Surely your mother did not say anything so vulgar! said Pliny sternly. Not to mention that she seems to have spoken uncharacteristically in rhyme.
Of course she didn't, Pliny. I just couldn't resist it, and it serves you right for boasting that you're friends with Coleridge. I bet you only googled him. I bet you're only friends with him the same way I could say that I'm friends with Jean-Jacques Rousseau.
Oh? And in what way are you friends with him? asked Pliny, with a sniff.
I'm reading about him. I just finished Rousseau's Dog. Now I'm reading his Confessions. I feel I know him very well indeed.
Imagine that, said Pliny. I myself am following him on Twitter. He appears to be doing very well in the Tour de France.
But Pliny, he's a philosopher.
Indeed he is, and a very witty one. Only this morning he tweeted this gem: Man is born free but is everywhere in chains. A reference to his bicycle, do you see?
Showing posts with label Coleridge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Coleridge. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
The Aeolian Harp
What was your mother saying about the Aeolian harp? asked Pliny. And the seagulls?
Is that all you can say after reading my lovely description of the sea? I countered, somewhat miffed. What did you think of my spiders' legs stew? And my greygold waves backlit by the sun?
Jiggery pokery! said Pliny. I prefer a plain description. But I will acknowledge that you were trying very hard to paint the sea in words. Perhaps you should buy yourself a camera. However, I am interested in this Aeolian harp, and why it was silent on a windy day.
I don't know, Pliny. It used to hum noticeably when it was first constructed. I remember walking underneath it and thinking it might drive people mad. Perhaps it did. Perhaps they had to tighten up the wires and shut it up.
Ha ha, laughed Pliny. These Aeolian harps are never any good. A foolish Greek invention. I remember some lines of Coleridge:
...................this Aeolian lute,
Which better far were mute.
That's impressive, Pliny, you knowing Coleridge like that.
Oh yes, I am good friends with Coleridge. But what was it your mother said about the harp?
The seagulls never used to sit on it, but now they do
For see! the harp is covered with white seagull poo.
Is that all you can say after reading my lovely description of the sea? I countered, somewhat miffed. What did you think of my spiders' legs stew? And my greygold waves backlit by the sun?
Jiggery pokery! said Pliny. I prefer a plain description. But I will acknowledge that you were trying very hard to paint the sea in words. Perhaps you should buy yourself a camera. However, I am interested in this Aeolian harp, and why it was silent on a windy day.
I don't know, Pliny. It used to hum noticeably when it was first constructed. I remember walking underneath it and thinking it might drive people mad. Perhaps it did. Perhaps they had to tighten up the wires and shut it up.
Ha ha, laughed Pliny. These Aeolian harps are never any good. A foolish Greek invention. I remember some lines of Coleridge:
...................this Aeolian lute,
Which better far were mute.
That's impressive, Pliny, you knowing Coleridge like that.
Oh yes, I am good friends with Coleridge. But what was it your mother said about the harp?
The seagulls never used to sit on it, but now they do
For see! the harp is covered with white seagull poo.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
