I am moved by Lady Percy 's expression of love. CLICK HERE - see if you agree.
Otherwise my novels, short stories, verse, family, music, memories, vulgar interests, detestations,
responses, apologies. I hold posts to 300 words* having found less is better than more.
I re-comment on comments and re-re-re-comment on re-re-comments.
* One exception: short stories.

Monday, 21 July 2014

Zach again, I fear

Doting grandparents can quickly sicken blog readers. Twice this month I've done Zach and here he is again.

Cultural Base Widened (July 12) saw Zach in a purple dress and ravishing auburn wig. It arrived via an e-mail his mum labelled "Disturbing". So disturbing I had to compensate for gender ambiguities by listing his other leisure-time pursuits, notably soccer.

Bewigged, Zach played Lady Jane Seymour in a school play about the Tudors. But this was his second role. His first was as the Scot, James The Something, husband of the daughter of Edward The Thingummy (history was never my strong point). Zach, wearing only a kilt and a sort of plaid shawl, is shown above speaking to the much taller Anne Boleyn. Commendable if dull.

But what startled the audience (including his mum) was on his own initiative, eight-year-old Zach adopted a Scottish accent. Possibly copied from recently retired Sir Alec Ferguson, mega-succesful manager of Man United, but never mind. Fond grandparent indeed.

Oh yes, and when the cast was short a female actor for Jane Seymour, Zach volunteered. Next stop, surely, a career in banking.

Here’s an ambiguous one:

And now if e’er by chance I put,
My fingers into glue,
Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot
Into a left-hand shoe,
Or if I drop upon my toe,
A very heavy weight
I weep, for it reminds me so
Of that old man I used to know –

Reasons why. Doggerel? I think not. It’s too professionally rhythmic for a start. The sequence of disasters is progressive and maintains one’s interest. And surely you find yourself needing to know how the comparison is resolved. None of which, on its own, spells poetry. But all together?

Lewis Carroll


  1. Bravo Zach! Obviously destined for a great career, whatever he chooses. Irresistible in wig or kilt, with or without Scots accent.

    Your comment required at my latest post, Robbie. Works well?

  2. I now know the song, the name of the song, what the song is called, and what the name of the song is called. I know that Alice did not weep, and that I have not yet wept, but I'm checking the box that says "poetry" next to it.

  3. I'm calling this one "The Way We Were", but its name is "The New Collossus". I'm calling the name "For Crying Out Loud". It's by Emma Lazarus:

    Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
    With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
    Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
    A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
    Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
    Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
    Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
    The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

    "Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
    With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
    Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
    The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
    Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
    I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

  4. The Zachster continues to impress me with his vim and vigour! Bravo!

  5. Natalie: OK, OK. I know what's required.

    MikeM (part one): Very allusive, very personal, very obscure - most of it beyond me but no doubt I deserve it: I've been guilty of all three, probably within the last half-dozen posts. I'm glad we're agreed that it is poetry.

    MikeM (part two): I must paddle my own canoe with this one. I risk being offensive since patriotism is built into the US DNA and I've managed to get along without any kind of patriotism for seven decades.

    Here's the summary of a short story that will never be written. A Mexican wetback, having just crossed the Rio Grande, is challenged by US border guards. He reaches into his pocket for a tortilla, made by his grannie, which he intends to offer the guards as a gesture of friendship. They mistake his intentions and opt for the American solution.

    When they examine his dead body they find he has the exhortation you cite tattooed on his chest.

    I would call this irony except that I know irony is a sometime thing in the US. Also that someone, somewhere will be blubbering.

    RW (zS): Better than either of those he's diversifying.

  6. You suggested we readers might lust for some of Carrol's neighboring verse. In my case you were right. Pt. I alludes to the conversation Alice has with the knight prior to his recitation of the verse you plucked from the pluckings of your anthology. Part II alludes to it as well, toying with the "Statue of Liberty" inscription. That poem, which for it's fame one would think was carved in foot tall letters at the base of the statue, actually only occupies a small plaque in an inner chamber. It was written as an auctionable contribution to raise funds for a suitable base for Ms. Liberty, and was only added to the monument years later. Not particularly in keeping with the symbolism intended by all that French copper, it caught on. Good stuff though, "imprisoned lightning," "Mother of Exiles". Your wetbacks mistake was in not realizing his fellow Americans to the north, flush with plastic bags, seldom carry tortillas in their pockets. Good vignette though.