Okay, so in all honesty, although I have been denying it for years, I can't stand Wallace Stevens. I find him dry and uninteresting. His poems are like triple-processed cheese. But this one poem - a parody of Keats's "Ode on a Grecian Urn" makes me snigger everytime I read it. I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.
The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.
It took dominion every where.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing else in Tennessee.
