr. Faustus to a gun shop came


If a match he might supply,

So heed you this my caution

By resorting to wrenching, a poet flouts the cardinal rule of the four rules of English grammar, word order. Unlike classical Latin and many Romance languages, English does not depend on case endings ( to indicate declensions of nouns and their modifiers) or endings to signify verb tenses.



And this final line lands with a thud. The meter seems a little off, and the language was born of the mother of clichés.[/I]

Or you’ll surely wind up dead.


I hope you don't think this criticism is too harsh, but I wouldn't be suggesting it if I didn't think this particular piece --as well as the works you've shown us so far-- wasn't worth salvaging.

[Hawkman]

OK Auntie, here goes,

first: Dr. Faustus to a gun shop came is a deliberate parody of Child Roland to the Dark tower came. See Byron.

with the Gemanic references I was enjoying parrodying German grammar.

You seem to have missed tha alusion to Goethe, which is implied, although not directly stated, as Dr. Faustus's obsession.

I could happily extend the last stanza but i'm surpirsed you haven't picked up on the poem's real weaknes: the soft stress on the final word of S1.

So I agree that some changes would be benificial but not necessarily all the ones you suggest,

Love H

Hey Prince, Glad You approve.... H

[Babyguile]

OK Auntie, here goes,

first: Dr. Faustus to a gun shop came is a deliberate parody of Child Roland to the Dark tower came. See Byron.

with the Gemanic references I was enjoying parrodying German grammar.

You seem to have missed tha alusion to Goethe, which is implied, although not directly stated, as Dr. Faustus's obsession.

I could happily extend the last stanza but i'm surpirsed you haven't picked up on the poem's real weaknes: the soft stress on the final word of S1.

So I agree that some changes would be benificial but not necessarily all the ones you suggest,

Love H

With all do respect the reader will always know the faults of a poem more than the author. I awlays find that the author can only seperate their subjective connection to the work to a certain degree until they hit a ceiling. If you don't want comments on your poem then state that, certianly, though, don't take any honest criticism that you do get and wave it away disdainfuly. I know in this particular instance you're correcting Shecky on certain semi-factual aspects of the poem she didn't pick up on the first read, but in other threads it seems that way.

[Hawkman]

Hey dude, every one's entitled to their opinion, even me.

[Babyguile]

er, yea but...

[AuntShecky]

Aw, crap. I was fixing supper when I remembered the Goethe reference and went to delete the criticism of that one line. Way back in school days, I did read the Roland poem and NOW I remember the line, but didn't obviously pick up your sly allusion.

Mea culpa, hope you'll forgive me, but I still think this isn't as effective of some of your other material.:rolleyes5:

[Hawkman]

Hey, No worries Auntie, I agree it needs a little polish and I will review it. It's just a litttle bit of silly fun. I just wanted to write a poem about a flame-thrower...
Flammenwerfer is just such a GREAT word!

love - H

[Hawkman]

Dr. Faustus to a gun shop came
To buy a flammenwerfer,
He’d always wanted one you see,
Since reading books by Goethe.
For flaming passions were ignited
By his incendiary prose;
To burn this rebel, thus delighted
And excited, right down to his toes.

So armed now with his latest toy,
Into the street he boldly walked
And then he asked a passing boy,
If a match he could supply;
For unable to perform his mission,
To cleanse and purge the literary arts,
For with no source of primary ignition,
The flammenwerfer wouldn’t start.

In good faith, perhaps unwisely,
The transient lad a light supplied,
Its naked flame unto the lance
Then Dr. Faustus, carelessly, applied.
The fuel spilled out with more advance
Than the doctor had anticipated,
For having opened the wrong tap,
Therefore was incinerated.

Just then some Nazis, drawn by flames
Came up to watch the grizzly scene
Proudly wearing shirts of brown
They wanted just to hear him scream.
But having found a handy fire,
To art, a bad and wicked turn,
Upon the doctor’s funeral pyre,
Consigned free-thinking books to burn.

Thus the doctor’s hot intention,
Which let his passion rule his head,
When fixating on one author,
By his own hand, wound up dead.
Now the fate he sought for others,
Whose own tastes were unrelated,
Triggered floods of tears from mothers,
When he was so immolated.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Assuredly these lines:


Just then some Nazis, drawn by flames
Came up to watch the grizzly scene
Proudly wearing shirts of brown
They wanted just to hear him scream.
But having found a handy fire,
To art, a bad and wicked turn,
Upon the doctor’s funeral pyre,
Consigned free-thinking books to burn.

Thus the doctor’s hot intention,
Which let his passion rule his head,
When fixating on one author,
By his own hand, wound up dead.
Now the fate he sought for others,
Whose own tastes were unrelated,
Triggered floods of tears from mothers,
When he was so immolated.


are a welcome, sharp addition!

[Hawkman]

Thanks PM, The whole thing is a lot tidier now and flows much better and has a much more even metre. And even in humour, we should never forget.

H

[AuntShecky]

Despite my own initial gaffes, I liked the revised version much better, with its added dimensions.

I still feel like a blooming fool.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Despite my own initial gaffes, I liked the revised version much better, with its added dimensions.

I still feel like a blooming fool.


"Full many a flower is born to blush unseen
And waste its sweetness on the desert air"

[Hawkman]

Auntie, please don't worry about it. You were right about the last verse. I always intended to add the verse about book burning, but hadn't quite worked it out until this morning. I've just given it a little tickle to straighten out the metre in a cople of places as well.

H