Today I'm just in a Pogo state of mind. Hardly anyone remembers Pogo now, as even in his heyday in the 1950s, it was a sort of niche market. Though Walt Kelly's artwork was brilliant and sometimes breathtaking, people complained about all that darned TEXT. The things those characters SAID, the way they talked with each other and expressed things about life that were so neatly nutshelled, no one really appreciated how brilliantly succinct they were.
He made it look easy.
This one is a personal favorite because it makes us laugh, and then it makes us - oh.
Oh, so true.
Right now, the Church of Pogo is about the only religion I have, and the only one that hasn't totally disillusioned or even damaged me. How to say it in a handful of words? Human beings have taken something which MIGHT have been a wonderful concept, and utterly poisoned it. We just do not know how to access a state of grace, which to me is what "God" represents.
But even then, Pogo knew.
This one, perhaps the most famous Pogo-ism of all, has kind of a strange backstory. Kelly was invited to speak at some sort of event, and to conclude it he said, "We will soon discover that we have met the enemy - and not only may he be ours, he may be us." Or words to that effect. Only then did people latch on to it, and only then did he incorporate it into one of his most famous cartoons.
This one just spoke to me the other day when I was so royally pissed-off at a family member I have never liked, but who phones me several times a year (I have never once phoned her in 30+ years, because I never want to talk to her). I finally did what I should have done decades ago and cut her off. Now she's furious and feels I owe her an apology and insists she was only trying to HELP me, for God's sake, be an advocate for all my experiential fuckups. ., . never mind. She is gone out of my life forever, as far as I am concerned, and high time, too.
When we originally bought this album in 1951, it came with a very classy-looking Songs of the Pogo hardcover book with all the music (written and arranged by Norman Monath) and lyrics by Walt Kelly. I also remember some lavish illustrations from the Okefenokee Swamp. Alas, all of this has been lost, at least to me. A few relatively-pristine copies of the original record are still floating around, and someone transcribed a very clean-sounding one onto a CD which also contains some very weird Walt Kelly readings. (Probably available on YouTube.) But the words are now only available through somebody-or-other's auditory transcript, and as always it's laced with mondegreens (misheard lyrics, as in "Scuse me while I kiss this guy"). I have done my best to correct these, but again, I had to rely on my ear. Potlocky was the most fiendishly difficult to decipher, and after a couple dozen listenings I gave up on a few lines and gave it my best guess. Some of these seem to venture into the land of the surreal, or fall into the category of verbal jazz. I am very sad Gershwin didn't live to see and appreciate Songs of the Pogo - somehow I think it would have delighted him.
Go Go Pogo
As Maine go oh-so Pogo-go Key Largo, Otsego to Frisco go-to Fargo, Okeefenokee playin'
A-possum on a Pogo Stick around and see the show
Go over land alive-a band o' jive will blow go-Pogo I-go you-go who-go to-go Polly-voo go, From Caravan Diego, a-Waco and Oswego, Tweedle-de he-go she-go we-go me-go Pogo. Atascadero wheeler barrow, some place in Mexico Delaware Ohio and you don't need the text to go Wheeling, West Virginia
With ev'rything that's in ya. Down the line you'll see the shine From Oregon to Caroline Eenie meenie minie Kokomo-go Pogo. Tishimingo, sing those lingo, whistling go. Shamokin to Hoboken Chenango to Chicango It's golly, I go goo-goo goin' go-go Pogo. (musical interlude) Atascadero wheeler barrow, some place in Mexico Delaware Ohio and you Don't need the text to go. Wheeling, West Virginia With ev'rything that's in ya. Down the line you'll see the shine From Oregon to Caroline,
Yes, eenie meenie minie Kokomo go Pogo. Tishimingo, sing those lingo, whistling go. Shamokin to Hoboken, Chenango to Chicango It's golly, I go goo-goo goin' go-go Pogo!
