Dear Bloggy,
I have a terrible cold and it’s all Sister Windy’s
geological fault. Sometimes she cracks me up, but this time she spread all her
berms on me! And now you too can share her devil’s food quakes:
“Good morning, studnuts. I am so pleased
to pronounce that I shall be proffering yet another lesion on the Poetry of
Roma Ryan. Our text for today will be that most moving ode to winter, pretitled
EXILE. Lettuce now commence our collective intimidation of this poem by
noting that dear Roma, as is oft the case,
plunges us into “medias res” --now, Miss Fortune, what does that mean? Good for
you! Yes, we find ourselves in the middle of a poetic tapestry being woven by
Roma, with the able assistance of Ebony and Persia, off course:
Cold as the northern winds
in December mornings
Cold indeed, cold enough to turn my
letters blue, to say nothing of my toes (which are being warmed by
EnyaMiniCandles ™ -- today’s much depreciated sponsor). You see, classh,
northern winds in December can freeze your extremities, and even parts in
between, so be very careful when you go outside. Roma wants us to feel very
very cold – as she herself did when touring (live) the True North Strong
and Free in December; you know, I bet Roma got a great deal on THIS travel
package -- anyone with sense would surely go to Aruba, but I digress.
Now, we all know the True North is cold,
especially in bleak and sister windy December, although it is also cold in
Antarctica, which is in the True South, not the True North -- confusing, isn't
it, Miss Judged? And northern winds blow very, very fiercely, reminding me of Mother
Superioriosa bellowing on Parents Night-mare, but no more of that ugly
scene……….
So, our poetic persona, as
yet unidentifiable, will be experiencing extreme cold, like unto northern winds
in December. But why on December “mornings”? Ah, clever Roma, who knows that,
in the morning, the sun has not yet become high enough to blow sweet-smelling
hot air over us all!
Then, we come unto:
Cold is the cry that rings
from this far distant shore
Aha! The tale begins to revolve at last:
our poetic persona is at a far distant shore! And there is a cry ringing
out, and that cry is also cold, very cold indeed. Thus we are faced with
interpreting what Roma is saying to us, Master Piece, and it seems to me that
we need to locate the setting of this poem: WHERE is all this
taking place, where is Roma misleading us this time? Well, I suggest that you
contemperate the following:
Our poetic persona, very heavily stuck in
frost, is standing on a far distant shore on BAFFLED ISLAND! And, like the
island itself, he/she/it is thoroughly baffled. We will have to exhume the
remains of the poem to discover why, but first of all, studnuts, WHERE is
Baffled Island? No, Miss Rhine, I do not mean Baffled Ireland – though
we all know why Ireland is baffled: Enya and Bono have not yet sung a
duet!
Yes, Miss Charted, Baffled Island lies in
the Far North of Canada, that huge morass of frozen (and thus very very cold)
frost. Now, why on earth would anyone go THERE in December? Or more to the
point, why would sweet Roma send anyone there? Did they have a dispute over
frozen assets? Or the existence of Loxia in the cold outer reaches of space and
time? Did Roma have a cold that day? Did she get it from Nicky? So many
questions, so little only time.
For our inconvenience, let us assign a
tentacle name to our poetic persona: Perma Frost, a persona well known indeed
on Baffled Island. There she is, standing on a far distant shore, missing
daffydills dreadfully, and freezing in the cold northern winds of a December
morning. No wonder a cry is heard throughout the land – Master Card, if Perma
cries out on Baffled Island, where no one else exists at the moment, will she
make a sound? If she falls in the forest will she make a noise? Well, since
there is no forest, let us just leaf this one alone.
In the next lines, Roma inveighs us with:
too close beside me
What? Roma here throws us her infamous
curving ball! How can Winter be late here? It is DECEMBER, after all, and
you ought to know [soft humming begins, from the kid with a tape worm at the
back] that Winter begins in December; is Roma temporally confused, or
just confused temporarily? Yes, Miss Taken, there is a difference!
But our persona, Perma Frost, misguidedly
thinks that Winter has come too late - but, too late for what? For ice fishing?
For skating on Hudson Bay? For the Northern Lights to flash themselves? This
conundrum is then compounded by the interest of “too close beside me:” it
appears that Winter is somehow too nigh unto Perma. Maybe she should move to
the left, or even to the right, depending on her political views. Not that I
mind, of course: I respect your right to join any political party as long as I
am invited! I can really groove when in the mood, but I digress.
Can we find answers to all our questions
in the following lines?
How can I chase away
all these fears deep inside?
No, Miss Begotten, we cannot – Roma
continues to riddle us with bullets of obfuscation.
Poor Perma, we discover, is beset with
infernal internal fears! Which is perhaps better than being beset with polar
bears, but that is for Brother Ursian to explicate in zoology. Perma here
expresses her need to chase away, away, away those infernal internal
fears that so plague her. Don't we all, Master Works? Will someone please wake
him up? Thank you!
Now, studnuts, why is Perma
so full of fear? Indeed, Miss OperaKait, she is bloody cold – well, who
wouldn't be cold with Winter standing right beside them, up close and personal?
