Wednesday's for Kids XX -- CASEY AT THE BAT

(www.valomilk.com)

So I sort of flip-flopped-blended the kids stuff and poetry this week, but what the heck.  Both today's and Sunday's are fairytales of sorts and have both been interpreted--loosely--by Disney.  I'm not offering much commentary, but leave the comparison, favorable or not, to you.

Casey at the Bat
by Ernest Lawrence Thayer
The Outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Casey could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;
And its likely they'd a-killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.

The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana XIX -- chapter 18: IT'S A TWISTER!

1. "I see now that it was Lila who, when I was sixteen, gave me hope that I might forget that night at the Gorge."
2. Paola is to Sibilla as The Divine Comedy is to the atom bomb.  Ha!
3. "...in order to be able to move forward we behave as if everything we see is real."
4. Who/what are: Lila Saba, the First Folio, Clarabelle's Treasure, Queen Loana, Angelo Bear; and what other pivotal character-symbols might there be (given by collective labels is just fine)?
5. "And at last, great God, I saw. I saw like the apostle, I saw the center of my Aleph from which shone forth not the infinite world, but the jumbled notebook of my memories."
6. John the Revelator's The Book of Revelation?
7. What is the value of the various illustrations, aside from their beauty and/or design?
8. At the end of The Wizard of Oz we get the reunion of Dorothy and the farm hands, but also with the characters of Oz itself, from which she was is just as distanced as she was from her family, and an interesting reunion inasmuch as the family/hands and Ozites are the same people--a kinda body+spirit=soul thing.  Is the end of Mysterious Flame much like Oz?
9. The acceleration to the end leads to what?  What is the blacking of the sun?
10. Compare Cyrano and Christian to Paula and Sibilla (either Sibilla/Lila), wherein I believe the crucial connection lay.
11. What is the arc of the story, and is the conflict(what's the conflict?) resolved?

The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana XVIII -- chapter 17: THE BIRTH OF AN ATHEIST

Baptism of Augustine of Hippo

1. Interesting parallel: As an adult, the forgetfulness came without warning, like death in the night unexpected; as a child, death came without warning and all around him, and he had to work, "providently," to push out its memory, forget, and move on with his life.  The forced forgetting is very much like the Christian notion of repentance, but repentance must be voluntary like the childhood flushing of repugnant memory.  How then would you metaphorically qualify Yambo's adult amnesia?  Finally, as baptism is sometimes identified as a second birth, or spiritual birth/rebirth, does it fit in anywhere with all this?
2. How is Yambo's conclusion, "God does not exist," not surprising, coming as it does, of course, from his life and development?
3. Describe Yambo's relationship with sin.  How might this lead to the man we know (if we know) he became later?
4. Fine books and fine music become Yambo's gods after the episode in the gorge.  How is this, well, idolatry so much more convenient, yet, at least by the strictures of human limitation, comparably satisfying/challenging?
5. Yambo's life experiences were echoed in and formulated by his books.  He found meaning, explanation, and interpretation at writers' hands.  He experiences a form--perverted--of chaste indulgence by the leniencies allowed in text, "not flesh."  Does this open a window, as it were, overlooking the First Folio; and, by extension, how is the First Folio indeed Lila?

Sunday Poetry XXIII -- JACK AND THE BEANSTALK (not a poem, but the Jacobs tale and Disney's Mickeyfied short)

(scroll down for Disney's "Mickey and the Beanstalk")

By combination of the edition my kids read this week and the here-and-the-references and Italy's translations of old Mickey Mouse cartoons (Topolino) in The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana, I was brought to this: a fantastic tale, and one of my favorite Mickey Mouse shorts.

Two important "Jack and the Beanstalk" links:

background by Wikipedia
annotations by Surlalune

by Arthur Rackham

THERE was once upon a time a poor widow who had an only son named Jack, and a cow named Milky-white. And all they had to live on was the milk the cow gave every morning, which they carried to the market and sold. But one morning Milky-white gave no milk and they didn’t know what to do.

"What shall we do, what shall we do?" said the widow, wringing her hands.

"Cheer up, mother, I’ll go and get work somewhere," said Jack.

