February 27, 2007

The Saint, Algoreia (a poem)

By C. MacLeod Fuller

I am the Saint, Algoreia,

            excélsis Deo Me!

Environmental haystacks

            are just my cup of tea.


Once... I was Vice President

            but that time is no more;

the scathing proletariat

            hath swept me out the door.


Now... I'm the Ebdomadarius[1]

            of the environmental choir,

deus ex machina, very lite,

            and I order you, "Perspire!"


I am the authoritative throne,

            and the U.N. quite agrees;

on matters of environment,

            I bring all to their knees.


I am the Great and Powerful Oz!

            Intone it acappella.  

Doxology before my throne:

            "Its hot!  Grab an umbrella!"


Our globe is getting warm.  I swear!

            Our snows are fastly melting.

Ignore white Christmas Malibu

            and the frozen mid-West's helpings.


Ignore that flatulated cows,                 

            prove baneful as we mortals.

A scientific slip of fact -

            only the sophomoric chortle.    


Ignore Kant's song!  I'm shilling strong.

            I promise, the enviro's dire -

its categorically imperative[2]

            for my performance choir.


I am the Saint, Algoreia.

            I am the Great Presume.

My really inconvenient truth -

            I bear Ozymandius's[3] tomb.


My environmental fantasies

            are luscious algorithms,

for turning viewpoint into cash -

            I'm their enigmatic prism.


With California's hip elites

            sewn-up in my chic back-pockets,

(along with Europe's and New York's)

            I put America on the docket.  


Mr. Redford is my friend.

            Categorically, there's no one wiser.

He doffs his Sundance boots to me,   

            as I play the enviro lyre.


I am the Saint, Algoreia.

            Its no confabulation,[4]

and critical that you all accept,

            I'm the savior of every nation.


My precepts?  They're unquestionable.

            My science?  Its uncanny.

My conclusions that the earth is flat

            prove Congress the perfect nanny.


And one day, when I've saved the earth -   

            just wait - I'm sure you'll see;

they'll take St. Alban's Abbey

            and name it after me.


So, very soon, now just stay tuned,

            I'm the one God shall replevin,[5]

He'll come Himself, while I'm alive,

            and entrust my rule with Heaven.

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[1] Ebdomadarius. In ecclesiastical law, an officer in cathedral churches who supervised the regular performance of divine services, and prescribed the particular duties of each person in the choir

[2] Imanuel Kant (1724-1804).  His categorical imperative stated that an individual's actions should be capable of serving as the basis for universal law.

[3] Ozymandius (1818).  A famous sonnet by Percy Bysshe Shelley.  It is "an ironic commentary on the vanity and futility of a tyrant's power," Benét's Reader's Encyclopedia, 3rd Ed., p. 728.

[4] Confabulation.  In psychiatry, filling a gap in memory with a falsification believed to true.

[5] Replevin.  In law, an action to recover goods or chattels wrongfully taken or detained.
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