Ahem, how nice to see most of you
back, still haven’t graduated, eh? Well, keep at it – we at Roma Ryan’s High
always and ever believe in miracles, and elves.
Now, classh, we are about to accelerate our
familiarity with the Roman poem entitulated ANGELES!
Now, I have been studying pedagogy – no, Miss Read, that has nothing to do with
bicycles – with Sister Harmonica. Now, Sister Harmonica firmly retrieves that
practice makes perfect, and she has convinced me that what all of you need is
Hands On Practice. So, it has been annunciated unto us that Enya – she who
gives angelic voice to the heavenly musings of Roma, – recorded 500
voices for ANGELES! This is called “layering” I think, and I am not layering
when I say that wearing 10 layers of clothing when it is -25C in the Maritimes
with a wind chill of –40C is a very wise idea! Though 500 layers might make
movement impossible.
So, for our first lesion on this
miraculous song, you, my dear studnuts, are going to sing it in 500 voices. I
myself, of course, shall conduct – why, I once dreamed of being a conductor,
you know, Mr. Woof; I would watch the train going from Halifax to Montreal
every day and think of conducting there, but I never saw any musical
instruments aboard except pedals. And all they did was start and stop the
trains in winter rains. Yes, Master Card? Indeed, that was a digression, thank
you for pointing that out.
Now, I am handing out each of your parts. Miss
Declared, for example, will sing layers 1 – 100, while Miss Taken will focus
her detention on layers 101-200; Miss Begotten will embrace layers 201-300, but
not too tightly dear, if you please; Miss Understood will undertake layers
301-400, but will hopefully not become interred; and Miss Heard will
declude with layers 401 – 500!
The REST of you, under the able direction of Sister
Harmonica, who has just graciously joined us, will simply hum, like this:
hummmmmmmmm. And do stay on key! For the humming is the
very foundation of our Edifice Complex.
So, let us now go down to the
auditorium and record our efforts. Knowing how delinquent, er, how diligent you
all are, I am sure we can get this released from wherever they imprison
recordings BEFORE the new CD by Enya arrives on our shores.
[hummmmmmmmmmmm][/hummmmmmmmmm]
My, my, Sister H., didn't they sound absolutely
amazing! Did you hear the passion, the energy, the devotion, the enthusiasm,
the determination, the pride, the effort, the sheer power of that performance? Oh, I see: you had your
earplugs in, just like all those concerting singers.
Well, classh, that was truly
superb - I can honestly say I have NEVER heard anything like it! And neither
has Sister Harmonica, who seems to have left the room in tears.
Now we are ready for our FIELD
TRIP: we must go where this song takes us if we are to
discombabulate its meaning. Please go home and pack a bag, and do bring a
water-proof Windy Breaker.
[Tempus Fugitted]
Well, classh, here we are at Roma
Ryan Airport and Disco! There is something about airports that makes me
absolutely flighty -- perhaps it's the endlessly long lines at check-in, or
watching your bags go off on a long, long journey different from yours, or
eating cardboard food that costs more than your plane ticket!
I am pleased to tell you that we have CHARTERED our
own plane to reach our final destiny: we will be flying on MOH-AIR, a fine airline dedicated to nutty service.
Our pilot today will be Captain Angora Goat, known far and away for his warm,
fuzzy personality, while our co-pilot will be the luxuriant Mr. Al Paca.
Yes, Master Full? Where are we going? Well, classh,
we are not going to my favourite city, CHICAGO, the Windy City,
simply because Enya did not do the soundtrack for “CHICAGO,” which was
most titanically unfortunate. Nor will we be spending our time in my second
favourite city, Windypeg, which, as some of you know, is the capital of
Manitoba, and is also very windy; indeed, you can stand at the corner of
Porridge and Maize and be blown away, away, away!
Aha, Miss Matched, you thought we were going to LOS
ANGELES, didn't you? Now, why would we do that? The poem is not about
baseball, you know, and the California Angels are rather out of Roma's league.
So we strike out there, which you may think is foul were it not fair. However,
we will make a short stop there on our return trip.
