[Golias]

Tim, As you directed, I logged in with your name and password, but it didn't take. Anyhow, here's the poem, you requested to be posted, italics and all.
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In response to the critique by Richard Wilbur (first reply below) I am editing The Booliroo to restore the original last line and to replace the coinage "boogerish" with "hoogerish," which, if it has any extraneous connotations at all, may only suggest, to speakers of the Scandanavian languages, the word "hyggelig" (hooggely)which means comfortable and homelike.
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The Booliroo
A Fable from Yesteryear

I

In the Vale of Dorn by Alpensee
an orphan lad and sisters three,
Jack, Elena, I and Marie,
in a shepherd's cot lived peacefully.

Bringing his flock from the grassy hill
at eventide when the vale was still
and birds were hushed in oak and yew
Jack heard the call of the booliroo:

Come to me, dear, tonight—tonight
Come to me here tonight—

Over the heights of Umberwald
Come to me, dear, tonight—tonight
and down the gorge of Geigertal
the booliroo croons a reply when you call,
but you haven't a hope if you happen to fall.
Come to me here tonight—

Is it the mournful autumn gale
Come to me, dear, tonight—tonight
that makes the booliroo moan and wail
and bury herself in a hole in the shale
with nothing in sight but the end of her tail?
Come to me here tonight—

"Oh Jack, don't go to Umberwald"
Come to me, dear, tonight—tonight
"nor down the gorge of Geigertal.
You'll slip in the dark and surely fall;
and I fear you'll never come home at all
if you heed the booliroo's wooing call."
Come to me here tonight—

"Elena, I cannot sleep inside— "
Come to me dear, tonight—tonight
"the voice I hear won't be denied.
I may not stay and will not hide,
nor shall I slip and fall or slide,
and I'll be home by morningtide."
Come to me here tonight—

He did not come at break of dawn
nor did we see, as day wore on,
his figure on the mountainside.
He did not come at eventide.

Next day we climbed to Umberwald,
but he did not hear us when we called,
for the booliroo kept him close in thrall
in the darkest depth of Geigertal.


II


One night when the glow of an amber moon
belustered mountain, meadow and vale
we heard from afar the lugubrious tune
the booliroo played on her tail, her tail,
the tune she piped on her tail.

Such a quavering noise the booliroo made,
it woke us three from sleep unsound.
We ran with hayfork, pick and spade
to hunt the booliroo down, down;
to hound the booliroo down.

"Booliroo, where is our brother Jack
whom you lured away with sorcery vile?
He followed your call and never came back,
And we fear his soul you defile, defile;
his innocent soul defile!"

"Come with me, dears, to my hoogerish lair
and serve as maids to your brother and me,
for he is my lover, this lad so fair,
and mine he ever shall be, shall be;
my lover he ever shall be."

Then Elena belabored the beast with her spade
till its nozzle broke, and its skull was skinned.
It bounded away thru gully and glade,
but left a trail on the wind, the wind;
a sulphurous spoor on the wind.

Over the heights of Umberwald,
down to the dismal Water of Wone
and up the gorge of Geigertal
the relentless race went on, and on;
the furious chase went on.

Finally, deep in the Geigertal
where there's never a glimpse of moon or sun
the booliroo chanced to slip and fall,
and there the deed was done, was done;
the desperate deed was done.

The booliroo died of a pick in her back
and a fork that pierced her through and through.
We found and carried home our Jack,
who soon declined in rue, in rue;
he pined for the wild booliroo.

He wandered the marge of Umberwald,
wept by the dreary Water of Wone;
and at last, from a crag in Geigertal
he leapt and died alone, alone;
despairing, he died alone.

And now we grieving sisters three,
Elena the eldest, I and Marie,
living unwed in our small chalet,
every night kneel down and pray
the Lord to heal our brother's soul
and bind the booliroo in Hell's hole.










[This message has been edited by Golias (edited February 15, 2003).]

[Richard Wilbur]

Another comment from Parnassus, as we sit on the verandah at mid-afternoon in Key West:

This is a very good performance in the vein of Edward Lear. There are echoes also of Poe and of Tennyson, but those echoes come to us through Lear who continually parodied those authors. There's a lot of fun in this poem, and there are authentic Lear touches as in the italicised invitation of the Booliroo, "Come to me dear, tonight tonight, come to me here tonight." That's the voice of longing which you can often find in Lear next to straightforward absurdities.

The first part of the poem ends with a disappearance, and that is of course a constant theme in Lear. There are two notes which I think are false. In part two, we're invited to the "boogerish lair of the booliroo." "Boogerish" is like the coinages of Lear, but I think booger" has unfortunate connotations, and it ought to be jettisoned in favor of something more innocent.

The only other objection I have is to the last two lines. I think it's too bad that a poem so accomplished and amusing as this should end in an imperfect rhyme, and should speak of Hell, which has no place in Edward Lear.

RPW

At this point Tim adds his mea culpa, since he intervened in the problematic finale. Back to the drawing board.

