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The Limerickiad Volume III: Byron To Baudelaire
by Martin Rowson
(Smokestack Books, £9.99)
When our cartoonist tires of satire, he —
A bizarre form, you may say, of flattery —
Boils the great works of lit
Down to five lines of wit
Less a tribute, more assault and battery
On the icons of literary fiction.
But Rowson has ducked a conviction
For his versified crimes, al-
though some of his rhymes are
More barbarous than crucifixion.
On its journey to Baudelaire from Byron
This, the third in a series aspirin’
To go merrily trolling
From Homer to Rowling,
Runs no risk of its author acquirin’
The name of a mere poetaster
For this is the work of a master
Though his rhyming’s coerced
And his scansion’s the worst
That you’ve heard since The Tay Bridge Disaster.
(No McGonagall crops up in these verses;
Perhaps there’s no way to make worse his
Of the poetic muse
Or provoke half the volume of curses.)
He makes “Bronte sore arse” puns, quite shameless,
Reckons Thoreau’s an old ignoramus
Takes in Shelley — what larks! —
Plus old Engels and Marx
As a nod to proles both chained and chainless.
In short, it’s a real tour de force —
If oft’ner than not far too coarse
To read to your granny —
It’s of genius uncanny.
So buy it! I heartily endorse.
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