And deep inside, where her last colonel of heat remains, Perma must dig deep to
chase the chills away! One would think an electric blanket might help, but
there are no inlets on Baffled Island.
And so, classh, we must abandon poor
Perma to the elements as we enter that segment of the poem known as the chorus
line. Please put on your pantyhose and high heels – yes, you too, Mister
Woof. I shall make more room for your gymnasties by levitating and writing on
the ceiling; why, when I am through writing up here, this ceiling will be as
famous as the Sixteen Chapel of Roma, in the Tenth House of the Moon! Yes, I am
digressing yet again…sorry.
Yes, Miss Heard? No, it is not
called the “Celine Chapel,” and Sister Celine will not do a cameo on chorus
lines in Las Vegas.
Now, we have left poor
Perma stranded on Baffled Island, no doubt by Air Canada. Without her luggage,
of course; it is waiting for her in Hawaii. Perma is frozen in fear, and she is
really frosted at Air Canada! Winter has come too late - it also flew Air
Canada. Anyway, there she stands, on a very cold December morning, mourning her
fate, crying out against the evil forces that have left her all alone and
inceedingly baffled. She wants to chase away her fears, as well as a few polar
bears in the vicinity, all of whom seem for some reason to be drinking bottles
of Coca Cola.
Hence we must ask: does Perma have the
Right Stuff to be THE Survivor in this ultimate endurance unreality
show? Well, just listen and be shocked and awed:
I'll find a way
I will wait the time to come
I'll find a way home
See, classh, how Roma emphatically
insists that Perma WILL prevail, that she is no melting ice cube. Roma boldly
makes this point crystal clear in the chorus by the use of “repetitio
asymmetricala”:
Roma is using this poetic advice to
create a new tense-on in the poem -- we shall call it the "future
optimistic egotistical" tense-on. Perma sees ahead to the future, in which
she WILL achieve her goal. This chorus is thus her affirmation of her strength,
her drive, her inner child yelling, kicking and screaming that it wants to get
out of the cold!
We WILL now further decompose these
verses:
Ah, but NO, Perma, for even I know a lost
cause when I see it: Hades will freeze over before the Canadian government puts
SIGNS on Baffled Island. What do you think makes Baffled Island baffled? There
are NO SIGNS! It's either this way or that way, it's one way or the other - who
knows -- only time and Santa Claus, and then only if they want to!
But Perma, poor dear, wants tomorrow,
signs or no signs:
Signs or not, her determination precludes
her! She will find a way, somewhere, sometime; why, there must be a road
somewhere under all that ice! Too bad Perma did not bring a snow blower, ice
pick, or compass -- I would recommend the all weather "Anywhere-Is Compass
by Enya" ™. Used by all fine airlines, but not by Air Canada.
But Perma is even more
frosted because she now knows that her journey must take a long long time:
No matter how long, she will wait;
perhaps she'll finally have time to finish that Correspondence Course in Arctic
Wildlife she's been working on for 12 years, and land a job in Nunavit. Or,
maybe not. In any event, Perma is very patient, and thus must be an Enya
fan. Indeed, “waiting” is her middle name: Perma Waiting Frost. Time means
nothing to her -- she exists in a timeless quantum space hidden deep within
Baffled Island.
Then, finally, she asserts:
HOME: yes, Master Mind, at the very
climax of the chorus we find a Roma Ryan classic touch: the IMPORTANT
THEMATIC WORD! HOME : Perma yearns to be HOME on the range, where she can
finally whip up a cuppa Irish Breakfast and warm up.
Do you understand, Miss Beguiled, the
importance of HOME in this poem? Even in Nome, one wants to go home. We all
have a homing urge: like pigeons we flock home to annoy and perturbate our
relatives, relatively speaking, of course. So, classh, you now see how very
vital this chorus is to the poem as a hole. Perma, we now know, is not a native
of Baffled Island, but a poor tourist, stranded without her luggage, and
wondering if she’ll ever get a refund. Thus the poem is called EXILE –
Perma’s long long journey will not declude until she finds her way home.
Now, studnuts, to decapitulate our
screamario: Perma Frost remains on Baffled Island, without any signs to help
her find her way home. Despite her future optimistic egoticism, she needs
assistance, and, thusly, Roma will now graciously PROVIDE that assistance in
the next stanza:
Now, at last, Roma is telling us HOW
Perma shall find her way home. Perma obviously lacks light -- her flashlight
gave out long ago when the pink bunny inside it froze while playing the drums.
So, Miss Begotten, Perma will have the light of the moon, which needs no
batteries as it runs on solar power. You see, the moon is ecologically attuned:
it wastes not, wants not, just sits there and absorbs light from the sun, like
Sister Solaris when she sun bathes. At night, the moon, unlike Sister Solaris, gives
back the light it has borrowed from the sun and lights up Perma's life.
Fortunately for Perma, the cloud cover on Baffled Island is away, away, away at
this moment, so she can actually see the light of the moon, otherwise
this poem would have been called “Eclipse.”
