Parody/Pastiche

The Lewis Carroll poem below parodies Robert Southey's no-longer-familiar "The Old Man's Comforts and How He Gained Them." "The Professor's Lot" by R.S. Gwynn uses the form of a W.S. Gilbert The Pirates of Penzance lyric for reflections on academic life.

"You are old, Father William," the young man said
    "And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—
    Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,
    "I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
    Why, I do it again and again."

"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,
    And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—
    Pray, what is the reason of that?"

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
    "I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—
    Allow me to sell you a couple?"

"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak
    For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak—
    Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law,
    And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw
    Has lasted the rest of my life."

"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose
    That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—
    What made you so awfully clever?"

"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
    Said his father. "Don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
    Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs!"

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When the student body shuns an education
And would rather sun half-naked on the beach,
Then I sense my academic situation
Is somewhat like a pit without a peach.
Were it just a mid-life crisis, I could bear it
But I fear the currents far more deeply run.
There's a lesson to be learned here. I can't share it.
The Professor's lot is not a happy one.
When there's academic duty to be done—
                                     to be done—
The Professor's lot is not a happy one.

Once it seemed the case that the high-school diploma
Guaranteed me students primed for a degree.
Now it means they've spent their twelve years in a coma,
Barely waking up to take the SAT.
When I give my class a simple Milton sonnet
You would think the Day of Judgment had begun.
We could spend the whole semester's time upon it.
The Professor's lot is not a happy one.
When there's academic duty to be done—
                                     to be done—
The Professor's lot is not a happy one.

My medieval seminar keeps getting smaller
While the business classes spill into the halls,
And each year the basketball recruits look taller
But their test scores rise no higher than their balls.
Though I'm at a state-supported school in Texas
I affect the accent of an Oxford don
As I say, "My dear," to students of both sexes.
The Professor's lot is not a happy one.
When there's academic duty to be done—
                                     to be done—
The Professor's lot is not a happy one.

In my class there is a woman in a turban
Who displays a tatooed lily on her breast.
I could ask her out for chit-chat over bourbon
And let the course of nature do the rest.
But she's probably the type whose disposition
Always finds the dissertation "loads of fun."
Let my sins, Lord, be those mainly of omission.
The Professor's lot is not a happy one.
When there's academic duty to be done—
                                     to be done—
The Professor's lot is not a happy one.

On the sad day when I stand before Saint Peter,
He will say, "No extra points. No make-up tests."
Then he'll add, "No need for you to pack your heater.
They've installed a central furnace for the guests."
At the moment when the horny demons find me
I can count the futile struggle halfway won
If the whole administration's right behind me.
The Professor's lot is now a happy one.
With no academic duty to be done—
                                     to be done—
The Professor's lot is now a happy one—
                                     a happy one!

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"You Are Old, Father William" from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
"The Professor's Lot" © 2001 R.S. Gwynn, from No Word of Farewell: Selected Poems 1970-2000