Our destination, studnuts, is: ANGELES, PUERTO RICO! Where it is +28C and not
-28C, with a wind chill factor of -42C. YYes, we are going to be HOT, HOT, HOT! And we will be camping under the verdant trees in EL YUNQUE
RAIN FOREST! There shall perspiration and precipitation lead us to extenuate
this wonderful poem by our dear Roma, who remains safe at home in Dublin’s fair
city, eating cockles and mussels.
Now, lettuce board our plane.
[More
Tempus Fugitted]
Well, classh, here we all are, gathered so cozily
around a very big tree in the Rain Forest near Angeles, in tropically
sun-bathed Puerto Rico. Now, please stop admiring each other’s “Puerto Rico
Rocks” t-shirts and invert your minds to the song that we are here to
exfoliate! Miss Rhine, would you be a deer and antler this question: what are Angels? Yes, we did rule out a baseball team,
but do you have any other digestions? You think Master Piece should antler
instead because he has many a tail? And no, you may not leave the Rain Forest.
Now, our text for today begins:
Angels, answer me
Are you near if rain should fall
You will rise to calm the storm
Yes, indeed, Miss Cued, our poetic persona unknowna
(ie, “I” – whom we shall simply call “Roma” for now) is asking for divine
insistence! She does not implore, or even implode, but rather she commands
Angels from on high to descend to her level.
“Angels, answer me”
OperaKait, if YOU were an angel – yes, I know that
is indeed a stretch – but if you were, would you respond to this call?
Only if your mommy came too......... Why, was she unconscious? Oh, she mostly
is, very well, dear.
You see, studnuts, Roma can call upon Angels to
answer her because they owe her a big debt. For, once upon a time, there was a
massive power failure in Heaven, and all the stars went out, even Madonna, and
the Angels lost their power to fly! Now an Angel without flight is like a day
without rain, as long as you live in a Rain Forest or in Ireland, so our
heavenly detectors badly needed back-up power; then along came Roma, dragging
Enya behind her, and at Roma’s cue, Enya blew up a power station and all that new-clear power went up
to Heaven and energized the Angels like little pink bunnies! So, my dears, Roma
SAVED the Angels from a fate worse than Life.
Thus, Roma summons the
Angels now to speak to her. Now, WHY does Roma need the Angels? Correct, Master
Corporal, it has something to do with the meteorological elephants:
“Are you near if rain should fall”
Aha! Roma envisions Only Rain, here in this Rain
Forest nearby the Caribbean Blue, where Moss Has A Place and Water Marks everything in
sight. Yes, Miss Placed, even On Your Shore at
the Deep Sea of Clouds that Roma wafted upon in her magnum opus, Orinoco Flood.
Now, classh, given Roma’s
presents in a Rain Forest, the question is certainly not academic! Rain IS
going to fall, just as it has been ever since we have arrived, and Miss Matched
is so sorry she left her water-proof underwear at home.
So Roma needs to know if
the Angels will hover their crafts near her in the rain! But there is more to
come:
“Am I to believe you will rise to calm the
storm”
You see, studnuts, this song takes place in
HURRICANE SEASON! Now, Juan hurricane might be much like another, but, as we
well know, they are worse than Storms in Africa, which are rather more dusty
than drenching. And calming hurricanes is no placid task -- why, I remember
when Hurricane Juan hit Halifax, wreaking a path of deconstruction all the way
to St John’s! And it went right through OperaKait’s bathroom, where …but I fear
I may be on the verge of another digression.
We must now await a divine
response to Roma’s anguished concerns. The Angels MUST answer, of course, but,
WHAT will they say, aye, there’s the rub. WILL they be near if rain should
fall, WILL they rise to calm the storm? Or would they rather be sun-bathing in
Arizona? After all, I am curtain that Angels have access to the Weather Channel
24/7, and know which way the wind blows. It is thus crystal clear that one
theme of this poem is WEATHER.
Well, now we shall continue to alleviate this
ebullient poem:
For so great a treasure words will never do
Treasure? A treasure even beyond words – one that
silences even such a wordy-smith as Roma, as if a little secret has caught her
tongue. Aha! a SECRET TREASURE! But, we ask breathlessly, WHAT is this Secret
Treasure? Yes, Mr. Woof, it IS a secret. But perhaps Roma defers here to
the ANGELS, don’t you think, Miss Spoken? Oh, not on Sundays, you say. I am not
at all surprised.
