Zmj reminded me of a poem when he said, tongue in cheek,

quote:

aptronym ... I always assumed it was a contraction of apteronym (fr. apteros 'unfledged, unwinged').

Back in college my then-girlfriend found this poem (by W. H. Auden) and was delighted with it. I too was delighted when she shared it with me, and never forgot it. And thanks to zmj, I now recognize the pun in the last two lines.

Anthropos apteros for days
Walked whistling round and round the Maze,
Relying happily upon
His temperament for getting on.

The hundredth time he sighted, though,
A bush he left an hour ago,
He halted where four alleys crossed,
And recognised that he was lost.

"Where am I? Metaphysics says
No question can be asked unless
It has an answer, so I can
Assume this maze has got a plan.

If theologians are correct,
A Plan implies an Architect:
A God-built maze would be, I'm sure,
The Universe in miniature.

Are data from the world of Sense,
In that case, valid evidence?
What in the universe I know
Can give directions how to go?

All Mathematics would suggest
A steady straight line as the best,
But left and right alternately
Is consonant with History.

Aesthetics, though, believes all Art
Intends to gratify the Heart:
Rejecting disciplines like these,
Must I, then, go the way I please?

Such reasoning is only true
If we accept the classic view,
Which we have no right to assert,
According to the Introvert.

His absolute pre-supposition
Is--Man creates his own condition:
This maze was not divinely built,
But is secreted by my guilt.

The centre that I cannot find
Is known to my Unconscious Mind;
I have no reason to despair
Because I am already there.

My problem is how not to will;
They move most quickly who stand still;
I'm only lost until I see
I'm lost because I want to be.

If this should fail, perhaps I should,
As certain educators would,
Content myself with the conclusion;
In theory there is no solution.

All statements about what I feel,
Like I-am-lost, are quite unreal:
My knowledge ends where it began;
A hedge is taller than a man."

Anthropos apteros, perplexed
To know which turning to take next,
Looked up and wished he were a bird
To whom such doubts must seem absurd.

What a lovely poem. Thanks, H&U. anthropos apteros is not to be confused with the mock logical definition of man as a featherless biped.

It is a quite excellent piece of poetry.

With incredible hubris I'd like to add a couple of verses to Mr. Auden's fine poem to be inserted somewhere in the middle.

Ranks of linguists join the queue
To tell me what I ought to do.
No two of them speak with one voice,
At every turn they offer choice.

Prescriptivists select the ways
That I may wander in the Maze.
"This path allowed! This one not!"
Until they root me to the spot,

While others hold a different view
Of how to find a way that's true.
Descriptivists, with furrowed brow.
Tell me what I'm doing now.

But neither of these types alas
Can help me through this pretty pass,
For though they offer much advice
None of it seems to suffice.

Excellent, Bob!

Very nice poems, Hic and Bob.

Bob, yours goes quite nicely with your post on OEDILF about prescriptivism with commas. You'd be quite proud of Bob and me there, Zmj!