Making Light

IncoRporating Electrolite

Language, fraud, folly, truth, knitting, and growing luminous by eating light.

Rapping with Rab and Robert

Someone elseweb crossed a couple of wires and mentioned Robert Frost when they meant Robert Burns. And I got that awful itch in my brain that I get sometimes.

So first this happened:

For though yer land an’ mine
Are neighbors near, an’ a’ that:
We split the apple frae the pine
A Wall’s a Wall for a’ that.

Then a couple of days later:

The way a pest
Crept up the side
Of the Sunday best
That you wore with pride
Made me see
How I’d be viewed
And rescued me
From being rude.

Then it was late at night and I took a bath. Unfortunately, I get ideas in the bath.

Thare’s mony speak o’ Rabbie Burns
An’ mony Robert Frost.
An’ gin the writers maun tak’ turns
Then for the first I favour Burns.
But gin the other micht be lost,
I think I ken enouch o’ verse
Tae say that as a poiet, Frost
Isnae worse
An’ worth the cost.

As Fade mentioned on Twitter, there’s an interesting space for parlor games here: crossing over the works of two poets that overlap somehow, whether by their names or some other characteristic.

The mic is open.

157 responses to “Rapping with Rab and Robert”

  1. I’m not sure I have the knowledge of the respective poets to pull this off. But as an appreciator, I got it!

    Also, Hi, Abi–nice to see you again. I hope things are going better than they were when last you were able to join us. 🙂

  2. Hi, abi! (Missed your presence here.)

  3. Oh my… I … speechless, day, made!

  4. Wonderful! Thanks, Abi; I really enjoyed those – and the concept.

  5. Okay, so I’m as good at this as everyone else here, but in order for this room to not be totally barren, I’ll post this, to be papered over by better as they come.

    The problem with a Raven: he ought
    instead, to be a tell-tale Heart.

    — Edgar Allan Nash.

    Now, whether the authors overlap at all, is yet another question.

  6. On Seeing a Small Creature Upon a Nun’s Wimple, and Getting It Quite Wrong
    by Gerard Manley Burns

    O wee, sma’, sleekit, cow’rin’, tim’rous beastie!
    How dost thou mak’ my spirit rise
    Within my breastie! When that I see
    With my little e’e,
    Thou crawl’st upon crumpled wind-blown wimple
    To hide in a dimple! Simple!

    O wad some pow’r the giftie gi’e us
    Tae see oursels as ithers see us
    It wad frae mony a blunder free us
    An’ foolish notion:
    For after a draucht o’ guid Scotch potion, during my devotion,
    In its motion, in God’s house
    I have mistook a louse
    For a mouse!

  7. Tell me, what will you do with your second wild and precious life?

    Mary Wollstonecraft Oliver, with apologies….

  8. Traveling with personifications of eternal forces

    It is not improper for an unaccompanied lady to pull her carriage over for personifications of eternal forces (such as that of mortality). However, it is also acceptable for such personifications to stop and take a lady on board. It is generally preferred if personifications offering mortals rides to do so in pairs (for instance, mortality and timelessness).

    Excessive speed is discouraged on such journeys. The traveling companions should not engage in distractions, but instead pursue discussions of common subjects, landmarks they pass, natural phenomena, &c…

    — Emily Post Dickinson

  9. I saw the best minds of my generation put the lime in the coconut and drink it right up.

    –Two Friends of John Lennon

  10. Frost covered Eliot Street in Cambridge last week. I should have taken a picture, but I didn’t know this was going to happen.

    We are acquainted, you and I and the night
    With streets half-deserted, let us walk through the rain
    Outwalking the far city lights

    Whispers come to us through ether we cannot explain
    And the muttering of angry arguments
    We walk home to our sad city lane

    Where diners are percolating coffee with resentment
    You know half the people here only want a place to cry
    Or to quarrel, but that isn’t my intent

    You’re holding my hand and I can’t say good-bye
    Though the old battered clock that still hangs on the wall
    Warns when the last of night will leave the sky

    We know the night enough to trust the night again must fall
    And indeed there will be time
    And indeed there will be time
    And indeed there will be time.

Post a Comment

Comments containing more than seven URLs will be held for approval.Real e-mail addresses and URLs only, please.