ANGELS = SECRET TREASURE – an explication of the
famous Pythagorean Theorem! But, Mr. Woof, I can hear your howl of protest – we
have not yet delved deeply enough into the metaphysical mood of Roma. We must
find the TRUTH of all truths, the truest truth of all, in truth.
Now, I doubt that Roma is misconceived, so we must
BELIEVE that the TRUTH is out there. Just as are the Angels, who, you
will note, have not yet made a response to Roma’s inquisition – will they come?
Will they calm the storm? Will they brings Grammys with them? Even Uncle Oscar?
Or maybe a crate of Guinness? Perhaps some heavenly Cream Cheese? A Timbit?
Will the next lines shed
light on this mysterious secret treasure? Come, classh, let us invigilate
closely:
Surely, if this is
Promises are mine to give you
Aha! Roma is BRIBING the Angels! Come, she says, and
I shall give you PROMISES! So, we can induce that these Angels are rather
greedy and drive a very hard bargain, and all Roma can do at this moment is
make them promises. This is important, so stay awake, classh: Roma clearly
states that she HAS promises to give, HER promises, signalled by
that forceful word “MINE:” “Promises are MINE to give you.”
But our dear Roma would never stoop solo, would she,
Miss Ouri? No, she is part of the TRIO, a powerful Irish cartel that may
well seek to rule the world! Beneficently, off course. So, then, POWER
must be the Secret Treasure she insinuates above. Aha, Miss Rhine, well
put – Roma wants to rain over the
world, and she needs ANGELS to help her out because Angels have more power than
the pink Ever-drumming Bunny! How very astute of you.
Now, we still need to imagine what kind of PROMISES
are Roma’s to make – that is, for those of you who are still with us, what can
one offer ANGELS to win them over? And that, classh, is your first assignation!
I want each of you to come up with ONE promise that Roma could make that would
persuade the Angels to journey to her side in the pursuit of world dominoes and
subjunctivacation.
[Five
minutes later….]
Yes,
OperaKait, the answer is indeed DONUTS! Every
Angel in heaven adores heavenly donuts with divine appreciation for the
superhuman effort that blesses these elegant creations of the supreme cosmic
being known simply as TIM. “O Come let us
adore Tim,” you know.
And so we come to this very appropriate verse:
But what day is it? Yes, my fledglings, today is January
20th, and that is Roma's BIRTHDAY!
Roma is celibating another golden year and we must celibate with her!
Miss Tuned, please conduct our immodest choir, and
Miss Rhine will attempt to play the piano and the violin at the same time. Now,
what else need we do? Oh yes – Miss Cooked, please place our present for
Roma on the table over there; yes, the HUMUNGOUS CHOCOLATE CAKE that I myself
baked for her in the rain at MacArthur Park.
Ready? Sing out!
“Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday, dear Roma,
Thank God we are through!”
Now, we must reluctantly revert to the scholarly
expurgation of our text – to capitulate: in the
first stanza of this miracle-whip poem, Roma the persona invoked the Angels to
rise to calm the storm and to be near if rain should fall, which rain
immediately did, as we are standing in a rain forest.
Thus we were at once informed by Roma that natural
phenomena are deeply invigilated in this poem.
Rain, storm, sleet – perhaps a hurricane or a tornado – what lies in store?
Especially on this hallowed day of January 20th, which appears to
have come too soon for Roma.
Yes, Master Mixer, we did indeed masticate that date
above, but now we must eviscerate it in CONTEXT. You see, classh, the
CONTEXT of any line of poetry is absolutely vital. So back to our pressing
beeswax:
“Here, all too soon the day” means MUCH MORE than
Roma’s birthday has come around sooner than she had wished AS SOON AS we look
at our CONTEXT, which follows as night the day thusly:
Wish the moon to fall and alter tomorrow
Now, studnuts, we realize
that Roma has much more on her mind than a cake with tiny candles and a hidden
microphone inside! No, Miss Fed, even more important than double chocolate
glazed donuts covered with many-hued sprinkles. Even more important than a
jello donut, in fact.
