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Happy Poetry Friday!
Thank you to Bridget at wee words for wee ones for hosting this week’s roundup, where you will find a dance party going down!
This week, I was playing around with sounds and meter in an attempt to come up with a nonsense poem, and I wondered …
- What makes something nonsense verse?
- Who are the most well-known nonsense poets?
- Is there a poet who was well-known, but so terrible at writing poetry that people considered his/her work to be nonsense?
Let's discuss!
After poking around, it became clear to me that there are different interpretations of what qualifies as nonsense verse. I found multiple descriptions:
- Comical rhyming poetry (in general),
- Silly rhyming verse where some of the content doesn’t make sense, such as many nursery rhymes (e.g. Hey-Diddle-Diddle), and
- Verse where most of the words are made up, and although the overall construct sounds right to the ear, the verse may or may not make sense literally.
In other words, there seems to be a spectrum of nonsense verse ranging from:
Humorous Verse ------------------------------------------------- Jibberish with rhyme and meter
Edward Lear, Lewis Carroll, Mervyn Peake, Edward Gorey, Colin West, Dr. Seuss, and Spike Milligan are all listed by Wikipedia as well-known nonsense verse writers. You may have heard of them all, but if you’d like a refresher, this article has poetry samples from most of them.
sketch by Edward Lear
This brings me to Lewis Carroll. “Jabberwocky” is what started me thinking about nonsense. Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass pack a whole lot of nonsense, and on the surface, “Jabberwocky” sounds like total nonsense. Here is the first stanza:
‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
The Jabberwock, illustrated by John Tenniel, 1871
To me, Jabberwocky, feels like reading words in another language. When strung together, the words feel like they should make sense. It has a satisfying mouthfeel and flow. One senses that there is a story line just beyond reach, and indeed there is. Upon closer inspection, many of the words are blends of two words (portmanteaus), and the story seems to follow a typical hero’s journey. For an analysis of the poem, look here. For my taste, nonsense needs to flow and make enough sense to not be completely frustrating.
On to my last question: who is widely regarded as the worst poet of all time? Several internet articles give that inauspicious honor to William Topaz McGonagall. How does one become the worst poet? Well, in McGonagall’s case, he wrote a poem about a bridge collapse and train wreck called “The Tay Bridge Disaster” (and other similarly-crafted works).
Tay Bridge Disaster, a contemporary rendition, Wikipedia
“The Tay Bridge Disaster” by William McGonagall starts:
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
‘Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say-
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”
If you feel so inclined, you can read the rest of the poem here and more about McGonagall here. I like the article’s reference to his “ill-advised imagery.”
All of the above, led me to write the following …
The Lonestie Wolfree and the Fervile Fletch
A lonestie wolfree hibbed by the swersh,
and foofed per dreebs devay.
She vonged for a titch and a frick-frack-frock,
but her bargle strowed reblay.
One day, she gloamed on a fervile fletch,
and beesh she mooged him sown.
Her mooging varged on the mincey fletch
and tetch belarved him floan.
Yes, agreed – utter nonsense!
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Happy Poetry Friday! Continuing with my macabre October theme…
We’re on a camping trip in Transyl … er … PENNsylvania, and we’re staying at a campground where gnomes outnumber campers by a solid fifty to one. After what happened last night … I am not a fan of these diminutive dudes.
Opposite of an Ode to Gnomes
While walking on a woodland trail,
wee elfin creatures made of stone
appear and grin their winsome smiles…
I wish that I were not alone.
Oh, silly me! They’re innocent.
They joke and pose in pointed hats!
Frozen with their vacant stares …
it not as if they’re vampire bats! 
The sun has fallen from the sky.
I hope that I can make it home.
I’m think I’m on the safest path.
Oh, look – a darling, helpful gnome!
Morning dawns, and I awake.
My mind is dizzy, vision blurred.
I think I may have cut my head.
I feel confused; my speech is slurred.
I stumble weakly from the woods.
It's coming back … the memories flood.
Hey, there’s the gnome I met last night!
What’s on his lips? Is that my … BLOOD?
Bwa-ha-happy Poetry Friday the 13th!
