Rejections to right of him,
Refusals to left of him,
Declinations above ‘im
Blitzed him and thundered.
How he had tried to sell!
Boldly he’d drawn and well;
But when the Editors
Told him to go to Hell–
He knew he’d blundered.
Flashed all his pen-points bare,
Splashed ink on shirt and chair,
Ideas HE’D thought were fair–
Tackling the impossible while
All his friends wondered:
And when the stuff returned,
ALL of his drawings spurned,
How his cheeks flamed and burned,
His confidence sundered!
He got various rejection slips
Saying “NO” for unseen lips;
Some with well-meaning tips
Told him he’d blundered;
Polite and catty ones,
Sloppy and natty ones,
Some sane, some batty ones,
“NO” at him thundered.
Pink, and yet greenish ones,
Dull ones and keenish ones,
Almost obscenish ones,
Dirty and cleanish ones.
Tore him asunder;
Fattish and leanish ones,
Final and in-betweenish ones,
Polite and meanish ones
Dragged him down under.
HOWEVER:
Thanks to the editors,
He has no creditors;
Starving, his artist friends
Each toward him amazement bends.
Amazement and wonder.
His new dexterity,
Done with asperity,
Brought on prosperity,
Independence, (and plunder!)
He’s glad with each breath he takes
His art never got the breaks:
Glad because NOW he makes
More than the Editor shakes,
Growing rotunder;
He listens to the rhythmic chant
Of machines at the Ordnance Plant:
They’ re saying “How you like
Gold Mine you surely strike?
‘Sa pretty swell way to click,
Eh, WATER-BOY, SECOND TRICK?–
“Ain’t you a wonder?”
Goodbye now, children, I’m going to see
If they can’t dig up a BUCKET FOR ME!
by Ray Romine Tuesday, June 1, 1943