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This is a parody on Poe'sThe Raven written during one of the endless classes I took while earning my Master's degree in Epidemiology. |
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The Maven
by Bret Funk
Once upon a morning dreary, while I listened weak and weary
To a lecture given by some doctoral bore
My head was nodding, I was napping, when suddenly I heard a clapping
And I knew that what was happening was the class was finally o’er
“Tis a miracle,” I muttered, “That this class is finally o’er–
But alas, I have two more!”
Ah, distinctly I remember, how the class restrained its temper,
And each single separate member forced his way out of the door.
Reluctantly, I stood to follow, hoping vainly by tomorrow
In my books to find some science, the subject I adore.
But that rare and radiant subject that I truly do adore
In public health cannot endure
Then a sudden shadow’s moving, without a single warning
Thrilled me, Filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
“Tis some professor who wants only this classroom to explore
Some strange teacher entreating entrance at the classroom door.
This it is, and nothing more.”
Presently, my soul grew stronger, hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, for my last class was exacting,
Then suddenly you were standing, standing ere the classroom door,
And I scare was sure I heard you–” Here I opened wide the door
Darkness there and nothing more
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there doubting, fearing
Hoping, dreaming of an subject full of logic, science, more
Than just the words that they have spoken, whose meanings give no token
Of what is meant. Now broken was the silence by the query “Is there more?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back, “I am not sure.”
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the classroom turning, all my anger in me burning,
Soon again I saw a shadow, somewhat closer than before,
“Surely,” said I, “that is something in a presentation
From a near computing station. Of that I am quite sure.
I’ll unplug the damn computer and this mystery explore
Tis Powerpoint and nothing more.”
Ere I went I felt a shudder, for with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately woman I had often seen before;
Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;
But with mien of Lord or Lady stood upon the classroom floor;
Stood behind a wooden podium upon the classroom floor.
Stood, and stared, and nothing more.
Then this scrawny girl beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance she wore,
“I thought this was my haven! And yet,” said I, “you still just came in,
Ghastly grim and ancient Maven of this public health school course.
Please tell me if this program will get better or get worse!”
Quoth the Maven, “It will get worse.”
Much I marveled this professor, to hear her state so plainly,
That this MPH no meaning, little relevancy bore.
For we cannot help agreeing that the Public Health School’s teeming,
With courses that are seeming to be intellectually poor,
Course–and students–seeming to be intellectually poor.
Why am I here? – I am not sure
But the Maven, standing lonely hind the podium spoke only,
Those four words, though in my soul I knew that she had more.
For definitions she has plenty, though terms but one and twenty,
And I demanded of her hotly, “Are these meanings now secure?
Or by the morrow will these words be different than before?”
Quoth the Maven, “I am not sure.”
Startled into stillness by her statement calmly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “What you utter is but what you’ve heard before.
Taught by some poor professor who I’m sure you used to pester,
Like some comical court jester till his speech one burden bore.
Till the topic of his lectures that single burden bore,
Of ‘Really, I’m not sure.’”
But the Maven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I placed a plastic chair in front of her upon the floor.
Then upon the plastic sinking, I betook myself to linking,
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous girl of yore,
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous girl of yore
Meant by saying, ‘I’m not sure’
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing,
To the girl whose devil eyes now nailed me to the classroom floor.
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining,
On the charcoal grey exterior of my TI-84.
But the graphing capabilities of my TI-84,
Are used for science – nevermore.
Then methought the air grew tenser, for my statements had incensed her
And my impulse was to press her for the answers I deserved
“Wretch,” I cried, “No God hath sent thee, none but Lucifer commands thee
Respite! Oh, give me back my freedom you insufferable bore!
Forget your alpha levels and your incidence report!”
Quoth the Maven, “Nevermore”
“Professor,” said I, “Thing of evil!– Professor still if girl or devil
Whether Tempter sent, or whether ill-fortune brought you through my door,
Desolate yet still undaunted, for your knowledge unsurmounted,
Can release my horror haunted by decisions made before.
Does this, does this serve a purpose? Tell me – Tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Maven, “I am not sure.”
“Professor,” said I, “thing of evil – Professor still if girl or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore–
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, before my graduation
I shall have but one occasion to use that subject I adore–
Just one single soul occasion to use science. Just once more!”
Quoth the Maven, “Nevermore”
“Be that word our sign of parting, wretched fiend,” I shrieked, upstarting-
“Get thee back into thy office and the research you adore!
Leave no textbook as a token of this pseudoscience open!
Leave my sanity unbroken! Quit my presence evermore!
Take thy hand from round my heart and take thy form right out that door!”
Quoth the Maven, “Nevermore”
And the Maven, never flitting, still is standing, still is standing
Hind the faux mahogany podium upon the classroom floor,
And her eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And light from the projector casts her shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted – nevermore!
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