Something Else Again — Reading Companion
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The catalog record for Something Else Again — Reading Companion provides practical reading context through 19,327 words, 1 hr 25 min estimated reading time, and 5 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 18.4 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Parodies,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
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- Description quality20 pts
- Title & short description10 pts
- Source metadata20 pts
- Text length15 pts
- Chapters / structure15 pts
- EPUB file integrity20 pts
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Read the Text
How did you ever write a line?
Horace: Book III, Ode 13
_"O fons Bandusiae, splendidior vitro----"_
Worthy of flowers and syrups sweet, O fountain of Bandusian onyx, To-morrow shall a goatling's bleat Mix with the sizz of thy carbonics.
A kid whose budding horns portend A life of love and war--but vainly! For thee his sanguine life shall end-- He'll spill his blood, to put it plainly.
And never shalt thou feel the heat That blazes in the days of Sirius, But men shall quaff thy soda sweet, And girls imbibe thy drinks delirious.
Fountain whose dulcet cool I sing, Be thou immortal by this Ode (a Not wholly meretricious thing), Bandusian fount of ice-cream soda!
The Stalling of Q. H. F.
_"Mollis inertia cur tantam diffuderit imis"_
Maecenas, you fret me, you worry me Demanding I turn out a rhyme; Insisting on reasons, you hurry me; You want my iambics on time. You say my ambition's diminishing; You ask why my poem's not done. The god it is keeps me from finishing The stuff I've begun.
Be not so persistent, so clamorous. Anacreon burned with a flame Candescently, crescently amorous. You rascal, you're doing the same! Was no fairer the flame that burned Ilium. Cheer up, you're a fortunate scamp, ... Consider avuncular William And Phryne, the vamp.
On the Flight of Time
Horace: Book I, Ode 2
"_Tu ne quaesieris, scire nefas, quem mihi, quem tibi_"
Look not, Leuconoe, into the future; Seek not to find what the Answer may be; Let no Chaldean clairvoyant compute your Time of existence.... It irritates me!
Better to bear what may happen soever Patiently, playing it through like a sport, Whether the end of your breathing is Never, Or, as is likely, your time will be short.
This is the angle, the true situation; Get me, I pray, for I'm putting you hep: While I've been fooling with versification Time has been flying.... Both gates! Watch your step!
_"Nox erat et caelo fulgebat Luna sereno----"_
"How sweet the moonlight sleeps," I quoted, "Upon this bank!" that starry night-- The night you vowed you'd be devoted-- I'll tell the world you held me tight.
The night you said until Orion Should cease to whip the wintry sea, Until the lamb should love the lion, You would, you swore, be all for me.
Some day, Neaera, you'll be sorry. No mollycoddle swain am I. I shall not sit and pine, by gorry! Because you're with some other guy!
No, I shall turn my predilection Upon some truer, fairer Jane; And all your prayer and genuflexion For my return shall be in vain.
And as for _you_, who choose to sneer, O, Though deals in lands and stocks you swing, Though handsome as a movie hero, Though wise you are--and everything;
Yet, when the loss of her you're mourning, How I shall laugh at all your woe! How I'll remind you of this warning, And laugh, "Ha! ha! I told you so!"
Again Endorsing the Lady
_"Liber eram et vacuo meditabar vivere lecto----"_
I was free. I thought that I had entered Love's Antarctic Zone. "A truce to sentiment," I said. "My nights shall be my own." But Love has double-crossed me. How can Beauty be so fair? The grace of her, the face of her--and oh, her yellow hair!
And oh, the wondrous walk of her! So doth a goddess glide. Jove's sister--ay, or Pallas--hath no statelier a stride. Fair as Ischomache herself, the Lapithanian maid; Or Brimo when at Mercury's side her virgin form she laid.
Surrender now, ye goddesses whom erst the shepherd spied! Upon the heights of Ida lay your vestitures aside! And though she reach the countless years of the Cumaean Sibyl, May never, never Age at those delightful features nibble!
I thought that I was wholly free, That I had Love upon the shelf; "Hereafter," I declared in glee, "I'll have my evenings to myself." How can such mortal beauty live? (Ah, Jove, thine errings I forgive!)
Her tresses pale the sunlight's gold; Her hands are featly formed, and taper; Her--well, the rest ought not be told In any modest family paper. Fair as Ischomache, and bright As Brimo. _Quaeque_ queen is right.
O goddesses of long ago, A shepherd called ye sweet and slender. He saw ye, so he ought to know; But sooth, to her ye must surrender. O may a million years not trace A single line upon that face!
Propertius's Bid for Immortality
_"Carminis interea nostri redaemus in orbem----"_
Let us return, then, for a time, To our accustomed round of rhyme; And let my songs' familiar art Not fail to move my lady's heart.
