I believe the humor in the poem lies in the realization that damned foot foot foot was most likely echoing in Byron's own head, that we are fashioned by our own insecurities, however politely repressed. The insistent rudeness of the poem is a burlesque antidote to the repression that causes said insecurities to bubble up in other less conscious and perhaps more harmfully distortive ways. Averted eyes are not honest seers. There is quite a difference between this poem and, say, some of the nasty diatribes written by his enemies about Pope's dwarfishness. This is cathartic for all involved, not mean-spirited at all. It seems to me a knowing but tender commentary on the Romantic in general, and how it compensates for life's unjust ill's.

Nemo

And, technically, this is a poem in which the humor and irony work through accretion. Quite often a stand-up comic will tell a joke that is somehow offensive or just simply not funny. But by retelling it or piling on the same simple, true, and disturbing point, the teller strips the audience of whatever social or political prophylactic caused the averted eye. It become hilarious. This poem isn't a stand-up routine or a joke. Nor is it finally offensive. But it is very funny and disturbing and revealing when George reads it. The accretive effect works when reading it on the page/screen as well, I think. It unvarnishes through build-up.

I find it odd that while other recent pieces have been - not inappropriately - criticised for lack of subtlety in developing satire, this foot-banging piece attracts such igenious and elaborate explanations of quality. The poem has a neat idea, on the general application of which Ann is entirely right, and the notion is also made all the more telling because of the double meaning of the poem's title. However, it then flogs the conceit to death, rather as Rick suggests stand-up comics do. Not, in my book, a flattering comparison - being bludgeoned into mirth seeming inherently unlikely.

Of course, I don't enjoy the advantage of having met and heard the poet's performance, which seems to weigh heavily with some of these crits - so what do I know. Nothing really except that here, as elsewhere in lit crit, there seems to be a multiplicity of standards and I'm not sure that the disparity here is one that is justified.

It's hard to argue with a nonspecific assessment that criticisms of poems have been inconsistent and unfair: they sometimes -- perhaps frequently -- are. But poems are not commodities, all exactly the same, and critics have their sharp and blurry days, so I'm not sure how far this observation drives discussion of Lord Byron's Foot; which, although not my favorite poem in all the world, I find very funny, because (or so I feel) it pokes savage fun at the narrator's inappropriate obsession. Your mileage may vary, though: isn't that often the case?

Best,

Ed

Agree with Nemo, above. Byron, who was extremely handsome when his weight was under control, was much more obsessed with his lame foot than anybody else was. Quite obviously it did him no harm with the ladies. I see this poem as a kind of projection (are they all thinking about my FOOT?) & as good a snapshot of Byron's mind as any other.

George's book is now available from amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Lord-Byrons-Fo.../dp/1587314770

For some reason it is not available on St. Augustine Press's website. Nor does New Criterion link it, though it is the winner of the New Criterion Poetry Prize for 2012. If you prefer to patronize Barnes & Noble, it is available there for $159.64! http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/lord...een/1113968669

Slam Night in New York
 

"Lord Byron's Foot" repeats the word "foot" almost 50 times in seven short stanzas. Some things that don't gain by repetition are jokes (unless you're a preschooler) and getting hit in the head with a hammer. And that's what this poem felt like--an assault. Like being clubbed to death by a club foot. Some people will think this is funny. It will play to a certain crowd, a crowd that is loud and knowing and primed to laugh at all the right places.

This is the same crowd that hooted Emily Dickinson off the stage for being meek and mousy. It was more receptive to Byron, who knows how to ham it up, who understands that performance poetry is more performance than poetry. But then there is another Byron, the one who, at the end of the night, goes home and whispers his best stuff into the muse's ear. The one who, despite his resentment of Keats, knows as well as anyone that "Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter."

Did George kill your dog or something, Tim, to cause you to resurrect a year-old thread about a non-member?

No, I'm new to the thread, the site, and the poem. I just stumbled onto it. But I've always been a little slow.

This thread resurfaces at an opportune time. Green’s book has won the 2014 Poets’ Prize, and the award ceremony is tomorrow (May 1).

The discussion of the book’s title poem is of considerable interest to me, since I have some experience, in both poetry and stand-up comedy, with writing/performing material that some people find offensive even though it’s perfectly obvious to me that there’s good reason not to. Although I don’t think the poem is mind-blowingly hilarious, it’s not the least bit reprehensible. Glowering at it as if it were nothing but an exercise in mockery of physical disability is just plain dumb.

Of course it’s OK to write lightheartedly about Byron’s club foot. Same deal with Milton’s blindness and Coleridge’s opium addiction. (Even Plath’s suicide, I would say, although some might not choose to follow me that deep into the shadows of questionable taste.) Those realities aren’t the most important things about the poets in question, but they are the Stuff That Everybody Knows, just as everybody knows William Howard Taft was the fattest U.S. president, even if they don’t know much at all about his political career. And when you’re writing about somebody in his capacity as a celebrity, it makes perfect sense to focus on the Stuff That Everybody Knows, since that’s a big part of what celebrity is all about.