"We’ve tried that before, and nobody would take you," said his mother; "we must sell Milky-white and with the money, start shop, or something."

"All right, mother," says Jack; "it’s market-day today, and I’ll soon sell Milky-white, and then we’ll see what we can do."

So he took the cow’s halter in his hand, and off he started. He hadn’t gone far when he met a funny-looking old man, who said to him: "Good morning, Jack."

"Good morning to you," said Jack, and wondered how he knew his name.

"Well, Jack, and where are you off to?" said the man.

"I’m going to market to sell our cow here."

"Oh, you look the proper sort of chap to sell cows," said the man; "I wonder if you know how many beans make five."

"Two in each hand and one in your mouth," says Jack, as sharp as a needle.

"Right you are," said the man, "and here they are, the very beans themselves," he went on, pulling out of his pocket a number of strange-looking beans. "As you are so sharp," says he, "I don’t mind doing a swop with you — your cow for these beans."

"Walker!" says Jack; "wouldn’t you like it?"

"Ah! you don’t know what these beans are," said the man; "if you plant them overnight, by morning they grow right up to the sky."

"Really?" says Jack; "you don’t say so."

"Yes, that is so, and if it doesn’t turn out to be true you can have your cow back."

"Right," says Jack, and hands him over Milky-white’s halter and pockets the beans.

Back goes Jack home, and as he hadn’t gone very far it wasn’t dusk by the time he got to his door.

"Back already, Jack?" said his mother; "I see you haven’t got Milky-white, so you’ve sold her. How much did you get for her?"

"You’ll never guess, mother," says Jack.

"No, you don’t say so. Good boy! Five pounds, ten, fifteen, no, it can’t be twenty."

"I told you you couldn’t guess. What do you say to these beans; they’re magical, plant them overnight and —"

"What!" says Jack’s mother, "have you been such a fool, such a dolt, such an idiot, as to give away my Milky-white, the best milker in the parish, and prime beef to boot, for a set of paltry beans? Take that! Take that! Take that! And as for your precious beans here they go out of the window. And now off with you to bed. Not a sup shall you drink, and not a bit shall you swallow this very night."

So Jack went upstairs to his little room in the attic, and sad and sorry he was, to be sure, as much for his mother’s sake, as for the loss of his supper.

At last he dropped off to sleep.

When he woke up, the room looked so funny. The sun was shining into part of it, and yet all the rest was quite dark and shady. So Jack jumped up and dressed himself and went to the window. And what do you think he saw? Why, the beans his mother had thrown out of the window into the garden had sprung up into a big beanstalk which went up and up and up till it reached the sky. So the man spoke truth after all.

The beanstalk grew up quite close past Jack’s window, so all he had to do was to open it and give a jump on to the beanstalk which ran up just like a big plaited ladder. So Jack climbed, and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed till at last he reached the sky. And when he got there he found a long broad road going as straight as a dart. So he walked along and he walked along and he walked along till he came to a great big tall house, and on the doorstep there was a great big tall woman.

"Good morning, mum," says Jack, quite polite-like. "Could you be so kind as to give me some breakfast?" For he hadn’t had anything to eat, you know, the night before and was as hungry as a hunter.

"It’s breakfast you want, is it?" says the great big tall woman, "it’s breakfast you’ll be if you don’t move off from here. My man is an ogre and there’s nothing he likes better than boys broiled on toast. You’d better be moving on or he’ll soon be coming."

"Oh! please, mum, do give me something to eat, mum. I’ve had nothing to eat since yesterday morning, really and truly, mum," says Jack. "I may as well be broiled as die of hunger."

Well, the ogre’s wife wasn't such a bad sort after all. So she took Jack into the kitchen, and gave him a hunk of bread and cheese and a jug of milk. But Jack hadn’t half finished these when thump! thump! thump! the whole house began to tremble with the noise of someone coming.

"Goodness gracious me! It’s my old man," said the ogre’s wife, "what on earth shall I do? Come along quick and jump in here." And she bundled Jack into the oven just as the ogre came in.

He was a big one, to be sure. At his belt he had three calves strung up by the heels, and he unhooked them and threw them down on the table and said: "Here, wife, broil me a couple of these for breakfast. Ah! what’s this I smell?

