Category Archives: poetry

Zinnias

my garden, poetry,

Last year I had the amazing tall red zinnia in the back yard, but my favorites from the past have been bushy big orange ones in the vegetable garden. For some reason I don’t care for purplish-pink, but if you buy a variety six-pack, there always seem to be several of that color. And if you buy them before they are root-bound they won’t have started to bloom so you can’t even know what color you are setting out.

This year the two 4-inch potted zinnias I bought, in orange and yellow, are not remarkable. But the mix of six are very showy. They are huge; I think they are the “State Fair” variety. I guess I have broadened my mind, because I don’t even mind their hodgepodge of different colors by the driveway.

One I planted in the far corner of the back yard, sort of behind the lavender bush because there was an empty spot. I hadn’t gone to that corner of the garden for a week, and was surprised to see flowers poking out all the way to the sidewalk. It’s as though that dark pink zinnia went into contortions just so I would look at it.

In the front yard I planted some trailing orange zinnias, which I think look nicer flowing out of a pot, but they are cheery enough here. All through springtime when I was planting the front garden, I knew I was not getting the look I wanted. I didn’t have enough time or energy to comb the county for just the right colors and types of plants to create the perfect design.

But now that I have run across this poem — another one by Valerie Worth who wrote the “Library” poem — I have been encouraged to philosophize about the flowers and see a lesson in them. I know that I am very pleased every time I arrive home and they come into view all bright and in their proper places after all.

Zinnias

Zinnias, stout and stiff,
Stand no nonsense: their colors
Stare, their leaves
Grow straight out, their petals
Jut like clipped cardboard,
Round, in neat flat rings.

Even cut and bunched,
Arranged to please us
In the house, in water, they
Will hardly wilt—I know
Someone like zinnias; I wish
I were like zinnias.

–Valerie Worth

Bearish boy slays Tablespoon.

family, humor, poetry

When Nikkipolani made a comment on a recent post about the humor of computer-generated translations, I was reminded of a goofy homeschooling “project” of 20+ years ago. It was nothing assigned, but we were all centered around the home for our learning at the time, providing time for this sort of activity.

Some of our kids were memorizing Lewis Carroll’s “Jabberwocky” just for fun when we bought our first computer and discovered the inadequacy of spelling-checkers. Soon the children submitted the rhyme of the hour to the built-in program for analysis, and then they memorized that wacky “corrected” version.

Eventually a second run through Spell Checker produced another funny nonsense poem. And I later found one derived from “Jabberwocky” by someone else’s computer, which was renamed as well, as “Tablespoons” ! All of them have their charming lines, so I will be extravagant and self-indulgent and put them all here. Just not the original — you can find that easily enough if you didn’t ever commit it to memory yourself.

Jabberwocky by Spell Checker No. 1

‘Twas brisling, and the stilly toes
Did gyre and gamble in the wade;
All missy were the borogoves,
And the mom rates outreach.

“Beware the Jabberwocky, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jujube bird, and shun
The furious Band director!”

He took his volume sword in hand:
Long time the Manxmen foe he fought,–
So rested he by the Hum hum tree,
And stood a while in thought.

And as in offish thought he stood,
The Jabberwocky, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffing through the bulgy wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The volume blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with his head
He went galloping back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwocky?
Come to my arms, my bearish boy!
O fabulous day! Callow! Chalet!”
He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brisling, and the stilly toes
Did gyre and gamble in the wade;
All missy were the borogoves,
And the mom rates outreach.

Next, the version that Robert McNally wrote on his Newton comJabberwocky17.inddputer. The Newton helpfully deciphered it as follows. Jabberwocky a la Newton: [with totally unrelated illustration from the defunct Jabberwocky Magazine]

TABLESPOONS

Teas Willis, and the sticky tours
Did gym and Gibbs in the wake.
All mimes were the borrowers,
And the moderate Belgrade.

“Beware the tablespoon my son,
The teeth that bite, the Claus that catch.
Beware the Subjects bird, and shred
The serious Bandwidth!”

He took his Verbal sword in hand:
Long time the monitors fog he sought,
So rested he by the Tumbled tree,
And stood a while in thought.

