For my own retirement party, 03 Nov 2012
Apologies to Edgar Allan Poe
| Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, bleak and bleary, |
| Over many a faint and phoney answer to a midterm question, |
| While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, |
| As of someone gently rapping, capping off my indigestion. |
| "'Tis some student," then I muttered, "capping off my indigestion -- |
| Seeking answers to the question." |
| Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in a wet November, |
| And my dying mental ember wrote some words upon a page. |
| Dreading then tomorrow's lecture, vainly I had sought to hector |
| From my writing some wise vector that would make me seem the sage -- |
| Make at least a feeble gesture thus to earn an honest wage, |
| Negating the effects of age. |
| And the silly sad mistaken midterm answers did awaken |
| Dark despair and desperation I had never felt before; |
| So that now, to stop the sinking of my heart, I stood there thinking, |
| "'Tis some offer to go drinking there outside my office door -- |
| Some sad colleague tired of thinking, knocking on my office 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 office door, |
| That I scarce was sure I heard you." -- here I opened wide the door. |
| Darkness there, and nothing more. |
| Deep into that darkness staring, long I stood there scowling, swearing, |
| Wond'ring who decided unused lighting was a mortal sin; |
| But the darkness was unbroken, and the hallway gave no token, |
| And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Again?" |
| This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Again!" |
| To my sustainable chagrin. |
| Back into my office turning, indigestion fiercer burning, |
| Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than the last. |
| "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice: |
| Let me see, then, what thereat is, putting this annoyance past -- |
| Let my stomach still a moment while I put this in the past; |
| Then I'll take antacids, fast!" |
| Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, |
| In there stepped a scruffy parrot from a pirate film grotesque; |
| Not the least obeisance made he; not a moment stopped or stayed he; |
| But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my cluttered desk -- |
| Perched upon a Feynman poster just above my cluttered desk -- |
| Perched, and sat there, statuesque. |
| Then this raunchy bird beguiling my sad scowling into smiling |
| By the colourful profiling of the countenance it wore, |
| "Though thy orange plumes I stare at, thou," I said, "art sure no carrot, |
| Smelly, bold and silly parrot wandering from the Carib shore -- |
| Tell me what thy pirate name is on the Caribbean shore!" |
| Quoth the Parrot, "Nevermore." |
| Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, |
| Though its answer little meaning -- little relevancy bore; |
| For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being |
| Ever yet was blest with seeing bird on Hennings' thirdmost floor -- |
| Bird or beast upon the poster here on Hennings' thirdmost floor, |
| With such name as "Nevermore." |
| But the parrot, sitting lonely on the poster there, spoke only |
| That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. |
| Nothing further then he uttered -- not a feather then he fluttered -- |
| Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Fantasies have flown before -- |
| On the morrow he will leave me, as my wits 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 one burden bore -- |
| Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore |
| Of 'Never -- nevermore'." |
| But the Parrot still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, |
| Straight I wheeled an office chair in front of Feynman, 'cross the floor; |
| Then upon the cushion sinking, I betook myself to linking |
| Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this raucous bird of yore -- |
| What this rainbow-colored, fat, ridiculous, clownish bird of yore |
| Meant in croaking "Nevermore." |
| This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing |
| To the fowl whose gaudy plumage gave impressions of burlesque; |
| This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining |
| On neglected printouts pining there upon my cluttered desk, |
| A pitiful pile of ancient data damning me from on my desk, |
| Demanding writeup, Kafkaesque! |
| Then methought the air grew colder as I gazed upon the folder |
| Full of formulae and figures that confused me to the core. |
| "Wretch," I cried, "what colleague sent thee thus to mock me and torment me? |
| Theory, please let me invent thee -- grant me insight, I implore! |
| When will I analyze this data, know the purpose it was for?" |
| Quoth the Parrot, "Nevermore." |
| "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird or devil! -- |
| Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, |
| Desolate yet all undaunted, here where wiser minds are wanted -- |
| Where intelligence is flaunted -- tell me truly, I implore -- |
| What the hell's a Luttinger liquid? Tell me -- tell me, I implore!" |
| Quoth the Parrot, "Nevermore." |
| "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil -- prophet still, if bird or devil! |
| By the ghost of Feynman -- by the intellect of Phil and Bill -- |
| Tell this fading fake if ever, even if I lecture never |
| And my service duties sever, with a valiant act of will, |
| If I can understand my data, write it up and publish still." |
| Quoth the Parrot, "Never will." |
| "Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting -- |
| "Get thee back into the tempest and the soggy, soaking shore! |
| Leave no orange plume as token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! |
| Leave my lethargy unbroken! -- quit my poster, out my door! |
| Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form out from my door!" |
| Quoth the Parrot, "Nevermore." |
| And the Parrot, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting |
| On the phallic Feynman poster just above my desk and more; |
| And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, |
| And the neon 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! |
| ************************************************************** |
| Well, that sad ending kind of sucks. How about this . . . |
| . . . alternate ending: |
| And the Parrot, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting |
| On the phallic Feynman poster overlooking my workstation; |
| And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is scheming |
| My demise; but he is dreaming! I ignore his accusation, |
| Focusing on fishing, track and fiction now in combination |
| On my permanent vacation! |