Editor's note. I wasn't going to comment on these. Really, I wasn't, because what can you say? It's the craziest explosion of verbal popcorn I've ever seen, with twists and turns and convolutions, puns on puns. But even that doesn't begin to describe it. This particular song, sung by Walt Kelly in a gravelly voice that reminds me of my Uncle Aubrey, needs to be heard to be believed. Can you imagine, when I was three or four or five years old, trying to decipher what this meant, and how the grownups all seemed to know already? He uses a lot of place names in this one, but gives them a twist, like "caravan Diego" (San Diego?), "Tishimingo, sing those lingo, whistling go" -wait, wait, I know who this sounds like! Gerard Manley Hopkins, with his bizarrely twisted grammar and inverted sentence structure, strange vocabulary and useage, and punnish use or abuse of similes. I especially like "Wheeling, West Virginia with everything that's in ya". Though the album is called Songs of the Pogo, this is the only song that mentions Pogo at all, and it's nothing to do with the comic strip. It's just a form of verbal scat-singing that riffs on the sound of Pogo: I-go-you-go-who-go-to-go-polly-voo-go. I wonder now if some of Pogo's fans were a little disappointed in this, expecting Albert the Alligator caterwauling with his ukelele. Whence that Wince? I was stirrin' up a stirrup cup In a stolen sterling stein, When I chanced upon a ladle Who was once my Valentine. "Oh whence that wince, my wench?" quoth I. She blushed and said, "Oh sir, Old daddy isn't stirrin' Since my momma's been in stir." This one is a masterpiece of alliteration. I had no idea then what a stirrup cup is - it took until about last Friday to find out. Stirrup cup: a cup of wine or other alcoholic drink offered to a person on horseback who is about to depart on a journey. OK, so I DIDN'T know what it meant. I thought it was just "a drink" or mulled wine or something, and let the "stirrup" part go as an obscurity. "In stir" is another archaic expression, something to do with being in jail, but I don't think the average person would know that. Nice how it fits together with "stirrup cup" - didn't even notice that until just this second.
Northern Lights Oh, roar a roar for Nora, Nora Alice in the night, For she has seen Aurora Borealis burning bright. A furore for our Nora! And applaud Aurora seen! Where, throughout the Summer, has Our Borealis been? This is one of Kelly's more haiku-like poem/songs. Pongs? Soems? It looks simple, but just try doing it. I had a cousin Nora once, Irish, and this song reminds me of her. And that's all I can say. It's beautiful, it is. Take care of the sounds, as Lewis Carroll once said, and the sense will take care of itself. Also, I like the way Nora Alice and Borealis sort of reflect each other. Slopposition Oh, once the opposition was completely opposed To all the supposition that was generally supposed But now the superstitions that were thought to be imposed Are seen by composition to be slightly decomposed Kelly wordplay, not as great as some, but they can't all be Go Go Pogo, can they? There is a nice echo between the "ition" words and the "osed" words in each line. Come to that, I couldn't do it, at all. A Song Not for Now A song not for now you need not put stay A tune for the was can be sung for today The notes for the does-not will sound as the does Today you can sing for the will-be that was. This one is REALLY simple, but Norman Monath's tune is innocent and sweet. The arrangements in this album generally are a tad lavish, and some of them are even precious. But those were the times. There IS an innocence about Pogo the character that keeps the strip from becoming too cynical or smart-alecky. As time wore on, Kelly became more angrily political, and I think that took something away from it.
Twirl, Twirl Twirl! Twirl! Twinkle between! The tweezers are twist in the twittering twain. Twirl! Twirl! Entwiningly twirl ‘Twixt twice twenty twigs passing platitudes plain. Plunder the plover and rover rides round. Ring all the rungs on the brassily bound, Billy, Swirl! Swirl! Swingingly swirl! Sweep along, swoop along, sweetly your swain. Again, the alliteration is glitteration, but when we get to "platitudes plain", I think of it as a place, a plane, or perhaps an airborne vehicle. These things fall on the ear more than they live on the page. Anyway, I don't think a standard-issue mind could think of the line "plunder the plover and rover rides round". It might be Rover, for all I know. There IS a dog in Pogo, isn't there? (I can't get it out of my head now. Platitude's Plane.) Parsnoops Oh, the parsnips were snipping the snappers, While the parsley was parcelling the peas, And parsing a sentence from handle to hand Was a hornet who hummed with the bees. The turnips were passing the time of the day In the night of the moon on the porch, When the shape from the shadows so shortfully shrift That the scallions were screeching the scorch! I don't know, I don't find this one very friendly, but I don't think anyone else on the planet could have written it. The Monath tune is kind of jaggedy somehow, and I find it uncomfortable. There are moments in Kelly where I feel kind of frightened, like I'm wandering around in a mindscape that is a tad too bizarre.
