Poetics of Puritans and The Pobble Who Has No Toes

essaysbysean.blogspot.com

This week’s poem is a lengthy fun piece. It makes sense to pair it with a short sober piece on our Puritan heritage. I like Puritans—you know, like the smiling man on the package of Quaker Oats. In fact, during my precious two-week holiday in London I invested time in attending a Quaker meeting—and I wish I’d paid a second visit.

I must admit that our Puritan heritage is a mixed blessing: We can use it either way. For instance, for the sexual revolution of my childhood, we could be anti-Puritan, repudiating that side of our culture, and getting our menfolk out of those hideous long plain bathing trunks. For the counter revolution, we could invoke being pro-Puritan again to justify getting men and boys out of striped jockey style bathing suits and back to the old style, a style made new again by adding some color and a new youthful label: surf-board shorts. How the wheel of time turns. Revolves. Like a revolution.

Incidentally, today you can still wear nice comfy jockey style—provided you’re willing to wear speedos. The other brands are lost in time.

The only puritan thing I want to address today is the guilt thing. I don’t mean modesty-guilt, but task-guilt. In colonial times Benjamin Franklin said, “Be always ashamed to catch thyself idle.” We have, I think, some shame if we are idle with a long-term project still not done… Well of course it’s not done—It’s long term!

I can’t remember the name of the professor or the title of his book—the cover was green—called something or other. Time management? Anyways, he studied graduate students. As you know, grad school is for folks who already have a degree, but they want more education. They have to do a thesis, one that gets bound into a nice fine permanent volume placed in the University archives, there to gather nice fine dust. Many students, Puritan-style, would feel wrong having fun if their work wasn’t done. The prof learned he could divide the students into two groups: Those who felt guilty, and those who didn’t. But a thesis takes years.

The guilty ones finished no sooner than the others, and, in fact, I think they finished later. In their case, guilt was truly a waste of time.

The trick to success, according to the prof, was “an unschedule.” Besides scheduling your time everyday, as would a sensible Puritan, also take care, everyday, to “unschedule” something fun to do. As a Scottish clown once sang, to get us to indulge in fast food, “You deserve a break today…”

I used to do the prof’s trick. Then, as with all tricks of wisdom... I forgot to keep doing it. Or, then again, maybe I came to unschedule unconsciously. Yes, maybe so—that’s a happier thought.

Here’s this week’s unenlightening, un-self improving poem—A poem that years ago I unscheduled time to memorize.

The Pobble Who has No Toes

by Edward Lear

The Pobble who has no toes

Had once as many as we;

When they said, “Some day you may lose them all;”

He replied, “Fish fiddle-dee-dee!”

And his Aunt Jobiska made him drink

Lavender water tinged with pink,

For she said, “The World in general knows

There’s nothing so good for a Pobble’s toes!”

The Pobble who has no toes

            Swam across the Bristol Channel;

But before he set out he wrapped his nose

            In a piece of scarlet flannel.

For his Aunt Jabiska said, “No harm

Can come to his toes if his nose is warm;

And it’s perfectly known that a Pobble’s toes

Are safe, — provided he minds his nose.”

The Pobble swam fast and well,

            And when boats or ships came near him,

He tinkledy-binkledy-winkled a bell,

            So that all the world could hear him.

And all the Sailors and Admirals cried,

When they saw him nearing the further side, —

“He has gone to fish, for his Aunt Jobiska’s

Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers!”

But before he touched the shore, —

            The shore of the Bristol Channel’ —

A sea-green Porpoise carried away

            His wrapper of scarlet flannel.

And when he came to observe his feet,

Formely garnished with toes so neat,

His face at once became forlorn

On perceiving that all his toes were gone!

And nobody ever knew,

            From that dark day to the present,

Whoso had taken the Pobble’s toes,

            In a manner so far from pleasant.

Whether the shrimps or crawfish gray,

Or crafty Mermaids stole them away —

Nobody knew; and nobody knows

How the Pobble was robbed of his twice five toes!

The Pobble who has no toes

            Was placed in a friendly Bark,

And they rowed back, and carried him up

            To his Aunt Jobiska’s Park.

And she made him a feast, at his earnest wish,

Of eggs and buttercups fried with fish;

And she said, “The whole world knows,

That Pobbles are happier without their toes.”

Sean Crawford

Calgary

March

2015

Update: The above mentioned book is now yellow, at least the “teacher mastermind editions” (sic) is, and it’s called The Now Habit, henceforth called the “book.” The aforementioned author is Neil Fiore, Ph.D. The “book” is subtitled “A strategic program for overcoming procrastination and enjoying guilt-free play.”

Actually, the “book” uses all sorts of upper case letters in the subtitle, but since they also tried to capitalize the “h” in “Ph.D” I subjectively feel little need to follow suite. At least, such is the logic in THO (the humble opinion) of the undesigned,

Sean Crawford.

epi-thought: If ever you see me among grad students, with those painful "seaweed on the legs" board shorts, I will be the one wearing a French-boy bathing suit, sans guilt.

Note: My computer is not set up for pen and ink signatures, so just pretend I signed it, OK?