Ok, after this clunker, you might be better off checking out Catherine's lovely poem
and review of Irene Latham's The Museum on the Moon,
at Poetry Friday: The Roundup is Here! – Reading to the Core
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October
October is the treasurer of the year,
And all the months pay bounty to her store;
The fields and orchards still their tribute bear,
And fill her brimming coffers more and more
But she, with youthful lavishness,
Spends all her wealth in gaudy dress,
And decks herself in garments bold
Of scarlet, purple, red, and gold.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar, 1872 – 1906
See the rest of the poem here.
Now that October has arrived, ‘tis open season on all things creepy and macabre. As an aside, I’ve noticed a pattern -- my posts seem to rotate among: nonsensical, terrifying, and disgusting. Somehow, this week, I have managed to combine all three.
A few days ago, I saw a ring of turkey vultures hanging in the murky, evening sky. They usually circle lazily in a group of twenty or so, and they always stir a tiny pool of dread in the pit of my stomach.
Undertakers
Turkey vultures circle death,
ring around a broken beast
whispering its final breath.
Now begins the evening feast.
© Tracey Kiff-Judson 2023
You can enjoy a less gloomy Poetry Friday with Matt at Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme! Stop by and learn The Thing to Know About Stargazing!
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OOOPS! If you ended up on this post for Poetry Friday on October 20, 2023, please click here to get to the correct post. Sorry for the confusion!
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In researching the formation of earth, I went down a wormhole on the NASA website that ultimately led me to this video: TIMELAPSE OF THE FUTURE: A Journey to the End of Time
WOW! It projects the future at an exponentially increasing rate of speed from the year 2019 through the end of time. It is lengthy (I guess it takes a while to travel through virtual eternity!), but it's mind-blowing. I recommend the entire video, but even if you watch just the first couple minutes, it is thought-provoking.
It's also a lot to grasp – both intellectually and emotionally. In the existence of the universe, only during pinpoint periods of time, can intelligent life exist -- and here we are! The point in time when time ceases to exist (or at least becomes irrelevant) is hard to comprehend. The thought of creating or jumping to a parallel universe is mind bending. This video left me feeling the simultaneous pertinence and insignificance of this moment.
Pertinent Impermanence
A speck of time:
a flag flutter,
a leaf turn,
a minnow ripple,
a sunbeam,
each particle of now,
will not exist
in the future.
Nothing will be
exactly
as it is now
in the next
nanosecond.
I offer these minnows for your consideration. : )
Time is fleeting! Enjoy this Poetry Friday by visiting Jama at Jama’s Alphabet Soup!
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Photo by Jørgen Håland on Unsplash
Thanks to Marcie Flinchum Atkins, I have fallen in under the spell of the double dactyl. As Marcie referenced in her recent blog post, the double dactyl was popularized in the 1960’s in the publication Esquire magazine and later in the collection Jiggery-Pokery: A Compendium of Double Dactyls, edited by Anthony Hecht and John Hollander.
Double Dactyl Form Rules:
- 2 stanzas of dactylic verse, usually with a silly tone
- Stanza 1:
- line 1 – a jingle or "spell," in the meter /uu/uu (DUM-da-da DUM-da-da)
- line 2 – a name, in the meter /uu/uu
- line 3 – information about the person, in the meter /uu/uu
- line 4 – meter /uu/ (DUM-da-da-DUM)
- Stanza 2:
- line 5 – meter /uu/uu
- line 6 – meter /uu/uu
- line 7 – meter /uu/uu
- line 8 – meter /uu/ and must rhyme with line 4
where "u" is an unstressed beat/syllable, and "/" is a stressed syllable, so the meter has a DUM-da-da DUM-da-da rhythm. DUM-da-da is called a "dactyl," so doubling gives the term "double dactyl."
So here goes …
Booboo Baboingity
Springity sproingity,
Booboo Baboingity
Sprang from a bridge with a
Leap and a prayer.
Bungee cord snapped in two.
Last thing I heard was Boo
Yelling out something -- I
think was a swear.
Hmmm. Maybe I had better keep practicing.
Happy Poetry Friday! This week, be sure to stop by and visit Carol at Beyond LiteracyLink for all things poetic!
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“If a writer stops observing he is finished. Experience is communicated by small details intimately observed.”
