About 73 minutes
Lincoln & other poems — Reading Companion
Historical Psychological Social Fiction
16,598 recorded words. 2 minutes difference from this book's estimate.
View Gutenberg source #54527For Impertinent Poems — Themes and Context, the stored edition analysis reports 16,291 words, 1 hr 11 min estimated reading time, and 4 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 18.6 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “American wit and humor,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
Explore this collection
These alternatives are selected using recorded categories and estimated reading time.
About 73 minutes
Historical Psychological Social Fiction
16,598 recorded words. 2 minutes difference from this book's estimate.
View Gutenberg source #54527About 65 minutes
Historical Psychological Social Fiction
14,809 recorded words. 6 minutes difference from this book's estimate.
View Gutenberg source #35536About 62 minutes
Historical Psychological Social Fiction
14,168 recorded words. 9 minutes difference from this book's estimate.
View Gutenberg source #37323Search stored excerpts and compare books → Choose by your preferences →
Choices use stored catalog measurements. Estimates vary with reading speed. A shared category is a catalog label, not a claim that two books have the same argument or literary quality.
Search reads excerpt text stored with this catalog and links to its associated Gutenberg record. The connection is stored in the site database; this tool does not recheck that every excerpt is word-for-word identical to that external record. Excerpt search does not cover every chapter and does not verify historical publication dates.
Catalog snapshot checked: 2026-09-25. Coverage: 95 public books, 95 available source excerpts.
Read the complete public-domain text at its original source.
Read on Project GutenbergEdmund Vance Cooke opens Impertinent Poems with a disarmingly frank 'Pre-Impertinence' that acknowledges the collection's title might itself be the chief impertinence—'calling them poems.' This self-deprecating tone sets the stage for a series of verses that rely on conversational rhythms, direct address, and a deliberately unpoetic vocabulary. Cooke's speakers often chide readers or imaginary interlocutors, as in 'Dead Men's Dust,' where he accuses the audience of spending on lunch what they won't spend on poetry. The poems are built around recurring rhetorical moves: the use of 'but' and 'if' to undercut praise, the juxtaposition of grand and trivial, and a preference for the concrete over the abstract.
Cooke's poems frequently adopt a tone of mock exasperation, speaking directly to a 'you' that is both reader and stand-in for a broader public. In 'Dead Men's Dust,' he opens with 'You don't buy poetry. (Neither do I.)'—a confession that collapses the distance between poet and audience. This technique recurs in 'What Are You Doing?,' where the speaker shifts from musing to imperative: 'So it's hey for to-day! for to-day is yours.' The effect is that of a friendly but pointed argument, as if the poet is trying to talk the reader into a better frame of mind. The conversational style extends to the use of dashes, exclamations, and parenthetical asides, which mimic the rhythms of speech rather than formal verse.
A striking pattern in these poems is the use of qualifying words to undercut praise or expectation. In 'Except,' the speaker enumerates compliments that are each followed by a 'but' or 'except': 'She'd be a beauty if——' and 'Heaven is good—except!' The poem's final lines—'Eternal justice still is kept / And Heaven is good—except!'—turn the device into a wry commentary on human dissatisfaction. Similarly, 'The Choice' hinges on the idea that perception is a matter of selection: 'You can lift your soul to its outermost look, / Or can keep it packed in a pocketbook.' Cooke's speakers are acutely aware of the gap between what is said and what is meant, and they exploit that gap for both humor and insight.
Several poems function as miniature character studies, targeting recognizable social types. 'The First Person Singular' skewers the conversational narcissist: 'McUmphrey's a fellow who's lengthy on lungs. / Backed up by the smoothest of ball-bearing tongues.' The speaker complains that McUmphrey never allows anyone else to 'chip in my own little, clever romance / In the first person singular.' The poem extends the critique to Cousin Maud, who 'serves us her portions—as if on a platter' of medical complaints, and to Mrs. Henderson's Annie, whose domestic troubles are aired in company. Cooke's method is to let the characters' own words and the speaker's exasperated asides reveal their absurdity, without overt moralizing.
Cooke's verse forms are varied but consistently favor a loose, anapestic or iambic rhythm that accommodates colloquial speech. In 'Dead Men's Dust,' the rhyme scheme is irregular, and lines like 'You can buy any one of the poetry bunch / For the price you pay for a business lunch' use a conversational cadence that undercuts any pretension to high art. The poem 'How Did You Die?' (listed in the index) opens with a quatrain that shifts from a slow crawl to a sudden pounce: 'Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce, / And whether he's slow, or spry, / It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts / But only—how did you die?' The abrupt enjambment and the dash before the final line create a punchy, epigrammatic effect that is typical of Cooke's style.
Readers approaching Impertinent Poems should expect not a unified sequence but a series of discrete performances, each with its own target and tone. Cooke's wit depends on timing and inflection; reading aloud may reveal the full force of his rhetorical pauses and exclamations. The poems reward attention to their small structural choices—the placement of a 'but,' the interruption of a dash, the shift from second to first person. These are not confessions but crafted arguments, designed to provoke a nod of recognition rather than a gasp of admiration.
That old Cooke collection made me think about how we talk ourselves up, all that posturing we do. It left a quiet ache, the way honest poems do. Later, I found myself lingering over A Household Book of English Poetry Selected and Arranged with Notes — Background and Themes, and felt that same hushed recognition—how the grandest lines often come from our smallest, most private deceptions.
Capture what you thought, learned, and would like to remember.