Reviews and reader comments about: Please, Lord . . .
Please, Lord, Make Me a Famous Poet or at Least
Less Fat by Dean Blehert. Published by Words & Pictures East Coast
LLC. 402 pages,paperback.
Reviewed by Dan Cuddy
Blehert's book is like a box of Whitman's Samplers (chocolates,
not an anthology of Walt Whitman's Selected Poetry). The poems are
deliciously humorous. Some are creams that melt in your mouth while
others are a little more chewy. The book is worth having and putting
on a desk or coffee table, and worth taking in hand and reading
occasionally. The poems are entertainment. However, I don't think
one can read the book through in a day or two without corrupting
your mind, much like a lover of chocolates would decay one's teeth.
The problem is Blehert's poems are addictive. Here are a couple
of short examples of Blehert's cleverness:
The innocent maidens in Tennyson---
What they eat, be it lotus or venison,
Never turns into sh-t---
They've no holes where they sit,
Nor the least nook for putting a p-nis in!
That puffed up old poet, R.Browning,
Is it praise, wine or speed he is drowning?
For he's pert as a parrot---
Can Elizabeth Bear it?
The strutting, the crowing, the clowning?
(Or changing the style to haiku)
little horse can be led to it,
but not made to drink.
Awesome! And Yes!
I'm now an Awesome Poet---overheard:
"Who IS he?" "Aw---some poet." Spread the word!
The book is not just a book of poetry but a wacky commentary about
poetry with hundreds of Blehert's poems used as illustrations of
ridiculous points. A couple of chapter titles are worth illustrating
the mania of the book: "Rhyme Does Not Pay" "How
Can You Get'em Back on the Form?" "I'll Make You Talk
Purty,Poet!" . If it all seems silly, it is, but an enjoyable
your wonderful book -- Please, Lord, Make Me a Famous Poet or at
Least Less Fat -- a few months back. I am sorry I couldn't write
to you earlier to thank you for a gift that is so precious to me.
All these months I remained bed-ridden with a fractured leg, and
your book remained my constant friend during all this painful period.
But it was a very naughty friend and painful too, in the sense that
it injected laughter in my veins and my whole body heaved and jerked,
increasing appreciably the pain in my leg. But I continued reading
and enjoying it. It was a rare physio-therapy: Laughter, in the
end, healed my fracture, and now I am recommending it to all those
who have fractured limbs.
"In this book you have displayed your
great art of creating puns, parodies and satires, as also the art
of ridiculing the dead words and the poets who live on such stuff.
Your prayers on page 325: Father, deliver me from this peanut butter
-- has been much appreciated by my friends.
"It was a treat to read your serious
poems in the last chapter. I wish there had been more."--
Wazir Agha, editor of AURAQ (means
"pages"), is one of the best-known Urdu poets, in his 70s, was on
the short list for the Nobel a few years ago (was invited to Sweden
to do a reading and be interviewed). He and Dean have been corresponding
for a couple years.
"I just wanted to tell you that it is
absolutely hysterical, and dead on target! I sometimes sit and read
it for a while, and I am laughing so hard that my fiancee wonders
what in the world is wrong with me! Then, I give it to her, and
the same thing is happening in reverse a few minutes later! Thank
you so much for taking on so many sacred cows... even if some of
them are still a little sacred to me." -- Tony
Porco, fellow poet
"I'm about halfway through the book
-- what a hoot! This should be the material for a university course
in parodies. There are depths upon depths of layers of puns and
allusions -- I love it. I especially like how you make sure we get
the puns and allusions, without being too professorial.
"I would have had no problem reading your book of satire as
a college student in 1970, and I think the majority of the people
in the Survey of English Lit class wouldn't have had any problem
with it, either. Most of us had already read "The Rape of the Lock",
which I thought was a hoot, too.