― Ernest Hemingway
Many (dare I say most?) poems call attention to details, or as Irene Latham says, “Explode the moment.” Many poets pay close attention to the visual details around them to gain inspiration for their poetry. They observe and stash away snippets. Then they are deviled by the details of sorting through the scraps of words that they have collected and stitching them together into a beautiful poem.
I have a “detail noticing” challenge for you, but first some background: when I was little, my mother would occasionally buy Games Magazine for me. My favorite puzzle was a series of extremely close-up photographs. The challenge was to identify the depicted object with just that visual snippet of information. Through the magic of cropping, I present to you a series of such photos. Feel free to guess the subject of each picture. Observing the tiny details helps!
If you'd like a clue or two:
- Sipper
- Ache preventer
- Protector
- I’ve always felt this way
- That’s just how I roll
- Not kidney, not jelly, not garbanzo
How many did you figure out? In case any of these eyeball benders have you stumped, you can find the answers at the end of last week’s blog post.
Here is a wonderful example of observing details – the poem “Winter Trees” by William Carlos Williams, which starts:
All the complicated details
of the attiring and
the disattiring are completed!
A liquid moon
moves gently among
the long branches.
to read the rest of Winter Trees, please click here.
To see the details observed by others this Poetry Friday, please visit our poetic host Rose at Imagine the Possibilities for this week's roundup.
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A couple of weeks ago, my son and I were playing around with our phone cameras trying out various night settings. I think we captured the Milky Way in this picture because there were no clouds out that night.
The Rock Next Door to Mars
Can you hear me?
Can you see me?
Are you out there
‘tween the stars?
I’m here waving,
starlight saving,
on the rock next
door to Mars.
Photo and poem © Z. Judson and T. Kiff-Judson 2023
If you have an Android phone (not sure about Apple) and you download a camera extension app called “Expert RAW.” It has an “Astrophoto” setting that will allow you to take longer-exposure night pictures. We tried it with the August supermoon, but the moon was actually TOO bright and looked like the sun. Happy star gazing!
Please visit the amazing Amy Ludwig Vanderwater at The Poem Farm for more Poetry Friday excitement!
The answers to The Devil's in the Details challenge:
- Looking down into a stemmed glass
- Toothpaste tube
- Metallic bubble wrap
- Felt-tipped markers
- Rolling pin
- Coffee beans
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Brace yourself. The following content is a little disgusting. However, decomposers make the world go ‘round!
I am always amazed (and a little revolted) when I come upon this scenario after a rainfall. The roads are damp with yesterday’s rain and littered with the remnants of many slugs who had ill-fated encounters with car tires. Then out come the other slugs to explore the damage and have a bite to eat. I guess in nature, a slug’s job is to do the clean-up work, and they make no exceptions. They take their work gravely.
Cannibal Slug
After the rain,
rolled out flat as a rug,
mashed by a car,
lies a goopy, squashed slug.
Here comes his friend
to console and to hug.
Wait … she …
bites this poor dude
with her own slimy mug!
Who would have thought
she could be such a thug?
Chewing her friend,
ugh – a cannibal slug!
For some happier poetry, please visit Ramona, this week's gracious Poetry Friday host, at Pleasures From the Page.
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Poetry Friday has arrived again! This Friday, please visit Linda at TeacherDance for some poignant poetry posts.
My son brought this article to my attention. It discusses the hypothetical question of whether Japan would have surrendered in WWII without the US dropping atomic bombs.
The following image from the article struck me.
[US Air Force Photo, September 2, 1945]
It depicts a Japanese delegation onboard the USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay. They are there to participate in a formal WWII surrender ceremony. We know how WWII ends from US history books. We may even be able to intuit some of the emotions of the US Servicemen in this picture, but what if we also pause momentarily to consider this scenario from the Japanese point of view? Can we fathom the emotions of that stoic group of men?
I Surrender
I come to you in top hat, gloves, and starched collar.
I come to you with dignitaries, generals, and commanders.
I come to you in solemnity, humility, and defeat.
I will surrender.
I will sign your papers and submit to your photographs, but
I will not share with you my rage, my hopelessness, my pain.
Tracey Kiff-Judson, draft © 2023