POETS Day! Why Is Tom Bombadil?

Illustration by Rene Sears

[This entry is cross posted at ordinary-times.com]

A friend of mine has a deep booming voice. Years ago, he was the MC for The Tragic City Rollers roller derby team, a play on Birmingham’s Magic City nickname. I’m not sure what to call roller derby participants. Players doesn’t sound right, but whatever they are, they pick campy or funny nicknames for themselves, kind of like drag queens.

I worked with a quiet, clever, but shy waitress around the turn of the century who moved off to Austin. Next thing I know I’m channel surfing and come across a roller derby reality show on A&E. It’s her. The waitress is on the screen smashing people and not being shy. It was amazing. She was named rookie of the year, which I know because of course I became a regular viewer. She had the best roller derby name I’ve heard. She went by Venus Envy.

Back to Birmingham, I don’t think my friend cared much for roller derby. I asked him if there was strategy and he said there was, but he didn’t know what was going on most of the time. He said he did it because his friend picked the name Sister Mary Merciless, and he really liked introducing her as “Full of grace and in your face! It’s Sister Mary Merciless!”

He said he had to be there mid-afternoon before the weekend matches. I don’t know if that’s true, but it’s what he said and it got him out of work early Friday. That was brilliant.

Whatever silly thing you want to do is a valid excuse. Piss Off Early, Tomorrow’s Saturday.

But first, some verse.

Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!
Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow!
Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!

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POETS Day! Roy Campbell

[This entry is cross posted at ordinary-times.com]

Sometimes I feel bad for people who don’t speak English and are stuck calling their master lyricists words like poeta, digter, imbongi, or tusisolo that don’t form tidy acronyms encouraging their better hedonist angels. Thankfully we are blessed by the vision of William the TBA who noticed that Godwinson was busy in York dealing with family issues and figured even if Harold could get to Hastings in time, he’d have to force march his men with out any bathroom breaks. William won and French words marginalized German words. Instead of the dubious Diners In Cardiff Hate Tasting English Rarebit we get the dulcet Piss Off Early, Tomorrow’s Saturday, so Happy POETS Day! Disassemble, obfuscate, fudge the truth, and gleefully trespass the norms and delicate pieties that preserve our hopefully durable civilization. Nearly all means are justified by the urge to prematurely escape the bonds of employment and settle in at a friendly neighborhood joint a few hours before even happy hour begins, lay comfortably in the grass at a local park or cemetery, take a schvitz, or God forbid, go for a light jog. It’s your weekend. Do with it as you will, but in homage to the mighty Norman acronym may I suggest setting aside a moment for a little verse? It’s a particularly good way to pass time waiting on friends who may not run as roughshod over the delicate pieties and were not as successful as you were in engineering an early exit.

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In October of 1944, C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien spent an evening in discussion with Roy Campbell, this week’s featured poet. Lewis was put off by Campbell’s, according to Lewis, “particular blend of Catholicism and fascism.” Tolkien, who was writing The Lord of the Rings at the time, reportedly took Campbell as inspiration for a mysterious hobbit character named Trotter who he would over time rewrite as a man, rename Strider, and reveal as Aragorn. People didn’t react mildly to Campbell. Even when they were ostensibly friends and admirers of each other’s literary abilities and fellow members of The Inklings, Lewis wrote a mean poem at him.

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