"As for the decline of education in America over the last 30
years-- I'd say that most 18-19 year old students today would be
hard pressed to understand the original poems beneath your satire,
unless each one was carefully word cleared before the satire was
presented. Then they might get it, if the instructor took the time
to word clear your poem and point out the allusions, puns, and so
on. It would be a lot of work, certainly more work than your average
prof would want to undertake." -- Jere
Dean Blehert's Please, Lord,Make Me
a Famous Poet or at Least Less Fat is a treasure. An overwhelming
treasure, I might add. It is so full of laughs I can only read it
in short sessions. The parodies are dead-accurate, but they're also
humorous in their own right, and wise as well. Also, the book is
full of literary criticism and history, so that one (I) can't help
learning about poetry and literature while one's (I'm) having a
good time. In that regard, I'm grateful for all the footnotes; even
if I usually don't like humorists to explain their jokes, in this
case I'm glad because of all I learn from the explanations. And
Blehert's unabashed love of puns is a delight to me. I love puns
too, and I think they're the highest form of humor (for one thing,
they're the only kind of humor that doesn't come from pain, even
if they often provoke a groan). (It's worth nothing that Blehert
gives high marks to Nabokov, another appreciater and dazzling implementer
of puns.) I also appreciate that he likes good doggerel and appreciates
Ogden Nash. Blehert's a damn good doggerelist himself, of course.
Doggerel is a far more exact science than most poetry written these
days, and one should only do it if one's ready to understand and
master the rules -- which he does. Anyway, thanks so much for this
marvelous book, which I read haphazardly every evening. Imagine
someone writing a poem to parody both Kilmer and Ginsberg?
John Daniel, author and publisher
"The pieces of yours I've seen in
LIGHT QUARTERLY as well as SATIRE glimmer with a manic energy that's
delicately and precisely channeled into precision puns" --
"How did I, doctorate and all, escape
the spell of poetry? Until reading "Lord . . .", it was
because I failed to understand the nuances, nay, even, its point.
Thank you, then, for . . . the excellent primer for those of us who
lack pentameter in our lives." -- Lloyd
Freeberg, Fullerton, CA
"Picked up 'Please, Lord . . . ' and
am reading frevently!! I love it. I think I'mm learning more
about literature by laughing at it than I did in those vacuous, slumber-inducing
lectures in college. So I am appreciative of the fresh look at this
thing called poetry which ranks up there with ice cream in my list
of favorite things in the world." -- Shelley
Davis, Poet, Nashville TN
"Me, I love the way I can go to any page
and start picking around and find not just humor but little insights
and gems that actually make it easier to confront such monsters as
The Dreaded Sestina. . . . It also has that GREAT charm of a big old
Sears Catalogue where you can just sort of thumb through it at random
and find something terrific on any page. It's not a book to
read from cover to cover, it's for pickin' and choosing' and one you
can ramble around in and never really get lost." -- John
"Dean Blehert sent me a copy of his new
book that will become available early next year. From what I
have read, I can wholeheartedly recommend the book be used as the
definitive text for any poetry course taught at any school in the
nation. (The kids would actually read it ... and learn quite a bit
about poetry.)" -- Larry Logan,Satire Magazine,
"Impressive book! 402 pages yet. Enough
neologisms and Nashisms to choke a spell checker. I've been nibbling
away with pleasure and an occasional groan (rejoyce?! Waiter, waiter
everywhere!! toiolet?! fine couth tomes?!!). I can't believe you could
do an entire chapter on leading a horse to water! And I marvel at
your facility with palindromes. I applaud your indexes and the inclusion
of the originals you're parodying. May you find fame and lose pounds."
-- Bob McKenty, Poet
"I must say it lives up to its advance fanfare.
I find it quite fun and funny. It keeps me focused trying
not to miss all the witty things you wrote." --
"I started reading parts of Please,
Lord last night and had to quit because of potential hernia splitting
from laughter. Guess I'll be at this one ofor a long time, since
I can only take so much laughter at one time. You are truly
amazing" -- Alice Pero, Poet
"Great book, great cover! Great reading
material for Doctors' offices: the more serious the case, the more
important the antidote!" -- Lionel Davis
"Poetic satire isn't usually my cup of
tea, but Dean's work is a tour de force, incredibly original and massive.