Fee-fi-fo-fum,
I smell the blood of an Englishman,
Be he alive, or be he dead,
I’ll have his bones to grind my bread."

"Nonsense, dear," said his wife, "you’ re dreaming. Or perhaps you smell the scraps of that little boy you liked so much for yesterday’s dinner. Here, you go and have a wash and tidy up, and by the time you come back your breakfast’ll be ready for you."

So off the ogre went, and Jack was just going to jump out of the oven and run away when the woman told him not. "Wait till he’s asleep," says she; "he always has a snooze after breakfast."

Well, the ogre had his breakfast, and after that he goes to a big chest and takes out of it a couple of bags of gold, and sits down counting them till at last his head began to nod and he began to snore till the whole house shook again.

Then Jack crept out on tiptoe from his oven, and as he was passing the ogre he took one of the bags of gold under his arm, and off he pelters till he came to the beanstalk, and then he threw down the bag of gold, which, of course, fell into his mother’s garden, and then he climbed down and climbed down till at last he got home and told his mother and showed her the gold and said: "Well, mother, wasn’t I right about the beans? They are really magical, you see."

So they lived on the bag of gold for some time, but at last they came to the end of that so Jack made up his mind to try his luck once more up at the top of the beanstalk. So one fine morning he rose up early, and got on to the beanstalk, and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed till at last he got on the road again and came the great big tall house he had been to before. There, sure enough, was the great tall woman a-standing on the doorstep.

"Good morning, mum," says Jack, as bold as brass, "could you be so good as to give me something to eat?"

"Go away, my boy," said the big, tall woman, "or else my man will eat you up for breakfast. But aren’t you the youngster who came here once before? Do you know, that very day my man missed one of his bags of gold."

"That’s strange, mum," said Jack, "I dare say I could tell you something about that but I’m so hungry I can’t speak till I’ve had something to eat."

Well, the big tall woman was that curious that she took him in and gave him something to eat. But he had scarcely begun munching it as slowly as he could when thump! thump! they heard the giant’s footstep, and his wife hid Jack away in the oven.

All happened as it did before. In came the ogre as he did before, said: "Fee-fi-fo-fum," and had his breakfast off three broiled oxen. Then he said: "Wife, bring me the hen that lays the golden eggs." So she brought it, and the ogre said: "Lay," and it laid an egg all of gold. And then the ogre began to nod his head, and to snore till the house shook.

Then Jack crept out of the oven on tiptoe and caught hold of the golden hen, and was off before you could say "Jack Robinson." But this time the hen gave a cackle which woke the ogre, and just as Jack got out of the house he heard him calling:

"Wife, wife, what have you done with my golden hen?"

And the wife said: "Why, my dear?"

But that was all Jack heard, for he rushed off to the beanstalk and climbed down like a house on fire. And when he got home he showed his mother the wonderful hen, and said "Lay" to it; and it laid a golden egg every time he said 'Lay."

Well, Jack was not content, and it wasn’t long before he determined to have another try at his luck up there at the top of the beanstalk. So one fine morning, he rose up early, and went on to the beanstalk, and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed till he got to the top. But this time he knew better than to go straight to the ogre’s house. And when he got near it, he waited behind a bush till he saw the ogre’s wife come out with a pail to get some water, and then he crept into the house and got into the copper. He hadn’t been there long when he heard thump! thump! thump! as before, and in came the ogre and his wife.

"Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman," cried out the ogre. "I smell him, wife, I smell him."

"Do you, my dearie?" says the ogre’s wife. "Then if it’s that little rogue that stole your gold and the hen that laid the golden eggs he’s sure to have got into the oven." And they both rushed to the oven. But Jack wasn’t there, luckily, and the ogre’s wife said: "There you are again with your fee-fi-fo-fum. Why, of course, it’s the laddie you caught last night that I’ve broiled for your breakfast. How forgetful I am, and how careless you are not to know the difference between live un and a dead un."

So the ogre sat down to the breakfast and ate it, but every now and then he would mutter: "Well, I could have sworn —" and he’d get up and search the larder and the cupboards, and everything, only, luckily, he didn’t think of the copper.

