Dialogue in Verse Between Odysseus and Aeolus... (Past)

  

 

    

Odysseus* grills Aeolus

as doldrums shoal his ship:

"Give heed, ol' geezer: which fair breeze or

blast vast hast thy grip**...?"

     * Throughout these verses the names 

'Odysseus' and 'Ulysses' refer to the same fellow.

     ** Ancient demi-deity Aeolus stows away a 

whirl of winds, possibly in a vast travelling bag 

or grip, its size seems something between a 

small portmanteau and a large Gladstone.

Then three pants plus puffs Aeolus:

"An alphabet's-worth I've, 
and more, in here. Let me be clear:

I've one plus twenty-five." *

      * The ancient Greek alphabet has but 24 

letters, but Aeolus is ever the anachronist.

"First: Romans know Alisio --

when blowin' east to west --

one gentle gust sage sailors trust.

Alisi's breeze...? The best!"

 

"Two: Some winds...? Tame. Some others...? Lame.

Case seal'd! Brickfielder is. 

Brick's dust drains down on Sydneytown.

Brick's dust: red-rust-hued...? 'Tis!"

 

"Third, on wind quests undertook

to source my coffee-table book,

I'd comb this nook near Stony Brook

to bag the breeze wags dub 'Chinook.'

On one such trip, by hook and crook,

I lock'd one in my pocketbook.

Here! Poke it with this Wolkestück!

'Twill let thee net a better look."

"Another breeze...? A Mother Sneeze...?

Diablo bobs to mind:

feeds forest fires in Frisco's shires.

Fires...? Ne'er 'gone with this /waInd/."

"Wait!" Circe's beau, Ur-cunning O,

spouts. "Cor! Them four ain't shit:

I like, sans foam, winds close to home.

Lie those within thy kit...?"

"Might the Aegean, plus 'Our Sea'* 'n' -- 

yeah! -- thy Adriatic

spawn winds more mild, less riled, less wild...?

More slack, less acrobatic...?"

     * In Antiquity, Mare Nostrum was 

a common Roman reference to the 

Mediterranean Sea. 

"Them threefold seas one single breeze,"

purrs Aeolus, "traverses.

Etesian...? She's ever been

an icon in like verses."

"She, dry as drouth, from north to south

blows long 'n' strong -- but steady.

She slows one's foes (King Phillip knows*)

nor never shows no eddy."

     *  Philip of Macedon laid siege to Potidaea 

around July, 356 BC, just as the Etesian Wind 

began to blow. This northerly breeze made it 

harder for Athens to send any fleets into the 

northern Aegean, so reduced the chance of 

interference in the siege. It is possible that 

Athens did indeed try and send aid, but if so 

it arrived too late. 

"Next...? Føn. They say blows t'other way:

from south to north (no feign).

Føn's fans who're fain to favor Føn

have Føn with Dick and Jane!"

(Ad libb'd he, then, glibly, "My mad Libyan Ghibli..."

had Aeolus, all'd have gone well.

But Ghibli's Føn's sibling; such wind, discern'd "Ghibli'ng,"

like sis blows -- the pisser from hell.)

  

"Which gale's most fear'd, most clear of steer'd...?

Haboob. ('Tis weird but true.)

'Boobs scrub the land, dump tubs of sand:

an Atacama* coup."

     * A desert plateau in South America 

"Raw Ice Fogs send 'white death,' my friend:

'Beware the pogonip!'

(Shoshones flee 'payinappih' --

wa-a-ay worse than smog -- you hip...?"

"The Feather River can deliver

Jarbos -- has done, thrice.

'18's cascade (worst ever!) made

a Hell of Paradise."*

     *Cf Paradise, CA

"Of winds thou own, these ten thou've shown,"

Ulysses then chimes in,

"have fail'd, thee'll note, to float my boat.

What fresh wares can thee spin...?"

"Suppress thy fuss," spiels Aeolus.

"I have here in my sack

a Khamsin breeze. 'Twill ram, with ease,

thy scow. Prep, now, to tack!"

