Richard Brodie

Anagrammy Awards > Literary Archives > Richard Brodie

Original text in yellow, anagram in pink.

Job 2:3

And the LORD said unto Satan, Hast thou considered my servant Job, that there is none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil? and still he holdeth fast his integrity, although thou movedst me against him, to destroy him without cause.

If one's a marked man, and God has you in his sights, just throw in the towel and give it up, because nothing that you'd ever do can stop his course from it: from the death and the torture and the harm and the maiming and all the vile hell that he has in store. It's thy test to teach thee. Handle it!

Return to Richard Brodie Index

Two acrostic poems made into anagrams of each other.

Lewis Carroll

"Are you deaf, Father William!" the suitor did yell,
"Do you hear what I said, you old man?
"Evade not my shouting! say not just "Farewell!"
"Look alive! Come, help salvage my plan.
"A chaste little wench (Where? in Wallington Town),
"Is my friend, so I'll beg to remark:
"Do you think she'd be pleased if my book were sent down
"Entitled 'The Hunt of the Snark?'"

"Pack it up in brown paper!" the old man cried,
"And seal it with olive-and-dove.
"I'll command you to do so!" he stated with pride,
"Nor forget, my good fellow to send her beside
"Easter Greetings, and give her my love."

Virginia Clemm Poe
to Edgar Allan Poe

Ever with you baby, I'd want to roam -
   Dearest my life's all too good!
Get me a cottage, my fine country home,
   And a rich door of old oaken wood,
Remote from that world with its load of care, kid,
   And its unkind and insipid talk.
Love always shall bind us when up there we're hid -
   Long in each other's arms shall we lock;
   And the time I divinely may spend.
Never wishing that others my rhapsody see,
Perfect ease we'll enjoy, without thinking to lend
Ourselves to the loony world, to its rude glee -
Ever peaceful and blissful, we'll deity be!

Click here to see the original versions of each poem, plus several anagrammatic treatments of them by Meyran Kraus.

Return to Richard Brodie Index

A comment concerning the Greek island upon which Rupert Brooke had recently been buried, made by one of his fellow officers.

Coming from Alexandria yesterday, we passed Rupert's island at sunset. The sea and sky in the East were grey and misty; but it stood out in the West, black and immense, with a crimson glowing halo around it. Every colour had come into the sea and sky to do him honour; and it seemed that the island must ever be shining with the glory that we buried there.

Rupert Brooke Gravesite

O set my marker in the sylvan stand,
Under the limbs that calmly weep and sway
Beside the somnolent Aegean strand,
Whereunder did my dust mix in with clay
That hid his bones who menaced Minotaurs.
Ye too on this white island coast did die;
Aye, let our fame grow to outshine the stars!
To Theseus, thou great Grecian king, and I!

Return to Richard Brodie Index

An untitled sonnet attributed to a Dr. J. A. Alexander, from the section entitled "Superiority of Saxon English" in "Development of English Literature and Language" (1888) by Alfred H. Welsh.
In addition to containing exactly 140 one-syllable words, it has the unusual rhyme pattern: ababcbc, repeated. By contrast, the anagram employs as many "big, round words" and "sleek, fat phrases" as possible. Each line tends to contain fewer letters, since there are naturally more open syllables in polysyllabic words than there are in a collection of monosyllabic ones. The result is that the anagram consists of two additional lines, with the pattern augmented to: ababcbcb.

Superiority of Saxon English

Think not that strength lies in the big, round word,
Or that the brief and plain must needs be weak.
To whom can this be true who once has heard
The cry for help, the tongue that all men speak,
When want, or fear, or woe, is in the throat,
So that each word gasped out is like a shriek
Pressed from the sore heart, or a strange, wild note,
Sung by some fay or fiend? There is a strength,
Which dies if stretched to far, or spun too fine,
Which has more height than breadth, more depth than length.
Let but this force of thought and speech be mine,
And he that will, make take the sleek, fat phrase
Which glows, but burns not, though it beam and shine,
Light, but no heat - a flash, but not a blaze.

Oh! Singularity of Expression

With elocution snobbish, puissance
Peacockish and effete methinks be found;
The kind that's heard with fawning sycophants:
That oral intercourse that doth resound
With elegant aristocratic phrase.
To orators disdainful doth redound
Much adulation, hear their mawkish praise.
The babble and the weighty words astound!
To brag with knowledge esoteric hath
The pedant, to amaze, himself bethought.
Thee, simple speaker, get to feel the wrath
When meaning from that breathy fluff be sought.
The error be to think that when he gabs
He's rather helpful. Oh that's wrong! He's not.
Another error: thinking, when he blabs,
Men fete the rants. Mere gall! he's not so hot.

Return to Richard Brodie Index

In J.K. Rowling's first book, "The Sorcerer's Stone", Harry Potter enters a secret street in London called Diagon Alley (diagonally), not accessible to Muggles, where wizards purchase their supplies. On this street there is a bank known as Gringotts, with silver doors inside leading to the underground vaults. Upon them is engraved a poem that serves as a warning to would-be robbers.
In the book the poem is untitled, but I have chosen one for it. Note the double meanings in both titles: equity = value/justice; and square = wide place in a street/even the score.

Gringotts Equity

Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.

Diagon Alley Square

If beneath our bank you yearn
To nab our money, we return
The grievous, arrant, horrid deed
With suff'ring - Ah, that's guaranteed!
Whenever you with us dare tinker
Bitter woe's the statement, stinker!
Fearsome wages to thee post.
Off! theft's not safe: rob here, you're toast!

Return to Richard Brodie Index

Return to Poem Page

Updated: May 10, 2016


 | The Anagrammy Awards | Enter the Forum | Facebook | The Team


 | Awards Rules | Forum FAQ | Anagrams FAQ | History | Articles


 | Anagram Artist Software | Generators | On-line | Books | Websites


 | Winners | Nominations | Hall of Fame | Anagrammasia | Literary | Specials


 | Vote | Current Nominations | Leader Board | Latest Results | Old Results | Rankings


 | Tribute Page | Records | Sitemap | Search | Anagram Checker | Email Us | Donate

Anagrammy Awards

  © 1998-2018