And it says, 'I burn'
Sep. 28th, 2008 03:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fr_defenestrato'But say with what degree of heat
Talk Fahrenheit. Talk centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.
It gives us strangely little aid
But does tell something in the end.'
—Robert Frost, Choose Something Like a Star
and then Robert Frost wrote more, in a coda that foreshadows, but fails to embarrass, Terry Gilliam.
But like Sam Lowry, 'gone'r than likely and smilish amidst his well-off and woebegone captors, Randall Thompson pulls the ending off.
I do like him, despite the mundantity of the Alleluia that we Cheese Lords must like so much spit produce on wretched cue; two Frostiana selections from high school chorus charmed me. Apparently loathed by Nabokov, Frost still makes with the pretty and the boxing of ears like a champ. See The Witch of Coos. See others.
I suspect that folken who like the spiel of Randall Thompson prolly like that of Jerry Garcia, and vice versa.
(utter non sequitur. the folk process in action: this is from memory and certain to be variant)
The Hunting of the Snark
'Just the place for a snark,' the bellman cried,
As he landed his crew with care,
Supporting each man on the top of the tide
With a finger entwined in his hair.
'Just the place for a snark! I have said it twice;
That alone should encourage the crew.
Just the place for a snark! I have said it thrice.
What I tell you three times is true.'
The crew was complete - it included a boots
A maker of bonnets and hoods,
A barrister brought to arrange their disputes,
And a broker to value their goods.
A billiard maker, whose skill was immense,
Might have earned more than his share,
But a banker, engaged at enormous expense,
Had the whole of their cash in his care.
There was also a beaver, who walked on the deck,
Or sat making lace in the bow,
And had often, the bellman said, saved them from wreck,
Though none of the sailors knew how.
There was one who was famed for the number of things
He forgot when he entered the ship:
His umbrella, his watch, all his [] and rings,
And the clothes he had brought for this trip.
He had 41 boxes, all carefully packed,
With his name printed clearly on each,
But since he omitted to mention the fact,
They were all left behind on the beach.
The loss of his clothes barely mattered, because
He had seven shirts on when he came,
With four pairs of boots. But the worst of it was,
He had wholly forgotten his name!
He would answer to 'Hi!' or to any loud cry,
Such as 'Fry me!' or "Fritter me wig!'
To 'What-you-may-call-him' or 'what was his name?'
But especially, 'Thing-a-ma-jig'.
He came as a baker, but owned, when too late—
And it drove the poor bellman half mad—
He could only make bride-cake, for which, one may state,
No materials were to be had.
Talk Fahrenheit. Talk centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.
It gives us strangely little aid
But does tell something in the end.'
—Robert Frost, Choose Something Like a Star
and then Robert Frost wrote more, in a coda that foreshadows, but fails to embarrass, Terry Gilliam.
But like Sam Lowry, 'gone'r than likely and smilish amidst his well-off and woebegone captors, Randall Thompson pulls the ending off.
I do like him, despite the mundantity of the Alleluia that we Cheese Lords must like so much spit produce on wretched cue; two Frostiana selections from high school chorus charmed me. Apparently loathed by Nabokov, Frost still makes with the pretty and the boxing of ears like a champ. See The Witch of Coos. See others.
I suspect that folken who like the spiel of Randall Thompson prolly like that of Jerry Garcia, and vice versa.
(utter non sequitur. the folk process in action: this is from memory and certain to be variant)
The Hunting of the Snark
'Just the place for a snark,' the bellman cried,
As he landed his crew with care,
Supporting each man on the top of the tide
With a finger entwined in his hair.
'Just the place for a snark! I have said it twice;
That alone should encourage the crew.
Just the place for a snark! I have said it thrice.
What I tell you three times is true.'
The crew was complete - it included a boots
A maker of bonnets and hoods,
A barrister brought to arrange their disputes,
And a broker to value their goods.
A billiard maker, whose skill was immense,
Might have earned more than his share,
But a banker, engaged at enormous expense,
Had the whole of their cash in his care.
There was also a beaver, who walked on the deck,
Or sat making lace in the bow,
And had often, the bellman said, saved them from wreck,
Though none of the sailors knew how.
There was one who was famed for the number of things
He forgot when he entered the ship:
His umbrella, his watch, all his [] and rings,
And the clothes he had brought for this trip.
He had 41 boxes, all carefully packed,
With his name printed clearly on each,
But since he omitted to mention the fact,
They were all left behind on the beach.
The loss of his clothes barely mattered, because
He had seven shirts on when he came,
With four pairs of boots. But the worst of it was,
He had wholly forgotten his name!
He would answer to 'Hi!' or to any loud cry,
Such as 'Fry me!' or "Fritter me wig!'
To 'What-you-may-call-him' or 'what was his name?'
But especially, 'Thing-a-ma-jig'.
He came as a baker, but owned, when too late—
And it drove the poor bellman half mad—
He could only make bride-cake, for which, one may state,
No materials were to be had.