You see, Roma wants the MOON to fall! This is
a COSMIC event, worthy indeed of a
disaster movie with a blaringly obtuse musical scoreboard. On THIS day,
which has come too soon, the MOON will obey Roma and FALL to Earth. Now, if
Roma really WANTS the Moon to fall, why is it “too soon”? What is the logic
here? Perhaps she had planned the demise of the Moon for another day? Like May
17th, for example?
Now, far from trumpeting her power, Roma makes it
clarinet that she is having second strings! Maybe, she thinks, having
the Moon fall down is not that great an idea after all – why, look what
happened at Jericho when Joshua blew his horn!
Now, IF the Moon falls, that would certainly “alter
tomorrow” as a battered Earth spins out of its orbit into free fall towards the
Sun! So we move from merely rain and storms to Planetary
Disaster, a new film reduced by Ahnold of California, with Sister
Xena playing the role of the feisty saviour of the world, for which she should
surely be nominated for an OSCAR. But I digress.
But what does it all really MEAN? Is Roma
really mean? Of course not. Let us excavate further:
I should know
Heaven has her way
Yes, Roma SHOULD know –
she’s writing the poem, after all! And what does she know? Yes, Master Piece?
Indeed, she knows that “Heaven” is a SHE! Yes, indeed: "I am woman, hear
me roar!" Roma has thus propagated the gender of the celestial orb, the
sixth orb of Bajor in fact. And I bet you thought it had something to do with
Loxia! But Roma is a very worldly woman, an honourary citizen of the entire
Alpha Quadrant in fact.
And Miss or Ms or Mrs
Heaven WILL have her way, so what will she do, we all ask in concert? Is Heaven
a good conductor? Should we baton down the hatches? Will the String Theory of
the Universe finally be proven correct? Will we all finally see an end to
violins and teenage gangs?
So many questions, so little time to regurgitate
upon them! So we must move on to expunge the final line of this stanza:
How utterly enigmatic, or even enyamatic! Heaven is
going to give EACH of us our OWN memories, which
we each shall own forever and ever, or until the Moon falls and deletes our
memories, in the moonlight, when I was beautiful then. Oh, so sorry, classh,
but I was suddenly remembering my beloved cat, the late Hasabellon.
So, Miss Rhine, while you would never forget your
favourite bratwurst (aka OperaKait), maybe Miss Forgotten would --- maybe her
memories would be entirely different. Maybe she would remember only good days
on her way home. Or have only the memory of trees. While Master Tiger would
only remember his Cup, also in the woods. Yes, Master Craft, I do indeed intend
to make a point:
You see, Roma ex-spouses the RELATIVITY of the cosmos here. What I remember is not
necessarily the same as what YOU remember. Our relatives are thus only
partially memorable – many of them I wish to forget in fact, but I digress, and
we need to find our way forward through the forest:
My, my, things are becoming COSMIC indeed: now that
the Moon is out of her way, Roma is thinking of hiring Angels to move not only
the earth itself – I quake at the very thought, don’t you, Miss Step?
NO, she is also in the mood for moving the sea, you see!
Now, IF Angels move the
earth, it follows, as night the day, that the sea must also move; this is known
as ying and yang, a famous oriental food. Now, classh, picture the earth with
all its water slopping about, from coast to coast to coast – what would happen
to California? Yes, Miss Mapped, it would be washed away, and end up in
Washington State, and perhaps might even slide all the way to Canada, where
icebergs and icelettuce are lurking to gobble it all up. Yes, my fledglings,
Roma can be very scary at times. Just ask the Loxian Oracle, whose anxiety
attacks never cease to amaze me when I use my stethoscope.
