‘Not A Scam’ Poetry Review

Michael Parke, Staff Writer

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“A Sparrow duck duck duck duck

                      duck duck duck duck

                                                                               …duck—”

                                                                                                          —Rene Poptroplicus

We have the wonderful opportunity today to view a beautifully composed modern poem by Rene Poptroplicus, an internationally renowned poet from Greece. I had the chance to meet her at her grand mansion amidst the ruin of the rest of the country. This poem was “created in the arm of my cradle,” said Poptroplicus, “around which an ear of a hog was glued on.” 

Never were such complicated words as eloquently strung together in cohesive unison as Poptroplicus.’ With permission from the author, I will try to give an objective analysis: it starts off with beautiful imagery. When one reads “A Sparrow,” one can imagine the illustrious bird in mid-flight, about to spread the feathered bones that nature has graciously provided. Perhaps it is morning, a beautiful one, set against the dangerous orange glow that is ever ready to envelop the creature, or perhaps it is the afternoon, the bird possibly in peril, about to dive away from birdshot as most birds tend not to do. It is followed by a separation of time only till the awesome lines consisting of “duck” flood the scene with fervent frenzy. Notice, dear reader, how the “d” leads into the “u,” which leads into the “c,” which leads into the “k”. Notice how each element lends itself to a larger whole. Never has anyone dared to attempt such a remarkable feat in succession across two lines. And take the two lines: “duck duck duck duck/ duck duck duck duck.” They are perfectly rhymed, representing essential harmony between the two lines. Poptroplicus is lucky to have survived writing such a thing. She told me “Ten monks have tried before me. Only one told me the way.”

Finally, for maximum impact, she places “duck” after an ellipses of three carefully placed dots—dots that, if the observer catches it, starts twenty-one spaces from the placement of the last “d” in “duck” of the second line. Twenty-one is a sacred number, dividing into seven, three, two point one, an infinite amount of numbers. Amazing. The dots intensify the momentary disillusionment the readers feel when they reach the climax. An em dash follows—perhaps the bird survives the most dangerous of the two situations, or perhaps it really did get too close to the sun. The latter situation pays homage to Icarus, the boy wonder, a mythical Greek who flew too close to the sun. Readers hang on in suspense, their breaths taken away from the final goodbye, a goodbye which is incredibly powerful. Poptroplicus has shown us once again that the power of words lie in the hands of few.

 

 

 

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‘Not A Scam’ Poetry Review