May the Jabberwocky Forgive Me

 

Jeff– Saturday

Can anyone make sense of the madness wreaking havoc these days across our planet? Everywhere we look existential threats loom draped in the finest of modern-day Mad Hatter explanations and justifications. Simply put, we live in nonsensical times. 

And who better to lend perspective to what we face than the master of the greatest English language nonsense poem. Yes, I’m talking about Lewis Carroll’s “The Jabberwocky,” included in his 1871 novel, Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There, published as the sequel to Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. 

But, alas, poor Lewis passed away 127 years ago last Tuesday, leaving me no choice but to offer my perspective on our times in a nonsensical parody of “The Jabberwocky.” For the purists of you out there, the original version follows my effort to “shun the “Frumious Bandersnatch.”:

 

 MY VERSION

’Twas broiling, and while slimy toes

      Did gore and grapple with the knave:

Pure Whimsy out there in the throes,

      Showed passion for the Brave.

 

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

      The trumpious Meandersnatch!”

 

Brave took his justice sword in hand;

      Long time the manic foe he sought—

He rested by the Dumbdumb tree

      His thoughts on who before him fought.

 

And, thinking of those who next would,

      The Jabberwock, with eyes aflame,

Came wafting turgid through the wood,

      Pooting on as it came!

 

One, two! One, two! Brave thrust straight through,

      But justice blade went flicker flick!

Its power lost all drained and blue.

      Now Brave must gallop back.

 

To face not slaying Jabberwock.

      And seek to rally hope not coy,

For those who wish to see the day

      When lives return to joy.

 

T’was broiling, and while slimy toes

      Did gore and grapple with the knave:

As Whimsy out there in the throes,

      Show passion for the Brave.

 

 

 

Lewis  Carroll

The Original Jabberwocky

By Lewis Carroll

 

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

      And the mome raths outgrabe.

 

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

      The frumious Bandersnatch!”

 

He took his vorpal sword in hand;

      Long time the manxome foe he sought—

So rested he by the Tumtum tree

      And stood awhile in thought.

 

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

      And burbled as it came!

 

One, two! One, two! And through and through

      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

      He went galumphing back.

 

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

      He chortled in his joy.

 

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

      And the mome raths outgrabe.

 

Thanks, Lewis.

 

–Jeff

 

May the Jabberwocky Forgive Me

 

Jeff– Saturday

Can anyone make sense of the madness wreaking havoc these days across our planet? Everywhere we look existential threats loom draped in the finest of modern-day Mad Hatter explanations and justifications. Simply put, we live in nonsensical times. 

And who better to lend perspective to what we face than the master of the greatest English language nonsense poem. Yes, I’m talking about Lewis Carroll’s “The Jabberwocky,” included in his 1871 novel, Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There, published as the sequel to Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. 

But, alas, poor Lewis passed away 127 years ago last Tuesday, leaving me no choice but to offer my perspective on our times in a nonsensical parody of “The Jabberwocky.” For the purists of you out there, the original version follows my effort to “shun the “Frumious Bandersnatch.”:

 

 MY VERSION

’Twas broiling, and while slimy toes

      Did gore and grapple with the knave:

Pure Whimsy out there in the throes,

      Showed passion for the Brave.

 

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

      The trumpious Meandersnatch!”

 

Brave took his justice sword in hand;

      Long time the manic foe he sought—

He rested by the Dumbdumb tree

      His thoughts on who before him fought.

 

And, thinking of those who next would,

      The Jabberwock, with eyes aflame,

Came wafting turgid through the wood,

      Pooting on as it came!

 

One, two! One, two! Brave thrust straight through,

      But justice blade went flicker flick!

Its power lost all drained and blue.

      Now Brave must gallop back.

 

To face not slaying Jabberwock.

      And seek to rally hope not coy,

For those who wish to see the day

      When lives return to joy.

 

T’was broiling, and while slimy toes

      Did gore and grapple with the knave:

As Whimsy out there in the throes,

      Show passion for the Brave.

 

 

 

Lewis  Carroll

The Original Jabberwocky

By Lewis Carroll

 

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

      And the mome raths outgrabe.

 

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

      The frumious Bandersnatch!”

 

He took his vorpal sword in hand;

      Long time the manxome foe he sought—

So rested he by the Tumtum tree

      And stood awhile in thought.

 

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

      And burbled as it came!

 

One, two! One, two! And through and through

      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

      He went galumphing back.

 

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

      He chortled in his joy.

 

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

      And the mome raths outgrabe.

 

Thanks, Lewis.

 

–Jeff

The JabberWACKY

Jeff–Saturday

 

Perhaps because I’m in Europe at the moment, where attention is sharply focused on the continuing implications of the pandemic, and yet so many from so many different parts of the world fail to accept the benefits of vaccination, I knew I had to write something on the subject.   Yes, there are potential side effects—dear friends of mine have suffered greatly—but compared to the consequences of contracting Covid, I see no rational explanation—statistically or otherwise--for so many refusing. 

