Analysis of Men who have shorn me. Tribute to Stephen Leacock, (of the gentle jab.)
He gestures to a chair
Flips gleaming white bib of custom.
Pedals up the height
Perhaps resuming topic
Of last visit.
Six weeks ago.
Other patrons
At the sidelines.
Pretending no evesdropping.
But cannot resist
Occasional insertion to the gab.
Man of sport, wagers, philosophy
News, all germane
To the Quaint Town. Mariposa.
“Lower your head.
Turn to right please.
Rounded at bottom back
Isn’t it.”
Only time, only time
I have felt like Royalty.
Excepting perhaps
The Grandkids smiling at me
Or my Missus.
Scheme | ABCDEFGHDIJKLMNOPQRKSKT |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 110101 11011110 10101 0101010 1110 1101 1010 101 01011 11001 0100010101 111100100 1101 1011010 1011 1111 101101 11 101101 1111100 1001 011011 1110 |
Closest metre | Iambic trimeter |
Characters | 511 |
Words | 96 |
Sentences | 13 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 23 |
Lines Amount | 23 |
Letters per line (avg) | 17 |
Words per line (avg) | 4 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 401 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 85 |
About this poem
by Stephen Leacock A barber is by nature and inclination a sport. He can tell you at what exact hour the ball game of the day is to begin, can foretell its issue without losing a stroke of the razor, and can explain the points of inferiority of all the players, as compared with better men that he has personally seen elsewhere, with the nicety of a professional. He can do all this, and then stuff the customer's mouth with a soap-brush, and leave him while he goes to the other end of the shop to make a side bet with one of the other barbers on the outcome of the Autumn Handicap. In the barber-shops they knew the result of the Jeffries-Johnson prize-fight long before it happened. It is on information of this kind that they make their living. The performance of shaving is only incidental to it. Their real vocation in life is imparting information. To the barber the outside world is made up of customers, who are to be thrown into chairs, strapped, manacled, gagged with soap, and then given such necessary information on the athletic events of the moment as will carry them through the business hours of the day without open disgrace. As soon as the barber has properly filled up the customer with information of this sort, he rapidly removes his whiskers as a sign that the man is now fit to talk to, and lets him out of the chair. Short story, Men Who Have Shaved Me. more »
Written on March 22, 2023
Submitted by dougb.19255 on March 22, 2023
Modified by dougb.19255 on March 22, 2023
- 28 sec read
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"Men who have shorn me. Tribute to Stephen Leacock, (of the gentle jab.)" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 26 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/154522/men-who-have-shorn-me.-tribute-to-stephen-leacock%2C-%28of-the-gentle-jab.%29>.
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