Pilgrimage of poems: One of the dumbs

Yeah, okay—last year I gave you one of Edward Lear’s poems (“The Pobble Who Had No Toes”), but if you need a drop of silliness (as on a Friday), you really can’t go wrong with him, so he’s back.

I’ll confess I’m not a fan of his limericks, but I do get a kick out of his longer efforts. He just doesn’t take much of anything seriously, which you just need once in a while.

Like:

“How Pleasant to Know Mr. Lear”

How pleasant to know Mr. Lear,

Who has written such volumes of stuff.

Some think him ill-tempered and queer,

But a few find him pleasant enough.

His mind is concrete and fastidious,

His nose is remarkably big;

His visage is more or less hideous,

His beard it resembles a wig.

He has ears, and two eyes, and ten fingers,

(Leastways if you reckon two thumbs);

He used to be one of the singers,

But now he is one of the dumbs.

He sits in a beautiful parlour,

With hundreds of books on the wall;

He drinks a great deal of marsala,

But never gets tipsy at all.

He has many friends, laymen and clerical,

Old Foss is the name of his cat;

His body is perfectly spherical,

He weareth a runcible hat.

When he walks in waterproof white,

The children run after him so!

Calling out, "He's gone out in his night-

Gown, that crazy old Englishman, oh!"

He weeps by the side of the ocean,

He weeps on the top of the hill;

He purchases pancakes and lotion,

And chocolate shrimps from the mill.

He reads, but he does not speak, Spanish,

He cannot abide ginger beer;

Ere the days of his pilgrimage vanish,

How pleasant to know Mr. Lear!

One of my favorite Lear-isms appears in this poem. I have got to figure out a way to get “runcible” into a conversation. Especially a job interview. “Well, there may be a really runcible play to be made in this sector…”

And here is another form of self-portrait, because Lear was also quite the visual artist:

I love the age-tagging of the two figures. Also the round resemblance.