BookLust

Silly Poetry Friday 50

Yeah, it's not Friday, but seeing as how I haven't even post a Silly Poetry Friday for a while, what the heck does it matter?

I'm still hooked on the stories from Shockheaded Peter, and so today's poem is none other than the terrible tale of that dirty Shockhead Peter. Let it be a lesson to all you naughty dirty folk out there!

Just look at him! There he stands,

With his nasty hair and hands.

See! his nails are never cut;

They are grim'd as black as soot;

And the sloven, I declaire,

Never once has comb'd his hair;

Any thing to me is sweeter

Than to see Shock-headed Peter.

Silly Poetry Friday 49

It's Friday, I'm here, and I'm silly!

Well, today's poem is particularly interesting for me, because it's a recent discovery, and it has a lot of history behind it. One of the books I'm reading right now is Mary Henley Rubio's biography of L.M. Montgomery, Lucy Maud Montgomery: The Gift of Wings. One of the many joys of reading this biography is that the author, as well as revealing many fascinating (and often heart-breaking) details about L.M. Montgomery's life, also places Lucy Maud's life story in context with the history of that time period. Ms. Rubio provides a wealth of fascinating info about the growth of Canadian writers during Lucy Maud's lifetime, as well as the various writer's events and organizations that began to emerge during this time period (late 1800's – early 1900's). One such organization was the Canadian Author's Association, of which Lucy Maud was very much involved  in. But in the early 1920's not all writers were impressed with this organization:

The CAA, initially dominated by older men, had expanded to contain many supporting members whose approach to literature was more enthusasitic than discriminating. For all its good work on copyright law and promoting the writing of Canadian authors, the CAA still struck some ambitious younger writers as a social club where the stuffy old guard mingled and schmoozed, proud of a handful of unimaginative poems they might have published in newspapers and magazines.

Hmmmm...seems not much has changed over all this time in that respect. The new young writers always seem to be critical and condemning of the the old guard and their 'stuffy old ways' in approaching Canadian literature.

One such poet during that time, Frank R. Scott, "wrote a brilliantly satiric poem about the CAA entitled "The Canadian Authors Meet". It skewered those he saw as literary wannabes who wrote sweetly sentimental and patriotic verse imitating Romantic and Victorian poetry."

Well, I had never heard of the poem, but with a little Googling, I found it PDQ. And so, today's silly poem:

The Canadian Authors Meet

Expansive puppets percolate self-unction
Beneath a portrait of the Prince of Wales.
Miss Crotchet's muse has somehow failed to function,
Yet she's a poetess. Beaming, she sails

From group to chattering group, with such a dear
Victorian saintliness, as is her fashion,
Greeting the other unknowns with a cheer--
Virgins of sixty who still write of passion.

The air is heavy with Canadian topics,
And Carman, Lampman, Roberts, Campbell, Scott,
Are measured for their faith and philanthropics,
Their zeal for God and King, their earnest thought.

The cakes are sweet, but sweeter is the feeling
That one is mixing with the literati;
It warms the old, and melts the most congealing.
Really, it is a most delightful party.

Shall we go round the mulberry bush, or shall
We gather at the river, or shall we
Appoint a Poet Laureate this fall,
Or shall we have another cup of tea?

O Canada, O Canada, O can
A day go by without new authors springing
To paint the native maple, and to plan
More ways to set the selfsame welkin ringing?

Lucy Maud Montgomery and her treasured china dogs, Gog and Magog.

Silly Poetry Friday 48

So if you haven't noticed, the silly global economy is like, well, messed up, dude. Yesterday I got my Fidelity statement for the year-end, and Oy, I don't wanna tell ya how much I've lost. I guess I'll be contacting my investment manager and crying big fat tears. But in the mean time, why not have a dose of a silly poem to lighten your spirits, since many of us have already lightened our bank accounts, whether we wanted to or not...

Enjoy this silly poem by Robert Frost:

THE HARDSHIP OF ACCOUNTING

Never ask of money spent
Where the spender thinks it went.
Nobody was ever meant
To remember or invent
What he did with every cent.

Silly Poetry Friday 47

Yeah, I know, I know...it's been a while since I posted a Silly Poetry Friday poem. In my defense, it's the Holiday Season, and relatives have descended upon the Storms' humble abode, and so quite frankly all regular schedules are shot to hell and a handbasket. But as a way of making it up to everyone, I will post on my blog a very special Silly Poetry poem. And why is it so special? 'Cuz it's written by my Grandad, that's why!