 

I doubt my parody of Lewis Carroll’s famous nonsense poem, “The Jabberwocky,” will change many minds, but considering the “Alice in Wonderland” state of so much of our world, it makes me feel better to have written it.

 

So there. Now go get JABBED.  Or be WACKY.

 

 

’Twas trilling amid the starlight doves

      Next fyre and rumble in the lobby:

All whimsy were the borough goves,

      As dark tombs reached out to grab we.

 

“Beware the JabberwAck, my son!

      The needle’s bite, the laws that latch!

Beware the Hubbub word, and shun

      The Faucious Covidsnatch!”

 

He took his verbal sword in hand;

      Long time all mainstream ploys he fought—

Now to choose among the falsities,

      That best to counter thought.

 

And, as in oafish thought he stood,

      The JabberwAck, with eyes of flame,

Whiffled to mind as one that could,

      Take blame for all that came!

 

All through and through he did it true,

      The verbal blade went on attack!

To press the lie and show the dead,

      He’d be galumphing back.

 

“And I hast slain the JabberwAck!

      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Come see! Come pray!”

      He chortled in his joy.

 

’Twas trilling amid the starlight doves

      Next fyre and rumble in the lobby:

All whimsy were the borough goves,

      As dark tombs reached out to grab we.

 

Here’s the original version

 

 

Jabberwocky

By Lewis Carroll

 

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

      And the mome raths outgrabe.

 

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

      The frumious Bandersnatch!”

 

He took his vorpal sword in hand;

      Long time the manxome foe he sought—

So rested he by the Tumtum tree

      And stood awhile in thought.

 

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

      And burbled as it came!

 

One, two! One, two! And through and through

      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

      He went galumphing back.

 

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

      He chortled in his joy.

 

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

      And the mome raths outgrabe.

 

-–Jeff

 

Jeff’s upcoming events

Thursday, August 11
Fish & Olive Gallery—Halki, Naxos Island, Greece
European presentation of A Deadly Twist on the island where it is set
Learn more

Thursday, August 26, 5:00-5:50 p.m.
Bouchercon 2021—New Orleans, LA
New Orleans Marriott—La Galeries 2, 2nd Floor
Moderator, Mystery of Crafting Thrillers Set in Foreign Lands

Friday, August 27, 11:00-11:50 a.m.
Bouchercon 2021—New Orleans, LA
New Orleans Marriott—La Galeries , 4-5. 2nd Floor
Panelist, Thrillers in the World of Politics

 

What does Home mean to you?

Zoë Sharp

This week’s blog falls at an awkward time. I would say that I’m moving house, but that doesn’t quite cover it. More accurate to say I am moving back into my house. The house is the same, but different, from the one I moved out of several months ago.

Those who know me will be aware that the last few years have been a period of some upheaval for me, including being of No Fixed Abode, as it rightfully declares on this blog.

I can’t deny that it’s been an interesting time in all senses of the word. I’ve taken to pet sitting on an international scale, and borrowed everything from sofas to yacht berths and frankly luxurious guest rooms and apartments from friends around the world.

But somewhere to call Home has a particular appeal.

For one thing, I have rather a lot of books, which have been packed away in storage boxes for far too long. Books are there to be read or they lose their animation and become little more than paper weight.

Besides, there are books I need for research, that I have been unable to find, and reluctant to re-purchase when I know I already own a copy … somewhere. Having your belongings scattered between several locations – some many miles apart – does not make for organised living.

I feel I have acquired more clothes than I need, and yet have some that are still in store and have been so for more than three years. Does this mean I will wear them again with joy, or wonder why I ever kept them in the first place?

It’s been difficult not having a permanent study – not just somewhere to work but also to keep things like my accounts up to date, my paperwork in order. Writing can be done anywhere, but the rest of it needs some kind of continuity of place.

I’ve always been a fan of what I call Lewis Carroll Theory – a place for everything, and everything in its place. Must stem from being brought up living on a boat, where space was at a premium and items needed secure storage or they were liable to end up tossed across the cabin as soon as you went to sea.

If this makes me sound impossibly tidy, that’s not the case, I assure you. My desk, when I’ve had one, has always tended to be awash with notes if I’m in the midst of a book. But I do like other rooms to be uncluttered because it’s possible to put everything where it belongs. Finally getting to unpack those boxes will give me the opportunity to de-clutter once again on a large scale.

I don’t have a great deal of knick-knacks and ornaments. But I do have a small collection of my old cameras, for instance, and a number of paintings it would be wonderful finally to be able to hang somewhere.

For many, a sense of Home is down to family, but being on my own has changed that. Family is still important, but it’s become a step removed from what it once was. Increasingly, Home means some small space to call my own. Somewhere I can find the things I own. Somewhere I can retreat to.

Somewhere easy both to live in and to leave behind.

But also somewhere welcoming to return to.

This week’s Word of the Week is grinagog, meaning a foolish fellow who grins without reason, and comes from The 1811 Dictionary Of The Vulgar Tongue by Francis Grose.