ODE TO THE COPY DESK
By BEN HUR LAMPMAN, Special News and Editorial Writer on Oregonian
[Mr. Lampman, who takes time off his regular work occasionally to dash off a bright bit of rhyme and rhythm for fun, handed this to his friends on the Oregonian copy desk one day. The copy-slashers liked it so well that they showed it to the editor of Oregon Exchanges. And here it is.]
I used to hate all copy readers for their deeds,
They plucked my choicest phrases and left weeds;
But my free spirit was full oft contrary,
And so I sent them to the dictionary.
I wist not then how sinful was my mind,
How quite un-Christian and how much unkind,
That I should curse them by the seven bells
And relegate their souls to seven hells!
Poor lads, I did not know, I did not guess
With what fond, patient and indulgent tenderness
They placed a comma here, and there, perchance,
Wrote down “his trousers” and scratched out “his pants.”
I did not know, I did not, as I live,
How oft they nursed the split infinitive,
Or tearfully above their ardent work
Sighed to delete “meat-ax" and insert “the dirk,”
Or sometimes when the midnight chimes rang wild
Blue-penciled “brat” and made it read “her child.”
How was I, far aloof, to guess that they
Sprang to the atlas when some horn-rimmed jay,
In casual reference made the town of Bing
The princely seat and capital of Ping?
Or when some mad and effervescent wight
Insisted that tomorrow was tonight.
How could I know what sorrow thrilled them guys,
As fervently they muttered “Damn ’is eyes!”?
Poised was the pencil there above the sheet,
Poised as the wild kite poises o’er his meat—
If, as it fell, to tear a limb away,
Some deathless line—then who so sad as they?
A colum is a colum, none may string
It farther, and, of course, the head’s the thing!
What heads they gave my stories! I have wept
To see ’em sparkle over yarns inept!
Allah was kind to me, he brought the light—
I almost like the news room gang tonight!