My maternal grandfather was a very witty man who loved puns, opera, a good stiff drink, and yes – silly poetry. I have very fond memories of him reciting to me the nonsense poem, Betty Bought a Bit of Butter, while I sat on his knee, and listened with great interest. He even wrote his own poetry from time time. And I am very fortunate that my Mom managed to get a copy of a wonderful poem he wrote for his employer, Desnoes & Geddes, not long before he retired from the company. If you've never heard of Desnoes & Geddes, then you've never had any Jamaican Red Stripe Beer, man!

And so, without further ado, my Grandfather – Michael Leopold Levy – and his Swan Song poem:

I am not what you'd call a Saint
I like my bit of fun;
Still I'm no Devil, that I ain't
When all is said and done.
And Life to me is one long spree
Of Joy and fun and laughter,
'Tis time to think when on life's brink
Of where you'll go hereafter.

The flowers ope their petals fair
To soft sweet zephyrs sighing,
Their radiant perfume, rich and rare --
Tomorrow they are dying.
The mayfly hovers o'er the stream
To joyful pleasures winging,
Their life is but one short day dream,
The end and the beginning.

And you whose stay on earth is brief,
Oh! why should you be pining;
Ah! shut your eyes to gloom and grief,
Look for the silver lining.
Remember you are growing old,
Each day but makes you older.
Youth makes your passions gay and bold,
Age makes your passions colder!

Youth comes but once, and since that's so,
I ain't a-going to let it
Slip from my grasp so easy! No!
And then go and forget it?
Not me! I'm a little wren
And now this is my song time.
'Tis time enough to think that when
You're dead, you're dead a long time.

It's my own life, and why should I
Ask others how to live it?
If afterwards from Youth I sigh
Who is there now to give it?
So why should I let joys go by
And miss earth's fun and laughter?
'Tis time to think when on life's brink
Of where you'll go hereafter.

– Michael L. Levy

Cheers, Grandad, I hope you've got a drink wherever you are; for as you often liked to say – bird can't fly on one wing!

Silly Poetry Friday 46

Yup, I know, it's been a while since I posted a silly poem – that makes it all the more wonderful when you get one though, right? Sort of like when a starving man happily eats whatever is thrown in front of him. Yeah, I know...whatever.

So today I'm gonna kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. The charming blogger Leopard13 has given me the Bookworm Award, which I think is even more of an honour than getting a GG. Part of the award involves some work on my part (the noive of this guy!) – I've got to pick up the book that is nearest to me, go to page 56, write out the fifth sentence, and even some more sentences after that. Ok, I guess I can do that. But I'm gonna cheat just a wee bit – I'm just gonna pick a poem on pg 56 that I like, as use it for my Silly Poetry Friday poem (yes, what great fortune for me, that the book Limerick Lyrics just happened to be the nearest book! Wink).

So why this poem? Well, it's about eating, and I'm kinda hungry right now, and the character's name in the poem is Maud, and that was the name of my grandmother. How's that for a literary intellectual decision?

There was a young lady named Maud,
Who at meals was a terrible fraud,
She never was able
To eat at the table,
But – out in the pantry – oh, Lord!

Silly Poetry Friday 45

Late again...let's not even talk about it, ok?

The poem I picked this week has no significance in my life or the goings-on in the world – it's just plain silly and fun, and I like it. It's from a collection entitled Limerick Lyrics, and was selected and arranged by Stanton Vaughn. The book was published by Sully and Kleinteich in New York, 1906. I broke down and bought it when I paid a visit to the amazing bookstore The Monkey's Paw in Toronto. If you have any interest in rare, quirky books and luverly old typewriters, then hike it over to that wondrous book store.

The poem I'm posting isn't actually a limerick – it's just a four-line silly poem. About the last 20 or so pages of this collection are just selections of silly four-line poems, which I assume, were popular at the time of the publishing. Here's one of my faves:

Sweet Anna was, as many know,
A woman suffragist:
But when sweet Anna got a beau,
She was an Anna kissed.

Silly Poetry Friday 44

I'm here, and I'm on schedule!! How silly is that?

Say...ya know what's even sillier than Silly Poetry Friday? That #@!!* Federal election that we were just forced to suffer through, that's what. And quelle suprise, Harper got another minority. I realise that it would have been a bloody miracle for the Liberals to win, but at least my prayers were answered, and that slimy, beady-eyed, sweater-wearing automaton did not get his freakin' majority. And so to celebrate the end of this complete waste of time and money, I bring you yet another Odgen Nash poem, 'cuz Mr. Nash is so darn funny, so darn smart, and this poem is just so darn fitting:

YES-AND-NO MAN

Poor Manfred, always in bad odor,
Muddled middle-of-the-roader.
Veering Left toward visions bright,
Leftist jargon drives him Right
Until the Rightist hatchet men
Turn him to the Left again,
Searching for a category,
Spo-Radical and desul-Tory.

