Meyran Kraus

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Original text in yellow, anagram in pink.

Three angles to The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

[Paraphrase of a quote from the book 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland']

The Cat sprang a vast grin when it saw Alice. It looked droll, she noted, yet bared major claws and strong, even teeth, so she favored addressing it with an honorable air.

"Cheshire Puss," she began, very nervy as she didn't know if it'd be fond of that name; however, it only grinned a bit broader. "Be brave and talk, it's all well," she thought, and asked, "Do tell - what road shall I take from here?"

"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.

"Oh, it won't bother me where--" said Alice.

"Then it won't matter which way you go," it said blandly.

"--as long as I get SOMEWHERE," she added.

"Oh, you're bound to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."

[Alteration of 'The Road Not Taken', as it would've been written by Oscar Wilde]

La route abandonee

 O lavishness of leaves and knotted crowns!
 I waddled through, led by a pilgrim's vow
 Yet settled 'neath an oak's o'erhanging bough,
Where twin trails broadly stretched ahead and down.
What way to go? The right-hand I surveyed,
 That highly wary voyagers forsook,
 Where downcast willows sobbed into the brook
That teased and glistened like a polished jade;
 And to the left -- grand noise of modern place
  And carol of a troupe rose through that trail...
   Ah God! Is there an errand bleak as this?
 As twin ways branched, I chose one goal: the vale
  And quiet heaven, but my foolish pace,
   It drummed the anthem of the one I missed!

[An added epilog showing how the above efforts were made, done by Mey K.]

The ode was harder than it looks.
It's sluggish task, to juggle words;
It stunned to learn how long it took -
Enough to read a Tolstoy book,
Or view the life of ladybirds.
These heavy chores, on either hand:
The one - an Alice quote to cram
Into the gap already planned -
Was not too hard, but it's ranked bland,
An undemanding anagram;
The other - sonnet, as by Wilde;
I had to dabble as the Bard
(The craft I've practised as a child)
And ape the way his verse was styled -
A worthy clone, one could regard...
But I shan't dwell in vanity -
There's no facade that's shallower.
Two works I've done, and as for me,
I love the latter - light and free.
I am no bard, though wish I were.

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All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here in my arms
Words are very
They can only do harm.

(Depeche Mode)

We heard heavenly rhymes as they conveyed a dream world - one so real and unmarred, it's perceived merely in silence.

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Cleaning Out My Closet

Have you ever been hated, or discriminated against?
I have. I've been protested and demonstrated against
Picket signs for my wicked rhymes, look at the times,
Sick is the mind, of the mother fuckin' kid that's behind
All this commotion, emotions, run deep as oceans, explodin',
Tempers flarin' from parents, just blow 'em off and keep goin'
Not takin' nothin' from no one give 'em hell as long as I'm breathin'
Keep kicking ass in the mornin' and taking names in the evenin'
Leavin' with the taste of sourest vinegar in their mouth
See, they can trigger me, but they'll never figure me out
Look at me now, I'll bet you're probably sick of me now
Ain't ya, mama? I'ma make you look so ridiculous now!

I got some skeletons in my closet, and I don't know if noone knows it
So before they throw me inside my coffin and close it, I'ma expose it
I'll take you back to '73,
Before I ever had a multi-platinum selling CD
I was a baby, maybe I was just a couple a months
My faggot father must had his panties up in a bunch,
'Cause he split - I wonder if he even kissed me goodbye
No I don't, on second thought I just fuckin' wished he would die
I look at Hailie, and I couldn't picture leavin' her side
Even if I hated Kim, I'd grit my teeth and I'd try
To make it work with her, at least for Hailie's sake, I maybe made some mistakes,
But I'm only human, but I'm man enough to face 'em today
What I did was stupid, no doubt it was dumb,
But the smartest shit I did was take them bullets out of that gun,
'Cause I'da killed 'em, shit I would have shot kim an' them both
It's my life, I'd like to welcome y'all to the Eminem Show

