A Parody on a Poem by
James Clerk Maxwell
“The fool asks questions the wise cannot answer.”
And so they sat, obsessed with poems,
On their literate asses, so wise and grave,
now transformed to literary lions,
As round their prey they rant and rave.
Thus, by a swift metamorphosis,
Their wisdom becomes a poetic joke,
Fragmentation is incense to their noses,
For when these lions speak, they smoke.
That’s Nonsense! Cry the literary lions,
From them, the wise, all wisdom learn,
And what we’ve said they call absurd,
Against our ranks they boldly turn.
And yet, what combinations of ideas,
Nonsense alone can wisely form!
What sage has half the power as we
To take the towers of poems by storm?
Yield, then, ye rules of rigid reason!
Dissolve, thou too, too solid sense!
Melt into “Nonsense” for a season,
Then in some nobler form condense.
Soon, all too soon, on the chilly morning,
This flow of thoughts will crystallize,
Then those who “Nonsense” now are scorning,
May learn, too late, where wisdom lies.
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