And after you have listened to it, you may read about it until you’re blue in the face right here.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Ah, ’tis a bra brit moonlit nit tonit...
...and I’m of a mind this year not to settle for pale imitations of “Auld Lang Syne” but to go with Bobby Burns’s original version.
And after you have listened to it, you may read about it until you’re blue in the face right here.
And after you have listened to it, you may read about it until you’re blue in the face right here.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Unaccustomed as I am am am to public speaking speaking speaking...
I want to thank Lord Yorkshire Pudding of Pudding Towers, Sheffield, Yorkshire, England (for readers from other planets, that’s in the U.K.) for giving this blog an award that allows me to display the following one-of-a-kind objet d’art:
I think.
I mean, I wouldn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything, but even as I gratefully and humbly accept this award for Best Blogger in his street in Canton, Georgia I can’t help remembering that just one short year ago, at the end of 2009, Lord Pudding named me Top American Blogger of 2009.
Lo, how the mighty are fallen. Or at least not riding as high as in days of yore.
Still, any award is better than no award, so in the spirit of hands-across-the-sea camaraderie, hail-fellow-well-met bonhomie, and the peace-on-earth-good-will-toward men congeniality currently but only temporarily in vogue, I say a simple, heartfelt “Thank you.”
I now relinquish the microphone phone phone, with one partingshot question estion estion:
Who died and left Pudding in charge of end-of-year gala award banquets?
I think.
I mean, I wouldn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything, but even as I gratefully and humbly accept this award for Best Blogger in his street in Canton, Georgia I can’t help remembering that just one short year ago, at the end of 2009, Lord Pudding named me Top American Blogger of 2009.
Lo, how the mighty are fallen. Or at least not riding as high as in days of yore.
Still, any award is better than no award, so in the spirit of hands-across-the-sea camaraderie, hail-fellow-well-met bonhomie, and the peace-on-earth-good-will-toward men congeniality currently but only temporarily in vogue, I say a simple, heartfelt “Thank you.”
I now relinquish the microphone phone phone, with one parting
Who died and left Pudding in charge of end-of-year gala award banquets?
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Poems that really make you think, or 2010 (and maybe even rhymeswithplague) as Father William
The following is from Wikipedia, the online encyclopedia:
“You Are Old, Father William” is a poem by Lewis Carroll that appears in his book Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865). It is recited by Alice in Chapter 5, “Advice from a Caterpillar" (Chapter 3 in the original manuscript, Alice’s Adventures Under Ground). Alice informs the caterpillar that she has previously tried to repeat “How Doth the Little Busy Bee” and has had it all come wrong as “How Doth the Little Crocodile". The caterpillar asks her to repeat “You are old, Father William”, and she recites.
Like most poems in Alice, the poem is a parody of a poem then well-known to children, of Robert Southey’s didactic poem “The Old Man’s Comforts and How He Gained Them”, originally published in 1799. Like the other poems parodied by Lewis Carroll in Alice, this original poem is now mostly forgotten, and only the parody is remembered. Carroll’s parody “undermines the pious didacticism of Southey’s original and gives Father William an eccentric vitality that rebounds upon his idiot questioner”. Martin Gardner calls it “one of the undisputed masterpieces of nonsense verse”.
[End of Wikipedia passage]
Here’s the poem:
You Are Old, Father William
by Lewis Carroll
“You are old, Father William,” the young man said,
“And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head --
Do you think, at your age, it is right?”
“In my youth," Father William replied to his son,
“I feared it might injure the brain;
But now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.”
“You are old," said the youth, “As I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door -—
Pray, what is the reason of that?”
“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
“I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment —- one shilling the box -—
Allow me to sell you a couple?”
“You are old,” said the youth, “And your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak -—
Pray, how did you manage to do it?”
“In my youth," said his father, “I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.”
“You are old,” said the youth, “one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose -—
What made you so awfully clever?”
“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,
Said his father; “don’t give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs!”
Call me odd if you like, but I do not think of this as only a nonsense poem. Of course it makes us laugh, but I also view it as a parable that can benefit us all, if we have ears to hear.
If ever a year stood on its head, turned a back-somersault in at the door, finished the goose, or balanced an eel on the end of its nose, it has been 2010. And, yes, I am thinking specifically of the British and American elections as well as the current state of the British and American economies.
Only some of those phrases, however, apply to your correspondent. As for other phrases in the poem, such as “old,” “hair become very white,” “grown uncommonly fat,” and “awfully clever” -- well, the jury is still out. But even if the jury returns an unfavorable verdict, your correspondent remains absolutely convinced that he possesses an eccentric vitality that rebounds upon his idiot questioners. In his defense, however, and as an indication of his great humility, please note that he does not say, “he and he alone.”
