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A Poem after the fashion of Pangur Bán
May. 29th, 2024 10:33 pm So this is from a while ago, and it is fashioned after an old poem of a cat and a monk, which I repurposed to pay compiments to my Obble and make her laugh. She is the Obble to me (and I the Obel to her) because Mike referred to us as a pair of Obelisks once and we kept it because we were charmed. (It's from a Dorothy Sayers book in which a character refers to "obelisks -- you know, ladies who aren't quite respectable" when the word actually wanted was "odalisques".). Anyhow, here, have a poem. It's all still quite true.
There is true beauty in a cat
It’s clear that that’s where Beauty’s at
A cat with fan in silky paws
(Painted like your girls françoise)
But Beauty loves like company
And so a cat you oft will see
Curled up close by my Obble’s side
With rolling purr or yawn so wide
Thus art lives in the living flesh
That aims of art and heart may mesh
So wonder not what poets meant
No masterpiece, no monument,
No muse, I say, you’ll ever find
Cavorting through the artist’s mind,
In marble carved, nor fired in bisque
Has beauty like my Obelisk
Except a cat.
And that
Is that.