"My Khamsin blows (who cruises knows)

full fifty days, monsieur.

Kham's dry, hot puff should prove enough

to set thy skiff astir."

Then lyssesU-, as if on cue

some few of Loos requesting,

moans, "Me! Me crew! Me schooner, too!

We're stress'd from endless resting."

"If Loos alone won't get us go'n,'

add Mistrals to the mix.

No cats' meow...? What good be thou

and thy baguette of tricks...?"

What's Aeol say...? "Some Mistrals may

(though, then again, may not)

jump-start thy boat, which, though afloat,

will not 'get off the pot.'" *

     * As in "Shit or (etc.)"

"My wind ragout of Mistral/Loo

may wind up wishy-washy,

in which case I'll commence a trial

incorporating N'aschi..."

"...whose winds blow forth from east, from north

and, it is hoped, shall push

thy wet-dock'd ship to slip its slip --

and launch thee off thy tusch."

But Poluversed* forsees the worst:

"Me crew feels curs'd, thou blowhard.

We need a blast, one vast. And fast.

Don't make me call the coas' guard."

     * The prefix polu-, meaning 'many-,' 

is a prefix commonly used in conjunction 

with attributes like '-skill'd- or '-vers'd 

in forming epithets for Odysseus.  

"Here's sev'ral things," then Wind Lord sings,

that just might get thee goin.'

Oroshi's one. Once it's begun,

it's rarely done with blowin.'"

But Ody balks. "No go, these talks!

Thinks me: thee be a schmoozer.

I need a waft to turn my craft

into a cabin cruiser...

...I've heard of one that's twin to none.

They call that wind Palouser."*

     * Unintentionally reminiscent, perhaps, 

of "They call the wind Maria" from Broadway's

Paint Your Wagon -- the long i in 'Maria'

pronounced 'eye,' of course.

Don DraftDude then dissents (again!):

"Beyond my ken's your 'lo(u)ser.'

And, by the by, what's true is: I

find thee a subtle user...

...I'll still, withal, ignore thy gall

and find a squall pour vous, sir."

No Creole, thus ol' Aeolus

renews his thoughtful search:

"Within my bag there must (no brag!)

sit efficacious merch..."

...At once, behold! a blust'ring, bold 

Qebui forth does lurch.

"Hooey! Phooey! Screw Qebui!"

Thus the mad Achaean goes.

"Better far...? A Rashabar.

Allow me thou've got one of those."

"No Rashabars. Still, cool thy spars!"

great Aeolus blows back.

"A Sirocco in its place might thee

embrace from out my sack...?"

Then Penelope's groom

who Telemachus sired

does to Aeolus fume:

"My tired trireme's enmired."

"I need breeze to unfreeze 

my well deck...but not wreck 'er."

"The ticket...?" cries Aeolus.

"Tehuantepecer!"

"Such Latinate currents 

serve verveless deterrence,"

Odyss'us grows sore 

and declines to hear more...

...re said Mexican puff.

"Is enough not enough...?

Can't thee come up with something more...

Undular bore!!...?"

"Undular bores 

bide indoors until Spring,"

now old Aeolus roars.

"Here's a fa-a-ar better thing."

"Vendaval...? Pas...pas mal!

'Tain't no bluster banal,"

O and Aeol agree.

(But shall U's boat float free...?)

Yet, though Vendaval's huff

stirs the sea till it's rough,

it's, en fin, not enough.

And to U's a rebuff.

Cries Odysseus, "Pshaw! 

Have we crawl'd to a draw...?

Where be wee Williwaw 

when he's needed...?"

 

"There'll be no Williwaws. 

But, as well, no faux pas,"

offers Ae'l. "And your plea'll

be acceded."

"O Xlokk! O Xlokk! O faux Sirocco!

Forth come from my bag!"

Ol' Ae'lus cries. "Thy enterprise

is needed now. Don't lag!"

Then, as he spoke, a stack of smoke

forthwith awoke, then tower'd

above the pair. This mast of air

rose up. The couple cower'd.

