Brian Rejack (Illinois State University) and Mike Theune (Illinois Wesleyan University)
AKA: the hosts of This Week in Keats
Re: Keats’s September 1817 letter to John Hamilton Reynolds
A few weeks back, we promised a co-written poem–written in the style of Keats’s verses on Oxford–detailing our adventures while visiting Oxford in July 2015. It took us a while to perfect our comic genius, but we’re pretty confident that perfection has now been achieved.
For a bit of context, both of us spent time studying at Oxford in our earlier days (we’ll not specifying when exactly, in order to preserve mystery about our ages–vanity thy names are Rejack and Theune!). When we visited Oxford two years ago, it was the first time either of us had been back since our time spent there many years prior. So we did our best to visit some of our old haunts and relive the glory days. And without further ado, behold our poem!
THE OXFORD FILES; OR, MIKE AND BRIAN ROCK THE OX!
When Mike beheld the Freud,
His heart was overjoyed,
For he fondly recalled nights spent tippling;
Ah! then the drinks were flowing,
The dance moves were glowing,
Although the booze’s effects were crippling.
This time around, sadly,
The boys timed things badly,
And arrived before noon, too soon for cocktails.
Off they went to the pub,
Since they needed some grub–
Perhaps as well a pint or two of stock ales.
Then Brian gazed north,
Where they soon ventured forth,
For Jude the Obscure a-beckoned to them.
No, not poor Jude the man,
Hardy’s luckless orphan,
But the tavern named by those who knew him.
There was plenty of beer,
And plenty of cheer,
And, for Brian and Mike, no reason to grouse.
Once they became sated,
As it had been fated,
Our heroes approached the Phoenix Picture House!
As we and you see,
One movie was Amy.
But since they’d seen that tragic tear-jerker,
(Both wept a lot),
They fled the spot
And entered the Bridge to get berserk… er.
Next day Mike left the shire,
Thanks to a cabby for hire,
And he sought the grounds of hallowed Guy’s—
Hospital, that is,
Where Johnny Keats spent his
Youth among sawbones and patients’ loud cries.
Where a bronzed statue sits,
For new, patient visits,
One might repose beside the young master.
Thus in so placing his brain,
Mike felt a bit less pain,
And all the dark world seemed less a disaster.
While Mike went to London,
Brian got his flight on,
And soared on the viewless wings of a plane.
For he sat in coach,
And felt like a roach,
Nor could he escape like David Blaine.
So he sat in his seat,
With some cardboard to eat,
While his airship sent him to the States.
He touched down in CO
(Short for Colorado),
And with great speed passed by all the gates.
Why this reason for haste,
From this young man of taste?
Well, fair reader, he was making a bee-line,
To two furry friends,
Upon whom he depends,
And, yes, they are of the genus feline.
We must leave you here,
Our readers so dear,
For our poem’s gotten silly, weird, and long.
But the heroes got home,
After quite a great roam,
And brought you this gift: a duty-free song.