IambicPentameterTranslator.com
A writing friend of science fiction bent
Saw some work I'd done, some poetic bit.
He paid me quite a pleasant compliment
And sent some text: What did I think of it?
I must confess, I did mislead a tad
Suggesting that a website did the work.
I answered him, as if this website had,
I hope that you'll not think me just a jerk.
Below is his text, after, my reply.
I "ran it through a translator" I said.
Note carefully, my friends, I didn't lie.
The translator is simply in my head. ];-)
- - - - - - - - - - - -
He wrote:
Heheh - I love it!
Ah, my heart thrills at the thought of what you could do with a battlefield scene complete with dual-mounted air-cooled machine guns hammering away at shambling alien monstrosities dragging our women back to their black ships.
Yes, I can remember a time as a little sprat, standing in the dime store waiting for my mother to bring an ice cold coca-cola, gazing at the cover of SF pulp magazines and comics. You can imagine my eyes, the size of saucers, gulping in visions of a fightin' Marine - complete with shredded shirt and cigar clinched in his teeth, a scarred hand locked around the throat of one alien, while the other hand held a .45ACP being discharged point blank into the face of a second unfortunate alien, a buxom (human) female with torn dress on her knees between them. In the background, more Marines are driving the whipped alien survivors back into their ship - which happens to be parked on a hill. Three of the Marines pushing forward have a flag, invoking Iwo Jima memories.
Level _Head responded:
Thank you. I took the liberty of running your passage through an iambic pentameter translator, just for a chuckle. Here's what it came up with:
- - - - - - -
Ah, my heart thrills at thoughts of battlefields
Where side-by-side air-cooled machine guns roar
The aliens grotesquely seek their shields
But drag our women, hostage, by the score
The guns continue hammering away;
The shambling black monstrosities retreat
Though battle scarred Marines have them at bay
Our women, stolen, keep this bittersweet...
Yes, I remember well a time gone by:
A little sprat was I who stood entranced
At dime store fiction making my heart fly
My mother bought us Cokes while my brain danced.
The SF pulps and comics held me fast
My eyes like saucers taking in the scene:
A hero, scarred and torn by weapon blast
Girl at his feet, this fighting fierce Marine!
Cigar clenched in his teeth, his steely grasp
Around the throat of some vile off-world spawn
And, gun in other hand, he ends the rasp
Of otherworlder's twin, whose face is gone.
The rugged grip upon the .45
The buxom lass, revealing at his feet
My eyes locked on the torn dress, but Id strive
To see the rest of Otherworld's defeat.
Yes! More Marines drive aliens along
And force them back into their black-clad hulls
They march the whipped arch-enemy, once strong
And climb the hill now littered with their skulls.
And look, upon the hill! There stands a place
Where US Flag should fly, and soon it will.
Three fighters guard what makes my young heart race
An Iwo Jima patriotic thrill.
(c) 2003 IambicPentameterTranslator.com -- all rights reserved.
Saw some work I'd done, some poetic bit.
He paid me quite a pleasant compliment
And sent some text: What did I think of it?
I must confess, I did mislead a tad
Suggesting that a website did the work.
I answered him, as if this website had,
I hope that you'll not think me just a jerk.
Below is his text, after, my reply.
I "ran it through a translator" I said.
Note carefully, my friends, I didn't lie.
The translator is simply in my head. ];-)
- - - - - - - - - - - -
He wrote:
Heheh - I love it!
Ah, my heart thrills at the thought of what you could do with a battlefield scene complete with dual-mounted air-cooled machine guns hammering away at shambling alien monstrosities dragging our women back to their black ships.
Yes, I can remember a time as a little sprat, standing in the dime store waiting for my mother to bring an ice cold coca-cola, gazing at the cover of SF pulp magazines and comics. You can imagine my eyes, the size of saucers, gulping in visions of a fightin' Marine - complete with shredded shirt and cigar clinched in his teeth, a scarred hand locked around the throat of one alien, while the other hand held a .45ACP being discharged point blank into the face of a second unfortunate alien, a buxom (human) female with torn dress on her knees between them. In the background, more Marines are driving the whipped alien survivors back into their ship - which happens to be parked on a hill. Three of the Marines pushing forward have a flag, invoking Iwo Jima memories.
Level _Head responded:
Thank you. I took the liberty of running your passage through an iambic pentameter translator, just for a chuckle. Here's what it came up with:
- - - - - - -
Ah, my heart thrills at thoughts of battlefields
Where side-by-side air-cooled machine guns roar
The aliens grotesquely seek their shields
But drag our women, hostage, by the score
The guns continue hammering away;
The shambling black monstrosities retreat
Though battle scarred Marines have them at bay
Our women, stolen, keep this bittersweet...
Yes, I remember well a time gone by:
A little sprat was I who stood entranced
At dime store fiction making my heart fly
My mother bought us Cokes while my brain danced.
The SF pulps and comics held me fast
My eyes like saucers taking in the scene:
A hero, scarred and torn by weapon blast
Girl at his feet, this fighting fierce Marine!
Cigar clenched in his teeth, his steely grasp
Around the throat of some vile off-world spawn
And, gun in other hand, he ends the rasp
Of otherworlder's twin, whose face is gone.
The rugged grip upon the .45
The buxom lass, revealing at his feet
My eyes locked on the torn dress, but Id strive
To see the rest of Otherworld's defeat.
Yes! More Marines drive aliens along
And force them back into their black-clad hulls
They march the whipped arch-enemy, once strong
And climb the hill now littered with their skulls.
And look, upon the hill! There stands a place
Where US Flag should fly, and soon it will.
Three fighters guard what makes my young heart race
An Iwo Jima patriotic thrill.
(c) 2003 IambicPentameterTranslator.com -- all rights reserved.