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Horace Gerstenblut n'existe pas. |
Tuesday, June 15, 1999 The Final Rerun... For Now Okay, it's late Tuesday night as I type this, so once I finish this entry, I'll finally be caught up! Well, at least until tomorrow night, anyway. Thanks for putting up with all this. Rather than reprinting yet another one of my earlier works, I've decided I want to share somebody else's work with you. Hey, this is my journal, so I get to do whatever I want, right? Besides, I need to save some of my writings for the next time I'm trying to catch up. <wry smile> So. This is by that ever-popular poet, Anonymous, who wrote this Middle English work sometime in the 13th-14th century. For unknown reasons, its chorus has been running through my head lately. It is a fairly catchy little number... Note, by the way, that "he" in line seven (and seventeen) means "she." Ah, for the days of gender-free pronouns...
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Bytwene Mersh and Averil, When spray biginneth to springe, The lutel foul hath hire wyl On hyre lud to synge. Ich libbe in love-longinge For semlokest of alle thinge-- He may me blisse bringe; Ich am in hire baundoun An hendy hap ichabbe yhent-- Ichot from hevene it is me sent; From alle wymmen mi love is lent And lyht on Alysoun.
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Hmm. I still have three stanzas to go, but in the course of typing this, I realized that this is pretty unintelligible if you don't have the helpful little notes on the side. And it's taking too long to type. So I think I'm gonna scrap that idea. On the other hand, I spent too much time typing the above to do the sensible thing and scrap it all and start from scratch. So, let me leave you with this little ditty from the final installment of The English 150 Song Book:
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(To the tune of "The Major-General's Song" from The Pirates of
Penzance.)
I am the very model of a modern deconstructionist
I relish the unraveling of texts which seem to mean a lot
The rest of the department ought to come to terms with what is new
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