So, here is the earth, with
water swishing all about, but there is still more to come:
All those dark clouds disappearing
Well, when the earth is being eaten away by
voraciously vicious vodka, er, waters, who cares about dark clouds anyway? Aha,
Roma has caught you there, studnuts. You see, with the CLOUDS being made to
varnish, the ATMOSPHERE of the earth
is being torn away! Suddenly, before my eyes, hues of demolition do arise: here
come hundreds of asterixes and comments and old Russian satellites and
meteorologists, all crashing into earth. Just as in the Age of the Dinosaurs –
no, Miss Cued, that was before my time – billions of life forms will
varnish from the earth, allowing Roma to repaint the sky with latex! That lowly
insect that just bit Mr. Woof will soon be the dominant species, and will
evolve into the Next Generation of Picards and Rikers to attend Roma Ryan’s
High and Petting Zoo.
Ah, the very thought of all this tempts me to call
upon the Angels to RESIST the clarinet call of Roma, to cease and decrease the
destruction of Mother Earth. Whose side are these Angels on anyway? Surely not
the Boston Red Sox!
Well, I do seem to be all
in a frenzy at this megalithic deconstruction that may await us, and I almost
feel myself, well, disappearing, like those dark clouds so high above us, but
let us all gather together around this patch of poison ivy for the grand
finality of this cosmically-challenged poem by Roma. Excellent! Now to
recommence our commencement of the convocation of the graduation of this poem:
Yes,
Miss Quoted? How can “I” breathe when the ATMOSPHERE
of the planet has just been ripped away, you ask.
What is “I” breathing in? Did “I” inhale, or just blow it back out? Was
inhaling illegal?
So many questions, you have, my dears. But ONE thing
must be true: the “I” of this storm, er, poem is NOT a mammal – no, classh, the
“I” must be aquatic! It lives in the
oceans that are in motion, and feels nothing but disdain for the atmosphere!
Now we know so much more about the persona
of our poem – isn’t that exciting?
Now, our exotic aquatic
creature, which we shall now call “Amor,” is still breathing as an Angel
arrives, Johnny on the spot! But, note, Miss Counted, the Angel is going to
their “keep” --- now, what is that? Anyone know? Hazard a wild guess even? Yes,
Miss Rhine? A keep, you think, is something you won’t ever ever give away, like
your “Only Time: The Collection” or the “DVD Collection” you paid 7 trillions
dollars for on eBay.
Well, a “keep” is, according
to my Funky Wagnalls dictionary, “the strongest part of a castle” – you see,
Roma is glueing us in! The Angel heading for the CASTLE is.....Enya! She is
finally on her way home, remembering only good days when the earth had an
atmosphere. But our aquatic being is watching Enya arrive at Humanderley, and
our poem decludes thusly:
Surely, if this is
Promises are mine to give you
Mine to give…….
Ah, classh, what ARE we to
make of this? Is the aquatic creature now making promises to Enya in order to
save the oceans from distinction? So that there will still be willows on the
water and watermarks? So that water will not become a memory, like trees? Of
course, it is! How elemental, like lead or cadmium or even mercury, god of
Flora and Fauna, smoking in the long grass. And think how sad the destruction
of the moon will make Flora.
Promises to give to Enya – any suggestions? What,
Miss Hap? YES, Enya did indeed compound a composition entitled “The Promise.”
Perhaps our aquatic creature is stressing that she/he/it has more
promises to give than Roma ever had! Upping the steaks, so to speak. Will Enya
take the bait? Or will Nicky offer her a rebate instead?
Well, classh, Mis Hap has set a good example for you
all: your next assignation is to submit to torture, er, submit to ME
what you declude the PROMISES to Enya may be, or may be not!
And how many Angels can dance to “The River Sings”
on the head of a pin! That’s the tie-breaker.
[tempus fugits again]
Good grief, classh, little OperaKait has once more
over-reached herself. This is her decomposition:
“I think that “Amor” is really a Loxian Advanced
Water Spout (LAWS), who is calling out, into the darkness, for her fellow
Loxian Spouts to come to her, since she wants tomorrow, and NOT the implosion
of the moon and the end of Time. Her SECRET is that all Loxian Spouts are
highly skilled in planet renovations, and they will PROMISE Enya to do what
Enya herself wished to do in the Orinoco Flood poem: save the whales,
save the whales, save the whales! So, in this poem, Roma reveals herself as
ecologically conscious.”
Um, I think I must go lie down now, with some
Pepto-Brennan ™.