It's the Jupiter in the skies of modern poetic satire." --
David Ziff, Poet
From: Orbis (a British Poetry Journal),
No 112/3 Spring/Summer 1999
Iíve often wondered why we use this word "just", meaning
"merely" and implying a sense of excusing inferiority,
about humour, and especially about humorous poetry. In fact, humorous
poetry is very difficult to bring off well, yet can be enormously
effective when it is. I acted as first filter for our now-deceased
Rhyme International competition for most of its existence, and I
speak from experience: I only recall one truly humorous poem winning
Itís even considered bad taste to be humorous about poetry, which
is why I commend Dean Blehertís book to you. In its own way, ORBIS
has always been a bad taste in the mouths of the Establishment,
as I suspect this book will be, so we have things in common. And
things not in common. For many years, Dean Blehert has published
a magazine called Deanotations, which is entirely devoted to his
own poetry and writing and in that respect has a policy exactly
the opposite to that of ORBIS, but chacun ŗ son goŻt. This book
is in many ways a continuation of the magazine Ė a huge outpouring
of poems, parodies, and opinions varying from the banal to the hilarious,
missing the mark as often as hitting it, but well worth a read nonetheless.
It is not a cop-out, therefore, to say it is quite impossible to
summarise this book in any meaningful manner. It is a rambling collection
of essays, thoughts, aphorisms, parodies (in a section entitled
Parodies Regained!), parodies of parodies, differently parodied
versions of the same poem, puns piled on puns...Indeed, I would
warn those allergic to puns that it could be dangerous to their
health, even potentially fatal, and if you really donít like self-indulgence,
avoid this book Ė it is self-indulgence cubed! But if you do avoid
it, youíd be missing a lot. Not "just" a good laugh (for
good laughs are certainly there), but some excellent poems, too,
both by Blehert and by others. Despite his protestations ("Personally
I canít stand the stuff. Thatís why I publish only my own poetry"),
he really loves poetry, which is why his humour is so successful.
-- Mike Shields
From: The Book Reader, Spring 1999
"Skillful, irreverent and long-overdue recasting of the poetic
product. Blehert is for wordsmiths who like having fun. Like Willard
Espy, this former Cornell professor of English likes to dust off
the stodgy stuff now and then and play. Play, hell. He parties!
His satire and parody ex-plode like popcorn, and the wit involved
makes the cerebrum smile." -- by Jay
From: The Bookwatch, April, 1999
"Students will find this an excellent introduction to poetry:
witty yet including practical observations on poetic form and intention
which may aid in a later appreciation of the medium."
From: Washington City Paper
The crowd who have come out to see him one recent afternoon seem
smitten with his smart-mouthed poems and ardent reading style. Between
poems, he interposes reflections on life and poetry. He also
takes time to explain context unassumingly. Not exeryone,
after all, has read Plath or Blake or Whitman. He renders
the poetry consumable -- and the modern-day salon crowd loves it.
"Poets are not used to fame and don't know what to do with
it," he tells the audience, "But I'm willing to give it
a try." -- by Guy Raz
Please, Lord, Make Dean Blehert a Famous Poet
by Miles David
Are you ready for the poet, scholar, wit, philosopher and Borscht
Belt comedian who goes by the name (at least in this lifetime) of
Dean Blehert? A few aphorisms, out of the many hundreds he includes
in his sixth book Please, Lord, Make Me a Famous Poet or
at Least Less Fat will clue you in on what to expect:
This is just poetry; it wont save you, but may locate
you, so that a rescue party can be sent out.
"Important writer": one good enough to become the
model for the next generations bad writers.
I respond readily to poetry. Usually the response is, "So
A poetry editor is someone who helps a poet mail his poetry
Speak up, poet--the ears have walls.
A poet must create an imaginary universe with real readers
I leave these poems for those who come after me. The poems
may distract them so I can escape.
Bleherts latest book is a 400-page compendium of trenchant
literary criticism and scholarship, disguised as parody, light verse,
puns and one-liners. Laid out in the form of an introductory textbook,
Please, Lord consists of thirteen themed chapters with a page of
aphorisms at the beginning of each. The chapters dont conform
to Roberts Rules of Literary Order or the Geneva Convention
on Poetic Justice, but take the reader on a quirky, panoramic tour
of the authors wild, highly original imagination. (The first
chapter consists solely of parodies of how different poets
from John Donne to Issa to an amalgam of several current slam poets
would phrase the old maxim, "You can lead a horse to
water but you cant make him drink.")