"High holy hell!" cries Aeo-el.'

"This must be Yel, I'm feelin.'

Yel leaves his hide. From deep inside

my sack -- alack! -- Yel's stealin.'

"I cou'n't care less, I must confess,"

Odysseus now stresses.

"Perhaps my mess Yel lessens, yes...?

'Til now we've zip successes."

"To launch your yacht alone he'll not

contrive," the wind god urges.

"Perhaps a mix would do the tricks.

If Yel with Zonda merges..."

'Tis then Aeol' (gods bless his soul!)

puts rigmarole on hold,

secures a coup -- one huge "A-a-a-a-choo!" --

nor ne'er no sign of cold.

The gust god's sneeze creates such breeze

that launch'd gets Uly's launch.

Cries Ul': "Hooray! Me ship's away.

Thee's proved me soul mate staunch."

Aeolus...? Why...ol' Wind Bag Guy

as U (bye-bye!) departed,

thinks, "Lo, the woe he'll never know,

the rift wide...if I'd farted." 

Goodnight, Lady! (Past)

    You'd 

better just stay 

home, you tired, you 

poor!

     You'd

seek asylum...?

Not if up to 

me.

     You 

huddled masses 

yearning...? You're a 

bore!

     From 

shithole countries...?

Who'd not want to

flee...?

     Blacks

mailing early 

ballots...?  Not no 

more!

     Free

lunches...? Day care...? 

Hey! That shit ain't 

free!

     Don't 

make me build no

wall or close no 

door!

     More 

immigrants from

Norway let there

be! 

     (And 

yeah: I'll win in 

2024.)

Pronouncements I Tune Out (Past)

"Nadal's footwork is amazing, no matter 

in which direction he moves. Whether east 

or west, north or south. Whether southeast 

or southwest, northwest or northeast. Whether 

east-southeast or south-southeast, west-

northwest or east-southeast. Whether..."

"I don't care what color my constituents are,

whether black, white or purple. Whether blue

or orange, red or vermillion. Whether violet 

or chartreuse, pink or puce, whether..."

"You can 'grab 'em by the pussy, you can 

grab 'em by..." 

The Summing of the Snark (Unpub)

     Early in his "Preface to the Hunting of the Snark," Lewis 

Carroll offers what he terms proof that the poem isn't at all 

nonsense while noting that the evidence he offers has nothing 

to do with "the arithmetical principles so cautiously inculcated" 

in the poem. Below is a list of several of those principles, 

arrayed, appropriately, in arithmetical order.

     0. Zero. 
The Bellman's map appears in Fit the Second as "a perfect and 

absolute blank."

     1. One. 
The Bellman's bell, though frequently rung many times during the poem, remains a singularity. (The Bellman mentions specifically in 

Fit the First that, in addition to only one bell, there is only one ship 

and only one Beaver on board.)

     2. Two. 
In Fit the First, the Baker recommends to the Beaver two "excellent 

Policies" to insure his life against any predatory actions by the Butcher.

 
     3. Three. 
In Fit the First, the Bellman reminds the crew that "What I tell you 

three times is true." Such triple repetitions occur several times in

various guises throughout the poem.

     4. Four.
In Fit the Fourth, the Baker points out to the crew that he has told 

them his tale -- which he relates in Fit the Third -- in four languages: 

Hebrew, Dutch, German and Greek.

     5. Five. 
In Fit the Second, the Bellman draws the crew's attention to five marks by which genuine snarks are recognized: how they taste, their habit of rising late, their slowness in taking a jest, their fondness for bathing-machines and their ambition.

     6. Six. 

In Fit the Third, the crew rouses the Baker from a fainting spell he 

experiences at the end of Fit the Second using six means: muffins, 

ice, mustard, cress, jam and advice. (Additionally, they set him 

conundrums to guess.)

     7. Seven. 

Though the Baker leaves all his boxes on the beach and even forgets 

his name, he does, as Fit the First points out, wear seven coats upon 

his arrival on board.

