RSS

Daily Archives: January 27, 2017

Primroses, Naomi Shihab Nye and Jabberwocky

I will resolve the photos issue over the weekend. In the meantime, here are two poems for your delectation and an old photo of Primroses in our garden as we have lots in flower today despite the cold.

IMG_9303

I love this one for its understanding of loneliness. I love the writing of Naomi Shihab Nye. If you put her name into my search you will see that I have chosen poems by her before. Kindness, is my favourite.

The Rider – Naomi  Shihab Nye

A boy told me
if he roller-skated fast enough
his loneliness couldn’t catch up to him,

the best reason I ever heard
for trying to be a champion.

What I wonder tonight
pedaling hard down King William Street
is if it translates to bicycles.

A victory! To leave your loneliness
panting behind you on some street corner
while you float free into a cloud of sudden azaleas,
pink petals that have never felt loneliness,
no matter how slowly they fell.

Jabberwocky, by Lewis Carroll,  is simply a logophile’s dream – all those lovely made up words that fit into the context so that the reader somehow knows what they all mean.

Jabberwocky
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
      The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
      Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
      And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
      And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
      He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
      He chortled in his joy.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.
 
 

Tags: ,

 
%d bloggers like this: