The Nazi

Halloween nears and to pay tribute, I'd like to enclose a poem I wrote a few years ago, along with most of The Raven, by E.A. Poe. (I left out about 4 stanzas.) This poem is such a favorite of mine. Not only do I love the spooky story but I think Edgar's use of alliteration, rhyme, and rhythm is freaking genius. I absolutely love it. MY poem, on the other hand, does not quite attain that same level, though I tried to emulate Edgar's as much as I could. I lined them up side-by-side so you could see the comparisons. In some places, I used the exact same word. In others, a similar word--only dumbed down in Jen Speak. In other places I looked up the meaning of his word and put a simpler equivalent in mine. For instance: to quaff means to drink deeply in a very thirsty way.

Now for some background on what my poem is about. At the BYU I had many experiences where I'd run into tennis court employees trying to enforce rules with no reason. In this particular case, I'd be playing tennis at one of the courts on campus and if I didn't have my ID, i'd get kicked off. This is an understandable reason given that they want to make sure actual BYU students (with proof of being a BYU student) get to use the courts. Except quite often, my partner and I would be basically the only people playing on any of the courts! Oh, i'm so sorry i didn't realize you wanted to reserve these empty courts for all the ghost BYU students. Ridiculous. I had so many instances of this that I had developed a 6th sense for detecting the Tennis Court Nazi. Now, you might be saying, why didn't you just remember to bring your ID? And to that i say, shut your trap! Read the poems. :)

Oh also, I apologize for the weird breaking up of lines. It was surprisingly difficult getting these into columns and trying to match up the stanzas. Hopefully it's not too choppy.

The Nazi Once upon an evening twilight I went to partake of my life’s highlight Playing tennis by courtside lamplight, Getting exercise and fun galore. While we rallied, my backhand working, I felt a feeling somewhat irking. As of someone quietly lurking, lurking In the shadows of the court. “T’is nothing, nor no one” I uttered, As I returned with a strong hand-fore– “Only this and nothing more.” Ah, so vividly I recall, it was in the Brisk of fall; And the trees, each and all, dropping Leaves upon the floor. Excited, I breathed anticipation, would a Champion from competition Arise from playing tonight? I questioned. Was my victory in store? Although my skills matched the other's, What would be the resulted score? My goal: To win the set, 6-4. And the shaded shadowed lingerer Causing me to jam my finger Shifted me--lifted me to familiar Caution I had felt before; So that now I'd be in denial trying To play, and all the while I'd be saying "Some strange wind is gusting Gusts behind me on the court-- Some eerie wind is gusting gusts Behind me on the court. That it is, and nothing more." As we rallied my breaths were growing And my moves, not really flowing, "What" blamed I, "is up with this freaky wind that I abhor? Because, you see, I'm trying to rally, and over there, my friend, my pal, he Will soon be taking, I fear, a tally Each time I hit balls to a neighboring court. That I scarce can keep it in-bounds"-- I faced the fore-ground of my court;-- Wall and fence there, nothing more. Back to the game I tried to turn, the ache Of dread in my gut burned, But soon again I felt the presence Somewhat harsher than before. "May be" said I, "t'is a speculator Or a hopeful fellow player We just got here, M'am or sir! Now, Go and find another court! Do you hear me, man or woman?" I turned my head like as before. T'was the wind, and nothing more! Then this twenty-something fellow, a Pompous look on face so mellow Emerged from the shadows, I approached Him, leaving my racket on the floor. "For what you ask, I haven't got, see? And though I know you're doing your 'Job,'see, I won't repute thee, O Tennis Nazi! For having no ID, kicking kids off Courts. Well I won't abide to mundane Rules, thus I sit planted on this court!" Quoth the Nazi, "nevermore." But the Nazi stood purposefully; this Word caused my mood to sully This one word spoken, deafening my ears With decibals, it seemed, one thousand-four. No other words from his throat voiced-- This left me with no other choice--to Bring forth my defense, rejoice! "Others have let me stay before-- They aren't as calloused as some I know, Who've tried to boot me times before." Then the guy said "Nevermore." Angered by this word of nonsense, As if to mock my retort and defense, "No doubt," said I, "what he stutters is A symbol of his rancor. Forced by lack of tennis skill, a Predator, prowling for his kill Searching, lurking cardless students, to Kick off yet one player more-- So every "felon," and "lawbreaker" would Have to feel the pain he bore Of 'Never--nevermore."' But there he stood, and my blood curdled Sent my legs o'er fence I hurdled, Straight I pointed my short-nailed finger at All the surrounding empty courts; Then, I named off countless reasons Why his "rules" were so unseasoned Trying to fathom, thinking, wondering What this brainless man of bore-- What this dim, embittered, slave to rule Books, oh, this man of bore Meant in mumbling "Nevermore." This I stood, in hopes to beat him, thinking 'Maybe I can eat him' To this soul whose stupid reasons Scraped me silly to the core; After having retrieved my racket, I stared At his face, desiring to whack it Oh I pondered this sweet action, that I admit I would adore, But whose not sweet consequences would Give me troubles I'd not adore, He bugs me! ah, nevermore! Then, I thought, the air grew colder, Heightened by my voice now bolder Pushed at wit's end, to convince him To allow me to keep my court. "Dork," I cried, "Your boss has made You--by some spell, he has bade you, Along with your bitter motives, to remove Me from my court, Get a soda, and I tell you to Forget me and my court!" Quoth the nazi, "Nevermore." "Loser!" Said I, "thing of lameness! Loser still, at fault or blameless!-- Whether employer sent, or whether Your bitterness throws you to my court, All around me are courts a-plenty, all but Mine are bare and empty-- On this soil of cursed Nazis-- Leave me Alone, my court ignore! Will you?--is there hope among us?-- Tell me!" I asked in my uproar. Quoth the Nazi "Nevermore." "Be that word all you can say? Tennis Nazi, let me play! Go tell your boss That I care not and leave your rules At the door! Leave my tennis game you've Splintered, if I must I'll stay 'til winter,I stand my ground, You'd better sprint, here- I tell you now, I do deplore! Take thy name tag from my vision, and Thy footgear off my court!" Quoth the Nazi "Nevermore." And the Nazi, ne'r departing, is still Imparting, always imparting In the shadows in the foreground like An ever-present sore; And his eyes have all reflection of a Germ spreading infection, Spits forth on me cardless detection So I know he's by my court; And my anger that re-kindles every Time he nears my court Shall be lifted--nevermore!