     8. Eight.

The poem consists of eight groups of stanzas Carroll calls fits. It also 

features eight so-called portmanteau words.

     9. Nine.

The eighth and final fit consists of nine stanzas.

     10. Ten.

The crew numbers ten: a Bellman, a Boots, a maker of Bonnets and 

Hoods, a Barrister, a Broker, a Billiard-marker, a Banker, a Beaver, a 

Bucher and a Baker. Their names, as is seen here, all begin with a B.

     11. Eleven.

The Baker's tale forms the central section of Fit the Third and consists 

of eleven stanzas.

     12. Twelve. 

12, 13 and 15 are arithmetically linked. 12 multiplied by 13 gives 156. 15 subtracted from 156 gives 141. 141 is the total number of stanzas in the entire poem.

     13. Thirteen. 

See text for number 12 above.

      14. Fourteen.

The number of stanzas in Fit the Third is 14.

     15. Fifteen.

See text for number 12 above.

     16. Sixteen.

The letters in the name of Carroll's dedicatee, Gertrude Chataway,

are used to fashion a poetic inscription in the form of an acrostic.

As there are 16 letters in Gertrude's name, there are, of course,

16 lines in the inscription.

     17. Seventeen

     18. Eighteen. 

     19. Nineteen.

     20. Twenty.

There are 20 letters in the name of the poem.  

   

      (a work in progress)

Bananagraffe on ‘SKIN’ (Past)

I know no one more knowing than I 
to ply Parker, papyrus and ink, 
and, eluding all risk to be seen as some nisk, 
swim towards tolerance, never to sink. 
     I’ll admit I’m no 10. No one is. 
Who amongst us subsists without sin…? 
Not your beatniks, your peaceniks, nor no kind o’ -niks – 
despite creed, gender, color of skin. 
     Do you “yessir!” with ‘da!,’ ‘ya!’ or ‘si!’…? 
Curls your pupek far out or way in…? 
Are you Ms., Mrs., Miss (I discount skirts call’d ‘Knis’)…? 
Be to Mayflower trippers you kin…? 
     Is your uncle a knight who says “Ni!”…? 
Be you one of them blue-bloodish “in”s…? 
Are you highbrow or hick…? If you’re Dutch do you snik…? 
Still, we’re fam’ly, no matter whose kins. 

Spooner Just Outside Hollywood (Past)

Preston Sturges hollers, “Roll!” 
Nine hundred thousand ducks (or so), 
in gamblers, tumble down a hole. 
(The film’s call’d Stetson Purges, no...?) 

The Super Blue Blood Moon...Again! (Past)

     (An Elegy Begun January 31, 2018 and 

Completed October 17, 2021)

The super blue blood moon 

on view on Tuesday night 

(the lady on our radio 

was right: 'twas "quite a sight") 

has come and gone. And though 

'twill come once more (some June...?), 

by then shall we have bid "bonne nuit": 

the super blue blood moon. 

The super blood moon's blue. 

(Perhaps 'tis all of cheese...? 

Before we show it be or no, 

we'll need analyses.) 

Yet, when it's come again 

(some late May afternoon...?) 

we're sure to've said, "We've gone to bed": 

the super blue blood moon. 

The super blue moon's blood, 

more orange-hued than red, 

has, since before the Great Downpour, 

across all earthscapes bled. 

When nigh looms its return 

(some future March jujune...?) 

by then we must have come to dust: 

the super blue blood moon. 

The blue blood moon be super: 

'tis bloody grandiose! 

Have we e'er seen such spacious sheen...? 

No way! What moon comes close...? 

And when it gleams once more 

(long have we humm'd this tune), 

we'll years before have closed our door: 

the super blue blood moon.

Friday's Rhetorical Question (Past)

Is Donald posted hate mail...?
Is Mitch sent nuisance tweets...?
Do folks ask Tucker, "WTF...?"
when Tuck big lies repeats...?
Is Joe attack'd in restaurants...?
Is Kyrsten often stalk'd...?
Let's say it's true. Here's one more Q:
Suppose they never talk'd...?