The Keen and the Quing The Keen and the Quing were quirling at quoits, In the meadow behind the mere. Tho’ mainly the meadow was middled with mow, And heretical hitherto here. The Prince and the Princess were plaiting the plates And prating quite primly the peer. And that’s why the Duchess stuck ducks on the Duke For no one was over to seer. Now violin only with pizzicato:
Plinky, plinky, pa-lunkity plank, plank, plank
Pa-lunky, pa-lunky, plink plink plink plink plink
Arco, zoom-zoomety-zoom!
Ska-weakity, squeaky squeak-squeaky ska-weak Con sordino squeaky ska-weak Now sensa sordino, squeak squeak squeak sque-eeak Now pizzicato, plunk plunk plunk Plunk, plunk! This one is a favorite, perhaps my all-time favorite, not just because of the gorgeous Spoonerisms but because of the delicate violin passage at the end, with instructions from the baritone. All the instructions are technically correct, by the way - I checked with my violin teacher, who was quite impressed. We all know what pizzicato is. Arco means long, smooth bows. Con sordino means playing with a mute, sensa sordino is playing without a mute. The "squeakity squeak" is most familiar from my own musical instruction.
Man's Best Friend What gentler heart, what nobler eye Doth warm the winter day, Than the true, blue orb and the oaken core Of beloved old dog Tray? I never knew why a dog would be called Tray. Again, the reference is obscure, an old Stephen Foster song that I had to look up: Old dog Tray’s ever faithful,
Grief cannot drive him away,
He’s gentle, he is kind;
I’ll never, never find
A better friend than old dog Tray.
Tray is one of those Southern names, like Trey, sometimes used as a baby name. Has some card-playing meaning, and something to do with fives. It reminds me of other Southern names with II or III after them. Treat Williams comes to mind. Erica Jong had a wild Southern character named Dart, and another one called Trick that was probably a play on Treat. And then there's Ring. As in Lardner. Note that all of these names represent things: a tray, a treat, a dart, a trick, a ring.
Don't Sugar Me Oh, I may be your cup of tea, But, baby, don’t you 'Sugar’ me! Don’t stir me, boy, nor try to spoon, Don’t sugar me, 'cause us is throon! I won’t sip a lip with you, less You want a granulated lump or two, Just roll them eyes right out that door, Them saucer eyes ain’t square no more. All them things, them diamond rings, Them stuff you promised me, Were figments, Newton, sure as shootin’, Shootin’ sure as A, B, see The teapot pouts that the kettle’s blue, It don’t work out that spar is true, Just boil away, boy, don’t sit and brew, Don’t sugar me, cause us is through! This is a torch song with a twist. It has probably the greatest concentration of puns and double meanings of any of them, along with great lines like "don't 'Sugar' me, 'cause us is throon!" "Them stuff" always impressed me, along with "figments, Newton". One thing Kelly does, especially in this one, is use common phrases in strange ways: "a granulated lump or two", "roll them eyes right out that door", "boil away, boy, don't sit and brew". "Don't sugar me" is an interesting choice, because it can mean dumping sugar on/in someone or something, or being over-familiar with endearments. But he says it better.
Whither the Starling Whither the starling and whither the crow? And whither the weather when wither the snow? The weaver’s wet daughter has damped the clothes With wavelets of water left over from snowthes.
