Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Kubla Khan's Fast Thick Pants

Senior year of high school, we analyzed Coleridge's "Kubla Khan" in our English class, and our teacher told us how a few years prior a (male) student of hers had interpreted the poem as being about a vajayjay.

So.  Below I've copied the poem from here and highlighted it as (a literate) Beavis or Butthead (i.e., me) might (sorry if it's hard to read -- Blogger kinda sucks at these things).
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
  Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

  But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
   Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
  A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
  As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
  By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
  And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
  As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
  A mighty fountain momently was forced :
  Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
  Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
  Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
  Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
  Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
  And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
  And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
  Ancestral voices prophesying war !

   The shadow of the dome of pleasure
  Floated midway on the waves ;
  Where was heard the mingled measure
  From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !
  A damsel with a dulcimer
  In a vision once I saw :
  It was an Abyssinian maid,
  And on her dulcimer she played,
  Singing of Mount Abora.
  Could I revive within me
  Her symphony and song,
  To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Conclusion: give me a break.  Like it isn't about a vajayjay.

P.S. Red equals yeowch, "huge fragments" equals cherry poppin', and dulcimers have hammers.

2 comments:

  1. In a semi-related metaphor, vulvodynia is my albatross. I just felt Coleridge roll over in his grave... also, I just found the only use for my English degree!

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