Lewis Carroll (pen name of Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, 1832 - 1898)
“The chief difficulty Alice found at first was in managing her flamingo.”
WhenFather William rhymeswithplague 2010 is long forgotten, past victories or defeats have faded into obscurity, and the triumphs and tragedies of everyday living have worked themselves into the fabric of our respective lives, may we all find in 2011 less difficulty in managing our flamingo.
“You Are Old, Father William” is a poem by Lewis Carroll that appears in his book Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865). It is recited by Alice in Chapter 5, “Advice from a Caterpillar" (Chapter 3 in the original manuscript, Alice’s Adventures Under Ground). Alice informs the caterpillar that she has previously tried to repeat “How Doth the Little Busy Bee” and has had it all come wrong as “How Doth the Little Crocodile". The caterpillar asks her to repeat “You are old, Father William”, and she recites.
Like most poems in Alice, the poem is a parody of a poem then well-known to children, of Robert Southey’s didactic poem “The Old Man’s Comforts and How He Gained Them”, originally published in 1799. Like the other poems parodied by Lewis Carroll in Alice, this original poem is now mostly forgotten, and only the parody is remembered. Carroll’s parody “undermines the pious didacticism of Southey’s original and gives Father William an eccentric vitality that rebounds upon his idiot questioner”. Martin Gardner calls it “one of the undisputed masterpieces of nonsense verse”.
[End of Wikipedia passage]
Here’s the poem:
You Are Old, Father William
by Lewis Carroll
“You are old, Father William,” the young man said,
“And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head --
Do you think, at your age, it is right?”
“In my youth," Father William replied to his son,
“I feared it might injure the brain;
But now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.”
“You are old," said the youth, “As I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door -—
Pray, what is the reason of that?”
“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
“I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment —- one shilling the box -—
Allow me to sell you a couple?”
“You are old,” said the youth, “And your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak -—
Pray, how did you manage to do it?”
“In my youth," said his father, “I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.”
“You are old,” said the youth, “one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose -—
What made you so awfully clever?”
“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,
Said his father; “don’t give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs!”
Call me odd if you like, but I do not think of this as only a nonsense poem. Of course it makes us laugh, but I also view it as a parable that can benefit us all, if we have ears to hear.
If ever a year stood on its head, turned a back-somersault in at the door, finished the goose, or balanced an eel on the end of its nose, it has been 2010. And, yes, I am thinking specifically of the British and American elections as well as the current state of the British and American economies.
Only some of those phrases, however, apply to your correspondent. As for other phrases in the poem, such as “old,” “hair become very white,” “grown uncommonly fat,” and “awfully clever” -- well, the jury is still out. But even if the jury returns an unfavorable verdict, your correspondent remains absolutely convinced that he possesses an eccentric vitality that rebounds upon his idiot questioners. In his defense, however, and as an indication of his great humility, please note that he does not say, “he and he alone.”
When
Sunday, December 26, 2010
“What a pretty wolf little Stinkface has become.”
Although Christmas is over for another year, my Boxing Day gift to the readers of this blog is Daniel Pinkwater reading his Christmas tale, “Wolf Christmas,” on National Public Radio (6:10).
For those of you who would rather read than listen, a transcript is also available at the same link.
We received three inches of snow on Christmas afternoon and evening, the first time the Atlanta area has had snow on Christmas day in over a century (if you don't count a few flurries back in 1983). The white stuff started falling around 11:00 a.m. and continued for nearly twelve hours. This amazing and wondrous state of events has nothing whatsoever to do with Boxing Day, little Stinkface, Uncle Louie, Aunt Fang, or Daniel Pinkwater.
For those of you who would rather read than listen, a transcript is also available at the same link.
We received three inches of snow on Christmas afternoon and evening, the first time the Atlanta area has had snow on Christmas day in over a century (if you don't count a few flurries back in 1983). The white stuff started falling around 11:00 a.m. and continued for nearly twelve hours. This amazing and wondrous state of events has nothing whatsoever to do with Boxing Day, little Stinkface, Uncle Louie, Aunt Fang, or Daniel Pinkwater.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Don’t worry, Dorothy. Rahm Emanuel will be mayor soon....
I saw this picture on Sam’s blog and had to have it on mine (blog envy, thy name is rhymeswithplague). You may be asking, “Sam who?” and you have every right to do so. But that’s for me to know and you to find out.In other news, the spirit of Christmas seems to have taken the day off. But, just like General Douglas MacArthur, he will return.
I’m counting on it.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
Quelle est cette odeur agréable?
Here is the Mormon Tabernacle Choir in Salt Lake City performing “Whence Is That Goodly Fragrance Flowing?” (4:47)
That archaic, somewhat stilted-sounding English title is a translation of the words of the traditional 17th-century French carol “Quelle est cette odeur agréable?” that John Gay incorporated into his Beggar’s Opera in 1728.
