Poor William of Ockham,
Poor Brother Will,
Friar who sold his soul,
Who sold our souls.
Not Faustus, and not
Forbidden Knowledge,
That luscious fruit that
Ought to grow. No.
Only the paltry wisdom—
Numquam ponenda est
Pluralitas sine necessitate,
Meaning roughly—cut
The crap; roughly meaning,
Forget the folderol. Meaning,
It’s simpler than that.
Lex parsimoniae:
Yes, it’s a law:
Parsimoniousness—
The cause is paltry;
Be a cheap bastard
With your speculation.
Poor Brother Ockham
Sold his soul,
Sold our souls.
Nobody likes a razor
So damn simple,
So damn sharp.
Why can’t we be Faustus?
Why isn’t anything
Forbidden? Why must
There be always
A simpler answer. . .
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2 comments:
Superfluity is out and sparse is in? I like that... It's like tight writing.
There’s a certain (delicious) irony in penning a 7 verse poem denouncing, nay, even raging against simplicity. Yes, complexity has its place. But folderol? Only if it’s utterly fascinating folderol. Does that imply that sparsity tends to be dry and humorless? Maybe it does indeed…
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