Now I would never diss my own mama just to get recognition
Take a second to listen for you think this record is dissin'
But put yourself in my position, just try to envision
Witnessin' your mama poppin' prescription pills in the kitchen,
Bitchin' that someone's always goin' through her purse and shit's missin'
Going through public housing systems, victim of Munchausen Syndrome
My whole life I was made to believe I was sick when I wasn't,
Till I grew up, now I blew up, it makes you sick to your stomach, doesn't it?
Wasn't it the reason you made that CD for me, Ma?
So you could try to justify the way you treated me, Ma?
But guess what, you're gettin' older now and it's cold and you're lonely
And Nathan's growing up so quick, he's gonna know that you're phony
And Hailie's getting so big now, you should see her, she's beautiful
But you'll never see her, she won't even be at your funeral
See, what hurts me the most is you won't admit you was wrong
Bitch, do ya song, keep tellin' yourself that you was a mom!
But how dare you try to take what you didn't help me to get, you selfish bitch,
I hope you fuckin' burn in hell for this shit!
Remember when Ronnie died, and you said you wished it was me?
Well guess what, I am dead, dead to you as can be!

I'm sorry Mama
I never meant to hurt you
I never meant to make you cry,
But tonight, I'm cleaning out my closet.

Woody Allen
Choking On My Kugel

Did you ever have a voice in your head?
Mine's in Yiddish, and it recounts those times when I wet my bed.
It's curious, but still - the best behaviourists in New York
Can't figure out why I swoon every time I sniff pork
Or walk by German cars; but screw these shysters - now I don't need them!
I've truly found the tragic issues lurking behind these symptoms.
It happened yesterday eve, when I wanted to watch the tide;
I took a timeout and walked peacefully along the seaside,
Till I remembered what I had to do (and swiftly went glum) -
Visit my mom, for the quite urgent task of pitting some plums.
Then it hit me, when I was about to leap off a jetty:
Could I be victim of the vicious, whiny south-Brooklyn Yeti,
The one who made me? It isn't such an impossibility,
Is it, mom? Hey, don't you throw the Books of Samuel at me!

Follow me if you can, Manic Mom, down memory lane
When your 'devoted parenting' has caused me sharp bowel pains:
For almost two weeks you kept tossing pumpkin pies down my chute
Just so I'd fit in uncle Moishe's massive Synagogue suit.
I also can't forget you confiscating my plastic Slinky,
Cutting it up into confetti just because "It sounds kinky";
Thinking that Halloween kids visiting were Ku Klux Klan members -
My god, you even locked one in a cupboard till late December;
And against my wishes, I'd note your most hopping-mad tantrum,
When you caught me reading Hegel, which I stashed in the bathroom;
Sending me out in a butyl rubber suit when it rained;
Prohibiting me to eye women, as "they eat young men's brains";
Those weary, miserable 'oy' sighs, and your shushing, to boot -
I mean, until I turned eighteen, I thought my dad was a mute!

Oh, don't feign tears, mom - no time for simulated emotions
I have this newly burning need to fix few of your false notions:
Immanuel Kant ISN'T "just some goy monkey";
The Kimbell Art Museum will NOT turn me into a junky;
'Nouvelle Cuisine' is NOT a social disease,
And I am almost certain Gandhi WASN'T Vietnamese;
Plus, let me make it clear this one last time for you, Oh Hurtful Nutcase:
No, all dilemmas CAN'T be solved by cooking potato latkes!
The fear of communist invasion of an old woman's home?
That's idiotic - even if they weren't "Korean gnomes".
But this hard, racist hatred doesn't stop here -
Some Jewish people are now 'heathens' if they don't like your Seer...
Get a grip, mom, I think rabbi Habakkuk is a kook;
He couldn't tie his own shoelaces, let alone read a book;
I can't believe it, mother - you thought Mia Farrow was weird,
But you will praise a morphine addict with a seven foot beard?
In any case, do you recall that foolish thing you once said?
If I take in a child who's Asian, then you'd rather be dead?
Take out the secret capsule, mom - not only did I adopt her,
But I'm so keen to spite you, I'm now *dating* my Shiksa daughter!

Oy, mommaleh
I am immune to guilt trips...
I must dismiss your wounded sobs, and turn down
Another bowl of Kishke.

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Updated: May 10, 2016


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