Perma, now endowed with moonlight, will
play Beethoven's Moonlight Sinatra while pondering her next move. You see,
classh, there just happens to be a PIANO that has washed up on shore -- its
markings show that it once graced the Titanic, but I don’t feel like digressing
at the moment.
Perma sits at the piano -
it came with a bench watermark - and tickles the keys while thinking that she
should just LOOK, LOOK at the moon at midnight! And then it comes to her:
Aha! An idea has risen like bread dough
in Perma's head: she will walk upon the ocean! But we may have a problem here -
can Perma walk on water? Not that it hasn't been done before.....
Yes, Miss Rhine, you are right: the sea
around Baffled Island is frozen solid, and thus Perma can indeed walk a
path upon it, guided by the light of the silvery moon, even though it is not
June in Saskatoon.
Still, Perma must have a MAP of some kind
to guide her in her epic journey across the Frozen North:
Aha! No Fodor's for Perma, not even the
Blue Guide. Roma has made that all very unnecessary, for Perma will be guided
by the morning star! Now, Miss
Taken, what is the morning star?
No, it is not a Dublin tabloid, though we all do know that morning tabloids can
guide us with their horror-scopes. Why, mine for today said that I would meet a
fascinating man - one who would change my life.
Now, where was I when I digressed? Oh
yes, the morning star will guide dear Perma, and we do reefer here to
VENUS, which, while not really a star, makes a darn good guidepost in the dark!
But there is more to come, as there
always is:
Yes, we now have the completely developed
picture, classh: Perma will take the flowing white robe she just happens to be
wearing on Baffled Island in the winter when it's minus 40 degrees Celsius, and
will hold it high above her head to catch the breeze – and then she will sail
away, sail away, sail away over the ice! How invigorating! Off sails Perma, her
gown full of wind (as am I at times, according to Mother Superioriosa). With
the assistance of the wind AND the moon AND Venus, Perma will finally begin her
long journey home!
But, we must inquire, WHO is YOU? Zounds,
there is another persona involved with Perma! And just when our interest is
peeking up, Roma throws us another Chorus Line! However, we shall dance around
this one, as we simply must get to the exciting reclusion of this poem:
Who then can warm my soul?
Out of these dreams -- a boat,
I will sail home to you.
Let us tackle each line in turn:
Ah, the pungent pathos of that line!
Perma is frosted, actually she is freezing, she is in desperate need of HEAT -
her soul is nigh unto being a Popsicle. Well, no wonder she is seeking a
"who" to warm her soul! Cold souls are so unpleasant - why, just the
other day, I slipped my foot into a shoe that had been left outside overnight,
and was my soul ever cold, but enough digressing.
Perma asks a telling question here,
classh, but I'm not telling you any more. Instead, I shall drag you into the
next line:
“Who can quell my passion?”
My my, Perma is passionate,
and requires instant quelling! A cold shower would certainly do the trick, but
if she took a cold shower here on Baffled Island, she would become encased in
ice and then drift into the ocean to sink the Titanic, but let us not go there,
as I keep hearing Sister Celine’s sinking yowls…
Now, Miss Cast, WHY is Perma so full of
passion? Yes, correct! She HAS been stranded on Baffled Island way too long.
Her passion has been building, driving her to distraction, but, my dear
studnuts, did you notice the existential conundrum we have here? Of course not,
how silly of me.
You see, if Perma seeks a warming
of her cold soul, how can she be in need of something or someone to quell her
passion? A cold soul has no fiery passion, of course – no, only a very HOT soul
needs a passion suppressant!
And so we remain somewhat
flubbergasted at Perma's apparent split soul, and they are much worse than
split ends, believe me.
Now we must invigilate the next line:
A boat? A boat what? A boat the ice? the
sea? the soul? the passion? NO, it is not a boat these at all. It is a
boat a VESSEL. Perma, you see, Miss Placed, is now so cold that she is
hallucinating! Having visions of vessels that have vafted their vay to vescue
her! IS there really a ship out there, near Baffled Island? Or, is Perma
having a really bad trip? We can only trudge onwards, to the final line, which,
in Roman tradition, will conclude the poem in a brilliantly pathetic manner!
As she imagines a ship breaking through
the ice to rescue her, Perma's thoughts turn to the mysterious “you” we met
earlier. Now we see: this is the “who” who will quell her passion AND warm her
soul – what a handy creature to have around the home! No wonder she is yearning
to leave behind her new friends – the seals, the polar bears, the frozen fish
sticks, and, yes, Miss OperaKait, the walrus.
And herein lies Roma's touchy massage for
us all:
No matter what dire circumstances you may
find yourself in, there is always someone freezing to death on Baffled Island.
So lift that chin, stand up tall, you are going to make it! Yes, you will ALL
eventually graduate from Roma Ryan’s High and Petting Zoo. Of course, we have
no idea when – rather like waiting for the next Enya album, isn’t it, Miss Hap?
So always remember: there is hope for
you! Yes, even you, Mister Woof! When you least expect it, a boat will arrive
to take you home. Just make sure you have your EnyanExpressCard ™ with you,
those rescue boats are NOT cheap, let me tell you!
Ta!!”