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I meant to make a laudatory post last week to the effect that, where other than The New Yorker might you find a smart, funny, informative article on a literary figure as obscure as Alfred Lord Dunsany

I took that test when we applied to adopt! Picture was from the 30's: any idiot could tell that you were supposed to translate the stallion and the shirtless man in the picture into something sexual.

Mitchell is right on this precise point, though: as a classical music fan, I find its use in classical venues to be an outrage.

Yes, absolutely.

 

I really am not exactly a poet. We call it deadline poetry, but I guess verse is what it really is. Sometimes people write into The Nation to complain about one of my poems, and they usually do it in rhyme, or what they think is rhyme. So I’m often comforted by this, because just when I think I’m the worst poet in the world, I’m presented with evidence to the contrary.

 

 

And here's a food/politics example from the last election.

 

CUISINE DIVERSITY

If Rubio, Jindal, or Haley or Rice

Got put on the ticket by Romney as vice,

Republicans possibly then could entice

Some voters who like to eat food that has spice

And not stick with voters who think that a slice

Of white bread’s the food that will always suffice.

 

 

The joke is that everyone, including the writer, knows it's terrible. I don't find it a very hilarious joke myself, but it's definitely a joke.

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I'm sort of sympathetic to the cited tweets asking why an old white man gets to publish not terribly funny or technically accomplished verse in The New Yorker. I too appreciated much of Trillin's prose journalist, but I don't feel that ought to give him licence to publish his verse in what's perhaps the most prestigious platform for poetry in the United States.

 

Of course, much of Andy Borowitz's stuff in The New Yorker is rather unfunny Liberal Dad humour that probably wouldn't be published if it wasn't by Andy Borowitz...

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As Wilf noted, Trillin has been posting his humorous doggerel for decades (although it used to be in The Nation rather than the New Yorker).

 

Neocon, what did you think of the year-end doggerels that Roger Angell used to have published in the New Yorker every year?

 

(A couple of years ago, after a long hiatus, Angell appeared in David Remnick's office out of the blue with a new one. Remnick said he wouldn't have been happier if someone had appeared with an unpublished manuscript by James Joyce.)

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I'm sort of sympathetic to the cited tweets asking why an old white man gets to publish not terribly funny or technically accomplished verse in The New Yorker. I too appreciated much of Trillin's prose journalist, but I don't feel that ought to give him licence to publish his verse in what's perhaps the most prestigious platform for poetry in the United States.

 

Of course, much of Andy Borowitz's stuff in The New Yorker is rather unfunny Liberal Dad humour that probably wouldn't be published if it wasn't by Andy Borowitz...

 

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