Kriticism (I can do that too)

The following was my attempt at critiquing a poem submitted to a
mailing list a while back. I won't reveal the original poet's name as
he's very famous now and I don't want to embarrass him.

> iggle winky slinky shoe
> angly nanky shroom
> mamble stranky danky drew
> flickly fucky foom

Hmmm. Well, in my opinion, the third line shows a spark of definite
promise from this young man. One does rather feel a certain absence of
pancreas here, but with a little more age and experience I'm quite
certain this will be forthcoming. All in all, an uneven attempt, but
augurs well for the future. I am certain we'll be hearing a lot more of
this talented young poet in the future. Jeremy?

Well, I'd just like to say I was enthralled by this, from beginning to
end. It's true there is no pancreas in this verse, but you see, Aubrey,
I think that's the whole point. No, I do. The way I read it, there's a
definite
statement here. In a strange sort of way, I think the writer is in
rebellion - a hopeless rebellion, of course - against the whole notion
of pancreas being at the centre of our experience of life. He's saying:
"why pancreas? why not (to pose a random example) egg custard?" - and I
think that message comes across loud and clear, particularly in the
last line. If you...

But, Jeremy...

Yes, I'm sorry, Carol, you wanted to say something?

Well, yes, I just wanted to say that really, I think all this pancreas
talk is really a side issue...

Oh, come on!

No, honestly! If I can just say what I.. well, let's just stop for a
moment and think about this. Here we are, all sitting here talking
about
pancreases, but out there, there are people, just ordinary average
people, people who go to work and come home from work, people who are
single mothers perhaps. I think that's really what this poem says to
me, on a very personal level. Surely it's saying "Damn your pancreas! I
want something more from
life than just a pancreas."
That's why...

But that is precisely the point I was making, Carol! You see, in a kind
of metaphysical way, or to coin a phrase "meta-pancreal" way, should I
say, I think we are all ultimately victims of our own pancreas. If you
take, for
example, the first line of this poem...

[exit Swedish terrorist pursued by an ocelot]