Please, Lord is a hard book to summarize, if only because there
is so much in it. That refers not only to the books length,
but the density of wit and observation on each page. Almost every
line contains a little twist, laugh line, or pun, and the poems
in every conceivable form and length come thick and
fast. You can open the book at random, close your eyes, and point;
more likely than not youll hit a gem, such as Bleherts
aphorism on Carl Sandburg: "Hes a sweeter, less original
Whitman you might say a Whitman Sampler." Or you might
encounter one of his literary limericks, each of which is more insightful
and pertinent than most critics book-length studies:
That poor heavy-weight poet, old Pound,
Should have always remained underground.
For when he talked plain,
He was judged quite insane,
While his gobbledygook--"Ah! Profound!"
Once a young son & lover named Lawrence
Stood and stared at his girl with abhorrence:
He cried, "Youre not my mother!
Youre so UTTERLY OTHER!"
Then he penned purple prose in great torrents.
One might say (yes! do say it!) of James
That his sentences curved from their aims
Toward the fraught, but unseen,
If you know what I mean,
Like a gossip ashamed to name names.
There is no style or school Blehert will not tackle, no sacred cow
he hesitates to grind into hamburger. His parodies of Shakespearian
sonnets ("Shall I compare thee to a guy named Fred?")
and George Herberts shaped poems dazzle as much with their
almost arrogant ease of accomplishment as with their laugh-out-loud
humor; his chapter titled "Bone and Blood I Love You,"
with its brilliant lead poem, "How Poetry is Done," will
make certain well-regarded academic poets swallow very hard. "Ever
since my falling out with this academic muse, she pretends she doesnt
know me," Blehert remarks at one point. "'This is really
funny stuff, said a reader. `Are you sure its poetry?"
Some readers, in fact, wont be sure, and this is the problem
Blehert has had in a poetic career of nearly three decades. Please,
Lord should leave absolutely no one in doubt as to the formidable
breadth and depth of Bleherts poetic talent and literary scholarship;
yet many will doubt, simply because Blehert feels laughter is a
valid emotional response to poetry. This idea is as anathematic
to many poets as the idea to fundamentalists that the Lord might
not have created the world in seven calendar days.
Like a rich Christmas pudding stuffed with figs and plums, Please,
Lord will have different effects on the digestions of different
readers. Some will romp through it, gobbling it up and marveling
at its sweet deliciousness; some will find it too rich to consume
at one sitting, but a tasty nibble one piece at a time; some will
reject it entirely as bad for the entire poetic system, and return
to the artery-cleansing rectitude of Wallace Stevens or John Ashbery.
In a way, it is easy to see why these last readers will react as
they do: sometimes Blehert is too insistent, too little-boy antsy
to show what hes thought of now. It doesnt help that
he doesnt always edit out his weaker lines. For example, at
one point Blehert writes, "Sein oder nicht sein? from
Hamburger Hamlet," then feels compelled to include a footnote
explaining that "Sein oder nicht sein?" is German for
"To be or not to be," and Hamburger Hamlet is a chain
of restaurants. Oscar Wilde or Groucho Marx ("Oscar the Groucho?"
Blehert might interject at this point) could have told him: If you
have to explain the line, the line doesnt work.
Yet Bleherts best work is so good, and in such profusion,
that the only reasonable response is to sit back and let Blehert
be Blehert. His virtues far outweigh his faults, and both emanate
from the same sources: the authors fecund imagination, lightning-quick
wit and insatiable love of wordplay. You might not always want to
open a book of poetry in which fireworks and Roman candles are exploding
on almost every page; but if you do, then Bleherts the poet
Even if youre not looking for fireworks, Please, Lord has
much to offer particularly in the last chapter, "A Few
Words from the Bully Pulpit," in which Blehert completely abandons
parody in favor of serious (though often witty) poems which address
the nature of poetry and the role of poets directly. As the aphorisms,
parodies and light verse in the previous chapters should have indicated
to alert readers, Blehert is not just a comedian, but a scholar
and a moralist. He believes with all his heart that poetry has a
purpose: To communicate pieces of truth, whether ragged or polished,
that the reader knows in his bones but might never have been able
to articulate for himself. Poetry, to Blehert, should illuminate,
not obfuscate; it is for all readers who seek the electricity of
succinctly imparted truth, not for the few high priests jealously
guard the sacred mysteries. "Sharpen theSword," one of
the best poems from the last section, comes as close as any to explaining
A sword kills so well because it is almost
humane. A blunt instrument is an outrage:
Instantly flesh rebels. Sharpen it to a point,
and it gains easy entry. Hone it to a fine edge,
and flesh welcomes it: in and out before one knows
death has been done. Sharpen the sword
further until nothing is left
but the deadly swift essence of penetration
that comes and goes and one never knows
why everything has changed, and you have
not a sword, but a poem.
