PARABLES IN PROGRESS, PART 3
As the lid said to the coffin, we are closing in on it.
posted by Jim Woodring at 9:46 AM
Monday, July 10, 2006
As the lid said to the coffin, we are closing in on it.
About Me
- Name: Jim Woodring
- Location: Seattle, Washington, United States
I was born in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains in Southern California and enjoyed an exciting childhood full of poetry and paroniria among the snakes, rats and tarantulas of that enchanted realm. I eventually grew into an inquisitive bearlike man who has had three exciting careers; garbage collector, merry-go-round-operator and cartoonist. Some of my work is collected in THE BOOK OF JIM, THE FRANK BOOK and SEEING THINGS (all published by Fantagraphics) and in various toys, fabrics, prints and urban legends. Thank you for your interest.
Previous Posts
- EVEN TODAY'S CASUALLY SOCIOPATHIC YOUTHS STEP ASID...
- BARNYARD TROUBLE
- UNDER THE NICOTINE
- MAMA AT THE STORE I HAVE MET THERE THE FAMILY ENEM...
- SNAKE EATS OWN TAIL, FINDS IT DELICIOUS
- SOMEONE'S BEEN TREATING ME AWFUL
- DID I DO THIS? COULD I DO THAT?
- I SEEN IT IN THE MIRROW HE SAID SMUGLY
- GEOGRAFUCHY
- REAL AS IT SEEMED
10 Comments:
Sometimes a fella can.He jump...up,up he jump.Spinning,falling,what can that fella do?
Seanosaurus
That reminds me of a poem which I can only paraphrase from memory... if anyone knows what it is or where it came from I'd like to find out:
What a wonderful bird the frog are!
When he jump he almost fly.
When he stand he almost sit.
When he sit he sit on what he don't have to sit on!
WHAMP!!!
It seems to be an old nursery rhyme.
What a wonderful bird the frog are
When he stand he sit almost;
When he hop he fly almost.
He ain't got no sense hardly;
He ain't got no tail hardly either.
When he sit, he sit on what he ain't got almost.
--MC
As usual, MC knows everything. I'll shake your hand on Wednesday, sir.
MC Knowitall.
I love that "nursery rhymes" are concatenations of words that seldom rhyme, and often have no discernable rhythm. One of the daughters of the Rossetti (sp?) Family wrote tons of sweet nursery rhymes. When examined closely, they are dark little ruminations on infant death, childhood tragedy, and how a mother cat can have such pretty ways if,(from a christian standpoint,) she doesn't have a soul. Wonderful, creepy stuff.
Hey, as I was writing this, a friend called from Portland to tell me that he just found a can of strawberry-flavoured Pulque. It seems to be some sort of agave-based soft drink. He wonders whether he should drink it or not.
He wants to, but he is afraid he might have disturbing dreams about your character, Pulque.
What a fine bird the frog are
when he jumps he nearly flies almost
he has no tail a t'all, hardly...
Written in Ireland by a young Irish student critized by teachers and, until this, thought to be simple.
Beautiful, AND, factually brilliant.
I was told it was published in a
county Clare, Ireland teacher's manual, and the author resides in England. Paul(the piper)told me this and knows him.
Oh, please, PLEASE, good gentlemen! If any of you have access to that teacher's book - or know how to contact the author of that little ditty - let us know!
The ditty was a favorite of my grandfather (who was first-generation American born 100% Swede) which he liked to quote on the odd occasion. He has passed on now and the whole family is still wondering where he got it from. We would so much like to put this familial puzzle to rest!
I love this. It's not nearly often enough I'm prompted to ask "is that dresser smiling?"
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