Franklin P. Adams opens Something Else Again with a direct address to Horace, translating the Roman poet's injunction into a modern idiom: "Ask not—'tis wrong to know—what end / The gods for me, for you intend." This sets the tone for a collection that treats classical forms as flexible templates for contemporary satire. The book's table of contents reads like a vaudeville program, mixing parodies of Horace, Gilbert and Sullivan, and James Whitcomb Riley with original squibs on advertising, war, and urban life.
Adams's method is evident from the first poem: he preserves the meter and stanza structure of his source while substituting modern subjects. The result is a series of clever, often biting commentaries that reward readers familiar with both the originals and the 1920s context.
Parody as a Critical Lens
Adams's parodies are not mere mimicry; they use the borrowed form to expose absurdities in the original or in contemporary society. In "If Amy Lowell Had Been James Whitcomb Riley," he imagines Lowell writing in Riley's dialect, producing lines like "The little orphant Annie's come to our house to stay"—a fusion that highlights the stylistic tics of both poets. Similarly, "If the Advertising Man Had Been Gilbert" applies the patter-song structure of Gilbert and Sullivan to a sales pitch: "When you're lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is tabooed by anxiety, / I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in, without impropriety." The effect is to reveal the formulaic nature of both advertising and light opera.
Adams also targets specific works. "Maud Muller Mutatur" recasts Whittier's sentimental poem as a cynical commentary on class and marriage, ending with the farmer's wife regretting her choice. The parody works because it respects the original's rhythm while subverting its moral.
The Urban Landscape and Its Discontents
Several poems address the frustrations of modern city life. "A Psalm of Labouring Life" opens with a direct rebuttal of Longfellow: "Tell me not, in doctored numbers, / Life is but a name for work!" Adams replaces the original's earnestness with weary complaint: "Life is phony! Life is rotten! / And the wealthy have no soul." The poem's speaker, a miner or cotton picker, rejects the consolations of labor.
"Lines Written on the Sunny Side of Frankfort Street" contrasts the pastoral idyll of Milton's "L'Allegro" with the reality of a New York office worker. The speaker recalls "Sporting with Amaryllis in the shade" but now answers her question—"Will you, I wonder, ever sigh and yearn / At all?"—with a rueful "Yes." The poem's final line, "You haven't any notion how I miss / The shade," turns Milton's celebration of rural pleasure into a lament for lost leisure.
Romantic Conventions Under Pressure
Adams repeatedly deflates romantic clichés. In "Abelard and Heloïse," the famous lovers discuss the Portuguese and Woodrow Wilson's Fourteen Points before Abelard asks for "seven osculations." Heloïse's final verdict—"She loved an Intellectual Man"—undercuts the entire exchange, suggesting that intellectualism is merely a cover for desire.
"Fifty-Fifty" takes its epigraph from a psychoanalytic text and turns it into a comic meditation on street-corner longing. The speaker admires women he passes but fears they "yell for the police." The poem's consolation is that he feels "a passing joy" at seeing girls he does not know—a wry twist on the erotic motive.
"To Myrtilla" traces twelve years of fashion commentary, from directoire skirts to hobble skirts to polo coats. Adams admits defeat: "I surrender. I am beat. / ... In any garb you're just too sweet / For words." The poem's structure—each stanza ending with a short line—mimics the breathless pace of fashion itself.
The Craft of the Light Verse
Adams's technical skill is evident throughout. He handles complex meters with ease, as in "The Ballad of Justifiable Homicide," which uses anapestic tetrameter to tell a comic murder story. His rhymes are often unexpected and precise: "obese" / "police," "girds" / "words." He also experiments with form, as in "The Dictaphone Bard," a poem supposedly dictated into a machine, or "What the Copy Desk Might Have Done," which imagines newspaper editors rewriting classic poems.
The collection's title, Something Else Again, suggests both the variety of subjects and the iterative nature of parody—each poem is another take on an existing work. Adams acknowledges his sources in titles and epigraphs, inviting readers to compare. The humor depends on recognition: the more one knows the originals, the more layers of meaning emerge. Yet even without that knowledge, the poems work as self-contained jokes, thanks to Adams's crisp phrasing and timing.
Reading Something Else Again is best done with a browser or a memory of the poems it parodies—Horace's odes, Gilbert's libretti, Longfellow's psalms. Adams assumes his audience is literate and up on current events; the jokes about Woodrow Wilson and the League of Nations may require a footnote. But the core pleasure is watching a skilled craftsman bend familiar forms to new purposes. Start with the Horatian imitations, then sample the urban complaints, and save the longer narrative ballads for last. The book rewards patience and a willingness to look up the originals.
It’s strange how Adams’ playful jabs at modern romance still land a century later, though I often find myself missing the quieter, unhurried charm of that era. That same wistfulness creeps in when I think about Within the Golden Gate A Souvenir of San Francisco Bay — Background and Themes—a little book that feels like a postcard from a forgotten afternoon, content to simply be.
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