The Raven Once upon a midnight dreary, while I Pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume Of forgotten lore- While I nodded, nearly napping, Suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping At my chamber door. “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “Tapping at my chamber door- Only this and nothing more.” Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the Bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought Its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; --vainly I Had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow- Sorrow for the lost Lenore- For the rare and radiant maiden whom The angels name Lenore- Nameless here for evermore. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic Terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my Heart, I stood repeating “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visitor entreating entrance At my chamber door;-- This it is and nothing more.” Presently my soul grew stronger; Hesitating then no longer, “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore’ But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, Tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you”- Here I opened wide the door;-- Darkness there and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my Soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat Louder than before. “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice Let me see, then, what thereat is, and This mystery explore- Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-- “’T’is the wind and nothing more!” Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad Fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the Countenance it wore, “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, “art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven Wandering from the Nightly shore- Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” But the Raven, sitting lonely on the Placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that One word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered -not a Feather then he fluttered- Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before- On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.” Then the bird said “nevermore.” Startled at the stillness broken By reply so aptly spoken, “Doubtless” said I, “what it utters Is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom Unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster Till His songs on burden bore- Till the dirges of his Hope that Melancholy burden bore Of ‘Never-nevermore.’” But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook Myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this Ominous bird of yore- What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, Gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking “nevermore.” This I sat engaged in guessing, but no Syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned Into my bosom’s core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion’s velvet lining that the Lamp-light gloated o’er, But whose velvet violet lining with the Lamp-light gloating o’er, She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, Perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls Tinkled on the tufted floor. “Wretch,” I cried, “Thy God hath lent thee-by these angels he hath sent thee Respite-respite and nepenthe from the Memories of Lenore, Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and Forget this lost Lenore!” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” “Prophet!” Said I, “thing of evil! Prophet still, if bird or devil!- Whether Tempest sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted- On this home by Horror haunted-tell me Truly, I impore- Is there-is there balm in Gilead?- Tell me-tell me, I implore!” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting- “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that Lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! -quit the Bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and Take thy form from off my door!” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” And the Raven, never flitting, still is Sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above My chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a Demon’s that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o’er him streaming Throws his shadow on the floor’ And my soul from out that shadow that Lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted-nevermore!