Silly Poetry Friday 43

Yeah, yeah...tell me something I don't know. So I'm late as usual. Well stop livin' in the past, I say. Suck it up. Snort.

Today's silly poem is inspired by recent events in the news. The um...global economic crisis is probably on a few people's minds, and I'm assumin' that there's at least a couple folks who are interested in the upcomin' Canuck election don't ya know. And like, why am I droppin' my g's? Well...dependin' on how things transpire with our next-door neighbours and their upcomin' election, we may all be talkin' like this before ya know it don't ya know.

I read this clever poem this mornin' and felt that what with the current events and Thanksgivin' and all, it was the perfect silly fit. (Silly fit! Ha ha...get it? Ok dokey, movin' along...) Behold the brilliance once again, of Mr. Odgen Nash:

MINI-JABBERWOCKY

Most people would find rising unemployment
A source of unenjoyment.
Not so the anonymous presidential advisor
Whose comment might have been wiser.
He has informed the nation
That rising unemployment is merely a statistical aberration.
I don't want to argue or squabble,
But that gook I won't gobble.

Happy Thanksgivin', y'all...

Silly Poetry Friday 42

Yes, yes, I know...late again. This is beyond silly, if that is at all possible for me. Ok, ok, we all know that being beyond silly for me is not only possible, it is very highly probable. But anyway...in my silly defense, the past few days have been spent entertaining visiting relatives, and then hunkering down to finish an illo job. But my schedule is free now (perhaps a little too free, which is kind of freaking me out), so here is my late silly poem.

This poem isn't actually silly, though it is very witty and quite frankly brilliant. If you read the Globe & Mail, then you will be very familiar with the amazing talents of John Allemang, who writes a very clever and timely poem in his Poetic Justice spot every week in the Focus Section of the paper.

Unless you've been living under a rock these past few weeks, you'll be aware that that cretin we call our PM has been slashing funding for the arts with joyful abandon. Well this drama all came to a head recently with Harper making the comment that basically, ordinary Canadians don't care about arts funding, and don't appreciate the way we lazy artists gallivant about, sucking off the teat of the goverment at our never-ending cocktail-swilling galas which as you know are televised on a regular basis, so much so that ordinary Canadians don't even know what the hell's going on anymore with the truly cultural shows like Canadian Idol  and The Amazing Race 'cuz they've been pre-empted so many times by those goddam teat-sucking whining gala-slut artists don't ya know. So when I read Mr. Allemang's latest Poetic Justice, I knew I had to post it for Silly Poetry Friday, albeit late and all don't ya know.

CULTURE SHOCK

Compare an artist's meagre grant
To funding for an auto plant –
On second thought, don't even try,
For while you  help expose the lie
That those who act or sing or strum
Are artful dodgers trying to bum
A fortune from the common folks
Whose culture stops with laugh-track jokes,
You just play Stephen Harper's game.
The guy quite clearly feels no shame
At posing as a Philistine:
To make the literati whine
Is what it takes to win the vote
Of those who find him too remote,
And each snide Peggy Atwood pan
Now turns him into Everyman.
Resist the Tory culture wars,
Which brand you all as thin-skinned bores,
And skip the urge to play the parts
That Harper's crafted for the arts –
You may well be the knowledge class,
But now's the time to act more crass,
For when you wine about your cuts,
You save the Tories' sorry butts.

If you  haven't read Atwood's response to Harper, or John Doyle's perspective, do take the time to read what they have to say – both every eloquent and very true (though some of the comments in favour of Harper's take on the arts is depressing to say the least).

And I know that Mr. Allemang did recommend that we artists don't wine in any way shape or form, but I can't help it – I'm feeling really crabby today, and am getting even crabbier at the thought of Harper possibly winning a majority in the upcoming Federal election. So I leave you with this butchered cartoon.

Now I know that this cartoon is anything but sophisticated, but Allemang did also advise us that now's the time to act more crass.

Silly Poetry Friday 41

Yes it's late, but it's still Friday, so there!

Today's poem was inspired by my previous post about collecting letters. Yup, I seem to be on an Uncle Shelby kick, but I simply could not resist this poem, in keeping with the situation and all...