After breakfast was over, the ogre called out: "Wife, wife, bring me my golden harp." So she brought it and put it on the table before him. Then he said: "Sing!" and the golden harp sang most beautifully. And it went on singing till the ogre fell asleep, and commenced to snore like thunder.

Then Jack lifted up the copper-lid very quietly and got down like a mouse and crept on hands and knees till he came to the table when he got up and caught hold of the golden harp and dashed with it towards the door. But the harp called out quite loud: "Master! Master!" and the ogre woke up just in time to see Jack running off with his harp.

Jack ran as fast as he could, and the ogre came rushing after, and would soon have caught him only Jack had a start and dodged him a bit and knew where he was going. When he got to the beanstalk the ogre was not more than twenty yards away when suddenly he saw Jack disappear like, and when he came to the end of the road he saw Jack underneath climbing down for dear life. Well, the ogre didn’t like trusting himself to such a ladder, and he stood and waited, so Jack got another start. But just then the harp cried out: "Master! Master!" and the ogre swung himself down on to the beanstalk, which shook with his weight. Down climbs Jack, and after him climbed the ogre. By this time Jack had climbed down and climbed down and climbed down till he was very nearly home. So he called out: "Mother! Mother! bring me an axe, bring me an axe." And his mother came rushing out with the axe in her hand, but when she came to the beanstalk she stood stock still with fright, for there she saw the ogre just coming down below the clouds.

But Jack jumped down and got hold of the axe and gave a chop at the beanstalk which cut it half in two. The ogre felt the beanstalk shake and quiver so he stopped to see what was the matter. Then Jack gave another chop with the axe, and the beanstalk was cut in two and began to topple over. Then the ogre fell down and broke his crown, and the beanstalk came toppling after.

Then Jack showed his mother his golden harp, and what with showing that and selling the golden eggs, Jack and his mother became very rich, and he married a great princess, and they lived happy ever after.

Jacobs, Joseph. English Fairy Tales. London: David Nutt, 1890.

The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana XVII -- chapter 16: DEFENESTRATING FOG

1. The first paragraph holds Eco's second mention of tapeworms (proglottid), and this time regarding their divisive mode of reproduction.  Is this (I'm being a little sarcastic here) Freudian?
2. I love the indirect comparison between the Seven Dwarfs and the kings of Rome.
3. Le corna, or "the horns," is the inadvertent obscene gesture in the aspirin ad.  The version shown is the augmentative of the one-handed horns, which are made by closing the thumb and the middle and fourth fingers and then pointing the remaining fingers (index and pinky, if you're not keeping track) at your target or, more figuratively, toward hell.  It's a versatile gesture with a number of variations, and happened to be the favorite and much-abused gesture of a close friend when I was in Italy.
4. Why is a stamp a perfect window--and so much simpler, if not cheaper, than books and comics--to another land and/or time?
5. Interesting how all the pulp and press from Part 2 find connections, subtle, tangential, and/or direct, to the truths of his memories in Part 3.
6. As far as storytelling is concerned, who is Gragnola?
7. "...it was like throwing rocks at a rhinoceros...."
8. Compare the figurative, fog-laden gorge of Yambo's memory to the real, childhood nightmare.  The latter was overcome by dedicated and systematized training.  Is there a correlative here to penetrating the memory fog?
9. Next character: as far as storytelling is concerned, who is Durante?
10. "...because we knew that half a Hail Mary would basically paralyze them."
11. "I lack the courage to go to Don Cognasso and confess… and besides, confess what? That which I did not do, nor even see, but only guessed at? Not having anything to ask forgiveness for, I cannot even be forgiven. It is enough to make a person feel damned forever."  There's something big here.  This story of terror and heroism and guilt occurs just at Yambo's coming of age.  All this, combined with Gragnola's ideologies and that of Yambo's books, comics, and grandfather, should add up to who he became as an adult.  Thoughts?
12. Following up from #8: The bottom of both the figurative and literal gorges hold the same event.  Is this Clarabell's treasure?  Is this, after everything, a parallel of some sort to the First Folio?