28 November 2011

A squabble of bats – In honour of 'Nora Munro's Belfry


A corroboree of witches
squabbles in the trees;
they'd knee each other
but they don't
have knees.

They're not polite and
they never say please.
Their eyes are limpid
but their tactics —

Never trust a fruit bat when
there's something sweet to eat.
If your toes are lickable
she'll leave you
sans feet.

Her loveliness is stunning
her fur a soft delight -
but when the blossoms
blossom, she only speaks
to fight.

Like a beauty on a sale day
just DON'T get in her way.
Between her and her
desire, there's only room to

This line of Nora's is hanging here, begging to be limericked.

So please do (knit it into a limerick, that is)
or, taking the line as is or mincing if you please (and though some might eeew it, you'll earn kudos for adding suet), commit your very own bob and wheel, rhupunt, or sneadhbhairdne;
or Carrollify, Seussate, or Yeats it to your taste.
You can even season with pepper spray.
Whatever, but serve it forth, forthwith!
Poems Poems Poems!


Jeff said...

Anna knows Nora? Sometimes it's a pleasantly small blog-world indeed!

'nora said...

*claps hands with glee*

Oh how lovely! Thank you!

anna tambour said...

Oy, I just wrote a long post to both of you, and lost it all, due to Google's excuse about the memcache being full. Memcache indeed! A vorpal blade is what it needs.

Anyway, the glee is all mine, 'nora.
And Jeff, I was specifically thinking of your own magnificent poetry, so rich and rare. I even love your larding with outre puns.
So small and delightfully pleasant that we could all sprawl back lazily on the overstuffed upholstered round of a medlar calyx couch. There is so much to share. Nora dropping in here was serendipitous, in that her own eye, taste, and symphonic expression are both an invitation to salivate, and a song that must be responded to as a conversation with heart and rhythm, as all good poetry is. So, who above all came to mind in my exhortation to whip this line into your own recipe for poemmaisse or mayoetry? You, Jeff! I've wanted to say something about your extraordinary translations of The Tale of Charlemagne and Ralph the Collier, but haven't because I'm not a scholar, but aha! Here's the real stuff from someone who knows: "With care and an open thesaurus, he has managed to maintain much of both the rhyme scheme and the alliteration of the poem. Furthermore he’s done this without the result sounding either archaic or too ridiculous. More importantly, he has not sacrificed meaning. If only all translations could manage this."
Most importantly, you made a crackingly weird story, fun. And most odd of all to me, was how your translation brings to mind (my mind, at least) both the poems of Lewis Carroll AND Dr. Seuss.
And now we come to your own poetry, which is always a delight. No matter what you are talking about, an injured gargoyle or a feast, your can play with words and meaning as well as a the best of the smiths could, with a hot hunk of iron that they could twist in a seeming lackadaisical instant, to be a snarling dragon or a trumpet flower.

Jeff said...

Aw. You are, as usual, too kind.

I should mention that 'nora, who lives not far from me, was the recipient of some of the seeds that resulted from last year's medlar-baking experiment. I'm really quite pleased when all the blogs I read begin to overlap...

'nora said...

Memcache? Is that what they're calling the oubliettes of infernal machines these days?

I concur that Jeff's poetry is wonderful.

I am planning to commit some of those medlar seeds to earth this weekend. We'll see if anything sprouts.

anna tambour said...

'nora, maybe we shouldn't leave it to the likes of 'they'. Have you any words you'd like to mint? Please do!

As for Jeff's poetry, like you, I crave a book of his paeans to gargoyles.