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The What Sort Are You? Post by :generalhan Category :Poems Author :Edmund Vance Cooke Date :October 2011 Read :746

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The What Sort Are You?

"How much do you want for your A. Street lot?"
Said a real estate man to me.
I looked as if I were lost in thought
And then I replied: "Let's see;--
Black's sold last year at fifty the foot
And without using algebra that should put
My figure at sixty now, I guess,
Or a trifle more, or a trifle less."
I was anxious to sell at fifty straight,
Or I might have been glad of forty-eight.
Oh, yes, I'm a bit of a bluff, it's true;
What sort of a bluff are you?

"And what do you think of these railroad rates?"
The man with a bald brow said,
"For you have travelled through all the states
And have heard a good deal and read."
"The railroad lines," I wisely replied
"Are the lines with which our trade is tied,
And the wretches who take their rebates set
New knots in the bonds under which we fret."
But, now I remember, I once rode free
And forgot that the road rebated me!
Oh, yes, I'm a bit of a bluff, its true;
How much of a bluff are you?

"You've been to hear 'Siegfried' and found it fine?"
Cried a classical friend one day.
"I'm sure your impressions accord with mine,
But I want your own words and way.
And, oh, "the tone-color beats belief,"
And, oh, "dynamics," and oh, "motif,"
And "chiar-oscura, how finely abstruse,"
And oh, la-la-la, and oh, well, what's the use?
For the only thing I understood in the play
Was that dippy, old dragon of papier-maché.
Oh, yes, I'm a bit of a bluff, it's true;
What style of a bluff are you?

"And the senator should, you believe, be returned?"
Said a newspaper-man to me.
"He's as rotten a rascal as ever burned,"
I said. "May I quote?" asked he.
"Oh, no," I replied, "if you're going to quote,
Just remark that his friends are regretting to note
That the exigencies of the party case
Indicate that he shouldn't re-enter the race."
For the senator sometime may possibly be
Interviewed by a newspaper-man about me.
No, none of these cases may quite fit you,
But what sort of a bluff are you?

(The end)
Edmund Vance Cooke's poem: What Sort Are You?

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The Critics The Critics

The Critics
As a matter of fact, I am sure I can act, And so, When I go, To the show, Not the art of an Irving Seems wholly deserving, And though Booth were the star He'd have many a jar, If he heard the critique Which I frequently speak,

The Whet The Whet

The Whet
The day that I loaf when I ought to employ it Has, somehow, the flavor which makes me enjoy it. So the man with no work He may joyously shirk I envy no more than I do the Grand Turk. He most is in need of a holiday, who, In this workaday world, has no duty to do.