The Silver Sage
Are you ready? Come on along and read some homespun poetry as well as a jot and tittle regarding distinguished poets and their works. Gael offers a positive balance of her own nostalgia notes and poetic meanderings with those of others. [Editor's note: Gael no longer contributes to Silver Planet, but we have made her archived blog entries available as a service to our readers.]
The Owl and the Pussycat
When it comes to hard candy I have the willpower of a sand flea. I grew up when candy cost a nickel, and LifeSavers were king—fruity delights that fit perfectly in your mouth and kept your tongue busy investigating the hole.
My second favorite was a sour ball. They cost a penny each and were found in bins at the small stores that were on the corner of every block. The husband or wife who ran the store would give you time to look and point—then hand you your once-a-week purchase, knowing full well you had just blown your allowance. Alas, I no longer see my favorites displayed in the sleek, mind-boggling-assortment-of-everything food store I shop in today. And you are wondering what in the world does this have to do with poetry?
It all started with thoughts about the month of May, a runcible spoon, Edward Lear, and dining on mince, and slices of quince. Somehow this made me think of sour balls, which led to my perambulation down memory lane.
I love the nonsense poem The Owl and the Pussycat, which I memorized as a child. Written by the British artist/poet Edward Lear, it was first published in 1871. Edward Lear was born on May 12, 1812. It is said he came into the world so close to midnight on the twelfth that his original birth certificate noted May 13th as his natal day. None of which matters to me: I love his creative nonsense rhyming. Since this is the merry month of May, I thought it appropriate to offer his merry poetry The Owl and the Pussycat, for your reading pleasure.
Quince anyone?
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The Owl and the Pussy-cat
The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
Pussy said to the Owl, 'You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing! O let us be married! too long we have tarried: But what shall we do for a ring?' They sailed away, for a year and a day, To the land where the Bong-tree grows And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood With a ring at the end of his nose, His nose, His nose, With a ring at the end of his nose.
'Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?' Said the Piggy, 'I will.' So they took it away, and were married next day By the Turkey who lives on the hill. They dined on mince, and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon, They danced by the light of the moon. by Edward Lear |
By Gael Stuart
The Silver Sage Blog
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The Owl and the Pussycat
My favorite childhood poem, thank you for the memories Silver Sage.
You're the Bomp ba bomp ba bomp!
I can remember trying to get this poem right since I was a kid in Massachusetts..... under the apple trees in our backyard and while building a "bird trap" that never seemed to catch a bird......Funny, haven't thought of that for a long time now....... My Ma'must have uttered this "nonsense poem" around me when I was just a small child... Thanks !
hi ric-a-roo me and the silver sage were both
children in massachusetts under the apple tree
i grew up in hull massachusetts !!!