[Golias]

Mr. Wilbur, Tim,

I greatly appreciate this critique. It is especially interesting since I have not read Lear (other than the piece about the fear of little men). Perhaps I should have read more of his work. Can't say why I haven't -- perhaps because there's so much beautiful and more serious poetry to read.

Tim, please ask Mr. Wilbur what he thinks of my original last lines: " the Lord to heal our brother's soul/and bind the booliroo in Hell's hole."

I'll see what I can do about boogerish. It is, of course, a variation on "oogerish," from "The Lugubrious Whing-Whang," (Out on the margin of moonshine land,/Out where the whing-whang loves to stand/Writing his name with his tail in the sand,/And wiping it out with his oogerish hand.") Boogerish seemed to me appropriate in that it picks up the boo of booliroo and booger of booger-man or boogie man; I hadn't thought of the nasal crust connotation. As kids in Alabama, we spelled that word "bugger." Still, I'm glad to have the latter connotation called to my attention and will fix it.

I don't remember who wrote the Whing-whang poem. Was it Lear, perhaps?

Again, thanks very much for this critique. It is both reassuring and helpful.

Wiley



[This message has been edited by Golias (edited February 07, 2003).]

[Jim Hayes]

Wiley, I believe 'The Lugubrious Whing-Whang was a song the lyrics of which were by The Squirrel Nut Zappers- whomsoever they may be. (Or may have been)

Mr Wilbur detected an echo of Lear in your poem and it is hard to disagree;

"This is the hour when forth he goes;
The Dong with the luminous nose,
Yonder over the plain he goes;
He goes;
He goes,
The Dong with the luminous nose.

-Quoted from memory but I think substantially accurate.

To my mind "The Dong With the Luminous Nose" and "The Owl and the Pussycat" were Lear's best works, and your piece bears comparison.

Realising that I am reaching far above my station to presume what Mr Wilbur may make of your original lines but my understanding of his critique is that he objects to the use of 'Hell' in this Lear-like work, and so I am emboldened to suggest;

"And the Booliroo bind in the darkest hole"

Jim




[This message has been edited by Jim Hayes (edited February 07, 2003).]

[Golias]

Hi Jim,

The piece by the Squirrel-Nut Zappers is an instrumental without a lyric, but inspired by the poem. I heard the Whing-Whang read aloud back in the fifties, and it stuck in my memory. I'm not sure I ever knew who wrote it. Today I can find no other trace of it than the piece of music you mentioned.

Of course, now that you mention it, I remember something of the Owl and the Pussycat, but the memory is mixed up with the Gingham Dog and the Calico Cat who ate each other up. I've never before seen or heard of "The Dong with a Luminous Nose."

The rhythm in Part II of The Booliroo was inspired by that of John Davidson's A Runnable Stag, (" And we feathered his trail upwind, upwind;/We feathered his trail upwind.") The idea of the booliroo creature was inspired by the Whing-Whang memory with a whiff of Coleridge's Christabel.

Any similarity between The Booliroo and any works of Edward Lear is purely coincidental.

Strange how all these things go around in whorls and circles, even though unintended.

W/G



[This message has been edited by Golias (edited February 07, 2003).]

[R. S. Gwynn]

I'm surprised Dick didn't mention Lewis Carroll. The poet says he hasn't read Lear, but has he read L.C.?

[Golias]

Yes; Through the Looking Glass, including Jabberwocky, & another nonsense poem, or ballad, The White Knight's Song.

However, The Whing-Whang is the ancestor of The Booliroo, which I regard as a rather grim monitory fable, not as a nonsense piece. The rollicking rhythm was elected because the tale was bound to run to some length, and I wished it to go rapidly so the reader might get through it before becoming weary.

I'd be glad to give proper credit if only I could discover who wrote the Whing-Whang.

As to the inclusion of Hell, I think that's prepared for by the sisters' earlier expression of fear that Jack's soul is being defiled by relations with such a beast as the booliroo(which may have appeared to him in the guise of a human female). There's also the notion that a talking, sentient beast might possess an immortal soul subject to punishment in the afterworld.

I'm sorry the poem gives rise to such a misapprehension-- though in hindsight it seems plausible, and it causes no particular problem that I can see. I just wanted to get the background straight.

W/G



[This message has been edited by Golias (edited February 07, 2003).]

[Robert J. Clawson]

[quote]Originally posted by Jim Hayes:

To my mind "The Dong With the Luminous Nose" and "The Owl and the Pussycat" were Lear's best works..."


TO MY MIND, "The Dong With the Luminous Nose" is, like other poets' word hoards, my lighthouse.

Utterly Shameless O'Clawson

[EREME]

Oh, the Dong! The green-and-blue Jumblies! And then, oh, The Pobble who has no Toes! But let me not get carried away......
Wiley, read Carroll's wonderful epic poem, The Hunting of the Snark. (An Agony, in Eight Fits.) In fact, when I first read your enchanting Booliroo I was sure he was a direct descendent of the Snark. For the Snark was Boojum, you see.......but I'm giving away the end of the story.




[This message has been edited by EREME (edited February 19, 2003).]