Now There's a Monologue

I have been bowled over by a poem. No, that's correct, you don't hear much about poetry coming from me. But this is the sort of poem that bursts forth when the tables are scattered with glasses, popcorn and peanut shells. I am convinced I could only ever recite it will under the heavy influence of alcohol.

Nevertheless, I want to be able to.

The Chaos, or A Poem on English Pronounciation.

You can read the full thing by following the link. I'll insert but a snippet here.

Dearest creature in creation,

Studying English pronunciation,

I will teach you in my verse

Sounds like corpse, corps, horse and worse.

It will keep you, Susy, busy,

Make your head with heat grow dizzy;

Tear in eye your dress you'll tear.

So shall I! Oh hear my prayer:

Pray console your loving poet,

Make my coat look new, dear, sew it.

Just compare heart, beard and heard,

Dies and diet, Lord and word.

Sword and sward, retain and Britain,

(Mind the latter, how it's written).

...

So while I was amused by testing my English pronounciation my thoughts drifted to the author or the poem: one Charivarius, (G.N. Trenite: 1870–1946). A quick Wikipedia search yielded that he was a Dutch scholar and that fanciful mocker was a pseudonym.

But, I do not intend to educate you but rather, amuse you. Are you amused? I am - constantly.

Let this poem be added to the list of things I Need To Do At A Bar One Day. For now I'll just bother my friends with it. The Lad should be pleased.