Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Mis-typed Poem By Wallace Stevens (with footnotes)




Smuyhijnh Id Nrsuyigul Ig Yiy Dsy Iy Id


Imfrt yjr ;rhlsnyimr

Yhr gtrgul[1] vonvubimr

Dsoof “ Ojonn$ Ojoo$”

Dhr ehidprtrf “Ohgh$”


Yjr Frmo=nomfr

Pm yjr nrddonomr[2]

Dsif ;Oojry@; roo

Smf s “Jrh=fo=U=fo@”


Rge vee nay jsbr sll derry[3]

got jid jonru-jibr-i.

grom the rgslinyimr=o,


Smf yrj vhsmfolirtd str nrsy, , ,

buy tjrit minhion. mstnidh glstiry[4]

Er str bolf, yjr [sttoyd vtirf.

Im a olace do frbomsit.


Rjr Hojsnidnrthrt, Jsmd

U kive yhe berrek fraoes,

Yjr tudyly nsyyyrt djsprd[5]

Ig yjr irstd snf ig yhr vhrrdr.


Smf yjr einfoe;d lrmom lohjy[6]

Tjr brtu eill og yjr merbes.

Yjr vtsvk svtidd yhr psinr

Yhr firt skibh thr fukk.








[1] There is fear somewhere here. I do not respect the function of this room.

[2] There is no room for us here on the mezzanine or even on the 2nd floor.

[3] I imagine you still taste as sweet.

[4] How you play your marbles like music, simple yet melodic.

[5] Your father is rusty, your mother busty, and you look like neither of them at all.

[6] This cake is lemon and has always been lemon. Your strawberries are stupid.