Friday, September 13, 2013

Friday the 13th, Poetry, and a Rambling Lemming

First, a public service announcement. Thursday, September 19, is Talk Like a Pirate Day. Ye have been warned! Arrr!

Paraskevidekatriaphobia and Prismatic Poem Parts

Friday the 13th came on a Tuesday last month, but this time it's the real deal: Friday the 13th, not just the 13th day of the month.

Not that it really matters, except for people prone to paraskevidekatriaphobia, which doesn't have much to do with parasails, although finding two Friday Special sales would be nice.

Paraskevidekatriaphobia doesn't have much to do with parrots, either, and come to think of it someone with paraskevidekatriaphobia probably wouldn't go parasailing today. That long word starting with "p" means "fear of Friday the 13th," which the Lemming doesn't have.

The Lemming doesn't have a parrot, either, or a parasail. This post was supposed to be about something besides Friday the 13th and fearful feelings, which the Lemming does occasionally have: but not about Friday the - - - oh, never mind.

Now, for no particular reason, here's a set of snippets. The Lemming likes this sort of thing. Your experience may vary.

"...And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

"...Till day rose; then under an orange sky
The hills had new places, and wind wielded
Blade-light, luminous black and emerald,
Flexing like the lens of a mad eye....

"...'And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away'.

A Rambling Lemming Ponders Poe's Poem

How, the Lemming asks, could one ponder "many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore?" If the lore is in a volume, it's been set in writing: and can hardly be called "forgotten." Someone might forget where the book is, or how to get to the library, and folks have lost their library cards on occasion: and that's another topic, sort of.

That line is from Poe's cheerful ditty that starts with:

"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, -
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door....

"Cheerful?" What was the Lemming thinking? Never mind.

The Lemming can understand why a person with a propensity for abstruse pursuits might ponder ponderous volumes. That's how some of these posts get started.

A particularly polite person might answer a nocturnal tapping on the door. But when tapping came at the window: What was he thinking?!

Then, to top it all off, he lets the - raven? - in: and has a conversation with it.

The chap must have been particularly lonely. Or something.

For some reason, the Lemming has exhibited a propensity for words beginning with "p:" and that's yet another topic.

Time to stop. The Lemming is pooped from all that pondering.

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