And as in selfish thought he stood,
The tablespoon, with eyes of Flame,
Came stifling through the trigger wood,
And troubled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and though,
The Verbal blade went thicker shade.
He left it dead, and with its head,
He went gambling back.

“And host Thai slash the tablespoon?
Come to my arms my bearish boy.
Oh various day! Cartoon! Cathay!”
He charted in his joy.

Teas Willis, and the sticky tours
Did gym and Gibbs in the wake.
All mimes were the borrowers,
And the moderate Belgrade.

Lewis Carroll’s JABBERWOCKY as “recognized” by the Apple Newton, (c) 1993 Robert McNally. Permission is granted to reproduce this if the copyright remains intact.

Finally, our own spell-checker’s second attempt, which seems to me to have the most culinary and homey perspective. (This fellow’s cartoon seems to catch that mood even from the original.)

Jabberwocky by Spell Checker No. 2

Twos broiling, and the slaty stoves
Did gyre and gimbal in the be;
All mimes were the Porridges,
And the mom rats outrace.

“Beware the Jabberwocky, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jujube bird, and shun
The frumpish Bandersnatch!”

He took his formula sword in hand:
Long time the manhole foe he sought,–
So rested he by the Dumdum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in offish thought he stood,
The Jabberwocky, with eyes of flame,
Came wheeling through the tulle wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The formula blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with his head
He went galumphing back.

“And haft thou slain the Jabberwocky?
Come to my arms, my bearish boy!
O fractious day! Calla! !”
He chortled in his joy.

Twos broiling, and the slaty stoves
Did gyre and gimbal in the be;
All mimes were the porridges,
And the mom rats outrace.

Now tell me, was this a common recreation for a time back in the 90’s? Perhaps children are still having this kind of fun with their technology, but mine barely remember the project. They definitely moved on, but I’m glad I have the mementos of happy and occasionally silly days.

Savor the heady dry breath.

books, history, poetry, ,

I miss spending time in the public library, not that I have had a great deal of that experience. In my youth the city library was not a convenient place to study, being ten miles from our house, and my elementary school had no library.

When I stayed with my grandma she would actually drop my sisters and me off at the branch library in Berkeley while she ran errands and we could roam at liberty for an hour. I’m sure none of us knew what a lavish gift that was, but from this vantage point I can appreciate the sublimity, and the mental picture of the room where I spent the most time is still there.

Back home in the country we depended on the bookmobile that every two weeks provided plenty of the sensory excitement that is the subject of the poem below. The visits were brief and fairly businesslike, as we had to jostle a bit with the other young patrons in that cramped space and there certainly was nowhere to sit and ponder. Mom was waiting outside in the car.

I paid no conscious attention to anything but the book titles, being mainly interested in getting my stash to take home and savor in a more purely intellectual fashion. But now, so long removed, if I think on that county van for only a minute, I can remember the clunking sounds  of books being pulled off shelves and put back, and our tennis shoes scuffling around in the grit that we’d brought in from the gravelly parking lot. The librarian-driver would speak as few quiet words as possible as she stamped our cards. And the scent of the books — it’s still in me.

Library
by Valerie Worth

No need even
To take out
A book: only
Go inside
And savor
The heady
Dry breath of
Ink and paper,
Or stand and
Listen to the
Silent twitter
Of a billion
Tiny busy
Black words.

From All the Small Poems and Fourteen More

a summery poem

nature, poetry,

The Grass

The grass so little has to do,—
A sphere of simple green,
With only butterflies to brood,
And bees to entertain,

And stir all day to pretty tunes
The breezes fetch along,
And hold the sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything;

And thread the dews all night, like pearls,
And make itself so fine,—
A duchess were too common
For such a noticing.

And even when it dies, to pass
In odours so divine,
As lowly spices gone to sleep,
Or amulets of pine.

And then to dwell in sovereign barns,
And dream the days away,—
The grass so little has to do,
I wish I were the hay!

-Emily Dickinson

I’m posting this poem for Lisa and for Jody, because they appreciate grass. I do too, but I must not be a good grass-photographer. All I could find in my files just now is a picture Pippin took at Hadrian’s Wall. Don’t miss the butterfly!

Hadrian flower-grass