Found this poem randomly. A fairly workoutable question – Who wrote this poem, and what is it about? ๐Ÿ™‚

Fake bonus points if you explain the title reference. ๐Ÿ˜›


I’ve grown a goitre by dwelling in this denโ€“

As cats from stagnant streams in Lombardy,

Or in what other land they hap to beโ€“

Which drives the belly close beneath the chin:

My beard turns up to heaven; my nape falls in,

Fixed on my spine: my breast-bone visibly

Grows like a harp: a rich embroidery

Bedews my face from brush-drops thick and thin.

My loins into my paunch like levers grind:

My buttock like a crupper bears my weight;

My feet unguided wander to and fro;

In front my skin grows loose and long; behind,

By bending it becomes more taut and strait;

Crosswise I strain me like a Syrian bow:

Whence false and quaint, I know,

Must be the fruit of squinting brain and eye;

For ill can aim the gun that bends awry.

Come then, Giovanni, try

To succour my dead pictures and my fame;

Since foul I fare and painting is my shame.



3 thoughts on “Cowabunga!

  1. Haha! Exactly. ๐Ÿ˜€

    This poem was one written by Michelangelo describing the conditions he worked in while painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Pretty cool!

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