Dean Blehert, then, is not a poet for those who seek reconfirmation
of the drab verities of contemporary poetry. He wants to tell you
what hes learned about poetry and life, wake you from your
preconceived notions of what poetry is and what it should do, and
charm and please you in the process. In Please, Lord, he succeeds
in these goals to a remarkable degree. He is sui generis, a myriad
bundle of influences combined to make a poetic voice that is new
and wonderful. (Bleherts voice can be heard from the wings:
"Why dont you throw in `fresh and `authoritative
while youre at it?" OK, I will.)
Please, Lord, Make Me a Famous Poet or
at Least Less Fat
or Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Poetry, but Were Afraid
if You Asked, Someone Would Start Talking About Whatchamajigger
416 pages, perfect bound, from Words & Pictures East Coast --
Please, Lord... is a generous smorgasbord of parody and satire of
poets and poetry, like an anthology, except all of the poets happen
to be named Dean Blehert. It spares no targets, taking on the classics
and current fads, the exquisite pangs of feigned interest at polite
poetry readings, the young poet's alienation from a world that hasn't
noticed his greatness, and the proliferation in literary reviews
of "fresh new voices" that all sound the same. It's funny,
informative and challenging. What's more, it manages to achieve
the breadth of humor needed to make it accessible to readers who
do not know much about English poetry, while showing a loving attention
to tone and detail (especially in the parodies) that should make
it required reading for poetry lovers.
One indication of its breadth of appeal are the fact that it sports
rave blurbs from both Dana Gioia and Lyn Lifshin, from opposite
ends of the poetry spectrum. The humor ranges from raucous (a Shakespearean
sonnet beginning "Shall I compare thee to a guy named Fred?")
to refined ("Leapeth frogge/And splasheth bog --/Softe sing
haiku..."), from the ridiculous (punning "Little Richard"
and "literature") to the sublime ("In the good old
days, most poets were consigned to oblivion. These days even oblivion
won't take poets on consignment.")
The book takes the form of a mock textbook. Some of the funniest
stuff is in the hundreds of footnotes. Here, for example, is the
first footnote in chapter one, explaining a reference to "numbers"
or poetic meter:
In the 18th Century, what we now call "metrics" (pertaining
to the meter or beat of a poem) was called "numbers."
Today it is the poets themselves we call numbers, because they numb
us. In fact, promising experiments with recordings of major poets
reading their own work shows that these tapes work as well as anaesthetics
when used during major surgery -- BUT the patients must wear earphones,
lest a nurse or surgeon fall asleep face down in an abdominal incision.
Pure slapstick, worthy of Dave Barry, a pleasant way to learn about
poetry, like learning about opera from Victor Borge.
Please, Lord begins with parody and progresses through satire to
some "straight" essays and poems on poetry and poets,
but most of it is a hoot. The long first chapter, a book in itself,
is a survey of English Poetry, showing us how the great poets would
have said "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make
him drink." The parodies, all deft and insightful and mostly
hilarious, range from Beowulf to a typical slam poet (preferably
female, ethnic and with only one name). He provides in its entirety
or in excerpt and paraphrase the original of the poem he parodies,
so that no one will be left behind. Some of these poets require
pages to tell us about the "nonaqueophagus equine paradigm"
(Blehert's words). It takes T. S. Eliot four pages and threatens
to take as many in the take-offs on Longfellow, Wordsworth, Shakespeare
and Whitman. His renditions of Poe, Housman, Marvell, Blake, Plath
and Kipling are as good as parody gets.