Some might think that banks of violins and cellos are the very definition of schmaltz -- can anyone say Mantovani? -- but I think this is one of the most gorgeous pieces of music I have ever heard. Mrs. RWP, though, says it is not her cup of tea.
Here are the English lyrics as translated by A. B. Ramsay:
1. Whence is that goodly fragrance flowing,
Stealing our senses all away?
Never the like did come a-blowing,
Shepherds, in flow’ry fields of May!
Whence is that goodly fragrance flowing,
Stealing our senses all away?
2. What is that light so brilliant, breaking
Here in the night across our eyes?
Never so bright, the day-star waking,
Started to climb the morning skies!
What is that light so brilliant, breaking,
Here in the night across our eyes?
3. Bethlehem! there in manger lying,
Find your Redeemer haste away,
Run ye with eager footsteps vying!
Worship the Saviour born today.
Bethlehem! there in manger lying,
Find your Redeemer haste away.
If you simply must have the original French lyrics, click here. You may note that several English translations are available; the one I have shared with you is the one sung by the choir in the video clip.
As usual, I am one of the last to get the word. One list I saw shows that this song is available on more than 50 classical recordings. But even though it has been around for several centuries, I had never heard it until last Thursday evening when Dawna T. sang it accompanied at the piano by her sister, Lisa K., during their Family Christmas Concert at a church in Marietta. (I was part of the concert too. I accompanied Dawna on “The Perfect Rose,” her son Michael on a cello solo of “What Child Is This?” and Lisa on “O Holy Night.” Lisa wore an emerald velvet gown; Dawna wore a purple one. I was resplendent in a black tuxedo.)
The lyrics, of course, refer to the infant Christ, the baby Jesus, Immanuel, God with us. What struck me as ironic (nay, downright humorous!) is that the odeur agréable that so mystified the songwriter was a barnyard stable filled with cows, sheep, donkeys, and (let’s face it) manure. So the actual odeur must have been anything but agréable at the time. Comparing Christ’s presence to the fragrance of a rose has been quite common through the centuries, though, and has resulted in such songs as “The Perfect Rose,” “Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming,” and, of course, from now on in my own mind, “Whence Is That Goodly Fragrance Flowing?”
I think I will go back and listen to it again.
No Rosicrucians were harmed in the creation of this blogpost.
That archaic, somewhat stilted-sounding English title is a translation of the words of the traditional 17th-century French carol “Quelle est cette odeur agréable?” that John Gay incorporated into his Beggar’s Opera in 1728.
Some might think that banks of violins and cellos are the very definition of schmaltz -- can anyone say Mantovani? -- but I think this is one of the most gorgeous pieces of music I have ever heard. Mrs. RWP, though, says it is not her cup of tea.
Here are the English lyrics as translated by A. B. Ramsay:
1. Whence is that goodly fragrance flowing,
Stealing our senses all away?
Never the like did come a-blowing,
Shepherds, in flow’ry fields of May!
Whence is that goodly fragrance flowing,
Stealing our senses all away?
2. What is that light so brilliant, breaking
Here in the night across our eyes?
Never so bright, the day-star waking,
Started to climb the morning skies!
What is that light so brilliant, breaking,
Here in the night across our eyes?
3. Bethlehem! there in manger lying,
Find your Redeemer haste away,
Run ye with eager footsteps vying!
Worship the Saviour born today.
Bethlehem! there in manger lying,
Find your Redeemer haste away.
If you simply must have the original French lyrics, click here. You may note that several English translations are available; the one I have shared with you is the one sung by the choir in the video clip.
As usual, I am one of the last to get the word. One list I saw shows that this song is available on more than 50 classical recordings. But even though it has been around for several centuries, I had never heard it until last Thursday evening when Dawna T. sang it accompanied at the piano by her sister, Lisa K., during their Family Christmas Concert at a church in Marietta. (I was part of the concert too. I accompanied Dawna on “The Perfect Rose,” her son Michael on a cello solo of “What Child Is This?” and Lisa on “O Holy Night.” Lisa wore an emerald velvet gown; Dawna wore a purple one. I was resplendent in a black tuxedo.)
The lyrics, of course, refer to the infant Christ, the baby Jesus, Immanuel, God with us. What struck me as ironic (nay, downright humorous!) is that the odeur agréable that so mystified the songwriter was a barnyard stable filled with cows, sheep, donkeys, and (let’s face it) manure. So the actual odeur must have been anything but agréable at the time. Comparing Christ’s presence to the fragrance of a rose has been quite common through the centuries, though, and has resulted in such songs as “The Perfect Rose,” “Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming,” and, of course, from now on in my own mind, “Whence Is That Goodly Fragrance Flowing?”
I think I will go back and listen to it again.
No Rosicrucians were harmed in the creation of this blogpost.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)