Chapter two is parody revisited (or "Parodies Regained"),
where, not limited by a theme (leading horses to water), Blehert
reaches new heights, particularly in the John Donne and Dylan Thomas
parodies. Thus Donne's "Batter my heart, three personed God..."
becomes "Butter your bread, impatient child, for you/As yet
but jab, scrape, clot -- then slop on jelly,/Little of which shall
ever reach your belly...", while "Death be not proud"
becomes "Beth be not cowed, though swept from bargain table..."
and "At the round earth's imagined corners, blow..." (about
Judgment Day) becomes "At the round girth's imagined flatness,
TUG!..." (about struggling into a corset). Emily Dickinson's
"I heard a fly buzz when I died" is revisited from the
viewpoint of the fly, with tragically ludicrous results. And Alan
Ginsberg and Joyce Kilmer collaborate to produce Ogden Nash.
Chapter three is a collection of witty critical essays that take
the form of limericks and quatrains. Chapter four is parodies of
poetic forms: A sonnet that self-destructs, a sestina that swallows
itself, poems that are also palindromes, etc. Chapter five lovingly
(yet hysterically) dissects the haiku. Chapter 6, the heart and
critical soul of the book, tells us how to write a critically acceptable
poem by the numbers (not metrical numbers). The opening poem of
the chapter, "How Poetry is Done," is, perhaps, the sharpest
and funniest anatomization of current fads ever published. The chapters
that follow are mainly satirical poems and text on poetry readings,
critics, role models for poets and obsession with fame and greatness.
Here we find the drive-by poetry reading, the poet as samurai, the
poet as tough private eye, the poet who won't sit down and shut
up when his five minutes are up at an open reading...and much much
This is dense, rich reading, not obscure, but it does require an
attentive reader with considerable tolerance for puns. And its satire
is sharp enough to draw blood on occasion. Few readers won't find
something to love in this book, and as few won't find something
to hate. Blehert does not spare us his opinions (though he does
spare us boredom). Not all of them will be popular, particularly
his frontal assaults on sacred cows (e.g., Yeats and Lorca) -- not
that he dislikes them, only their "sacred cowdom." But
overall, this is a brash, good-hearted book. Blehert has fun with
poets and poetry, and so will the reader.
As for the title, the odds favor famous and fat.
Review of Please Lord on http://rantsravesreviews.homestead.com/PleaseLord.html
"BerniE-zine, book reviews and more"
If you've been out of school for a while you might be a little
rusty on all the literary references that populate this book. Chock
full o' parodies, Dean Blehert has more than a way with words --
he has a way with other people's words. An entire chapter of Please
Lord is devoted to how famous poets -- living and dead -- would
write "You can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink."
These writers include Sylvia Plath, Lyn Lifshin, Wordsworth, Shelley,
Keats and Blake.
Tongue-in-cheek, the book intersperses Blehert's own poetry with
instructive "how-to" advice-poems on such topics as "how poetry
is done" and "How To Be A Prestigious Mainstream Twentieth-Century
Academic Poet." For example, in the chapter on the first subject,
You can make any sentence poetical
by mentioning blood or bone.
For example, instead of "Yesterday
I went to the store," say "Yesterday
I went to the blood and bone store."
Instead of "The moon rose," say
"The blood moon rose" or "A bone
of moon rose" or, best, "A bone
of blood moon rose."
There is so much in this book, it will take many many readings
to catch just half of its humor. Brush up on your "dead white male"
poets if you want to get the rest of it. Although Blehert is a delight
on his own.
If you're ever in the Washington, DC, area on the second Sunday
of the month, you can usually catch Dean Blehert (and his wife,
Pam) reading at the open mic poetry night at IOTA in North Arlington,
6-8pm. Or, check out his web site at www.BLEHERT.com.
Also by Blehert: Dear Reader or Love Letters From Here to There;
The Naked Clowns; Poems for Adults and Other Children; I Swear He
Was Laughing; and No Cats Have Been Maimed or Mutilated During the
Making of This Book but Some of Them are Disappointed -- DEEPLY
Disappointed -- in Me.