Left over from snowthes,
Left over from snowthes, Right over and under
And yonder she goes. "Wavelets of water left over from snowthes." I feel like that right now. We had a record snowfall over Christmas, it's all melting now, and we're having to deal with those wavelets of water. Left over from snowthes. And there is just something wonderfully wacky about "the weaver's wet daughter". Willow the Wasp There were some wasps in our town Who, with their wonderous wives, They suckled at the bramble bush In search of lovely lives. And, when they saw the bush was dry, Quick!, each and every one, They wrapped it well in wire barb, To shield it from the sun. Outstanding line: "In search of lovely lives". I have long wanted to use this as the title for something. "Wire barb" used to bother me as a kid, I can't say why. In fact, I found the whole song disturbing, with its shivering minor-key strings. Of course, the term WASP had not been coined yet.
Truly True Gamboling on the gumbo, with the gambits all in gear, I daffed upon a dilly who would be my dolly dear, Oh dilly, I would dally, if you’d be but truly true, How silly, I must sally off to do my duly do. Nice, but nothing special, except for the barbershop harmony. Many Harry Returns Once you were two, Dear birthday friend, In spite of purple weather. But now you are three And near the end As we grewsome together. How fourthful thou, Forsooth for you, For soon you will be more! But – ‘fore One can be three be two, Before be five, be four! Not sure if he wrote this for one of his children. Kelly did feature adorable baby animals in the strip, such as Pup Dog and the mysterious "woodchuck" Grundoon, anthropomorphized into completely human form.
Potlucky Briskly breathing brackish brine, Brazenly we bray, Simmering songs of swimming swine, Scattering Saturday, Hearts are heavy, clubs are trump, Diamonds are in rough Spades are spotty, jokers jump, Dummies are enough Can we eggplant, can we corn, Can we succotash? String we strong beans for the morn Masterful moustache. Deathly dumplings made of mud, Grace our festive board, Free from auntie flees the flood Tropical storm discord, Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye, now, Cup ye now an eye, Weary deary keary cow, Moo and kicks his pie, The speaker spoke the reeler wheels A kingdom for a hum, A rub a dub, a dub mobile Oh rub a dub, A dub. This song should be illegal. "Masterful moustache" is probably the only line I can mentally process. I had to piece together various parts of this lyric which were badly mangled/mondegreened, but I am still not sure I got it quite right. This is another place where I get a little scared, for some reason. He makes language do stuff it just doesn't want to do.
The Hazy Yon How pierceful grows the hazy yon! How myrtle petaled thou! For spring hath sprung the Cyclotron, How high browse thou, brown cow? Some group apparently recorded this fairly recently, and no one had any idea where it came from. It has a hazy harp accompaniment that slowly fades, along with the singer's voice, at the end. It may well be a play on the odd statement or question, "How now, brown cow?" - which I never understood, so. . . I'll look it up. . . "A nonsense phrase with no real meaning as such, although it also is sometimes used as a jovial greeting. This phrase used to be used in elocution teaching to demonstrate rounded vowel sounds. It isn't clear when it was coined or where. It was certainly known in the USA by 1942, although probably earlier. People used to pronounce this as 'high nigh brine kai'." That last bit is, of course, the Canadian pronunciation.
Lines Upon a Tranquil Brow Have you ever while pond'ring the ways of the morn, Thought to save just a bit, just a drop in the horn To pour in the ev'ning or late afternoon, Or during the night when we're shining the moon? Have you ever cried out while counting the snow, Or watching the tomtit warble hello... "Break out the cigars, this life is for squirr'ls, We're off to the drugstore to whistle at girls!" Ah! "Drop in the horn" is another one, a very obscure, old, perhaps even Elizabethan term (Kelly having a mind for this historical Southern stuff). It means the last bit in a bottle of booze. Until I figured this out, which took only 56 years, I didn't know what "to pour in the evening" meant at all. I thought the guy was sort of pouring like vapour, like those monster creatures who waft under the crack of a door. I love that "when we're shining the moon" - sheer poetry - and the cry, "Break out the cigars! This life is for squirrels."
BONUS. Here's a splendid Kelly site that you could easily get lost in. Great reproductions of his Sunday colour comics, along with much older stuff. Wonder where he got permission? http://whirledofkelly.blogspot.ca/
This is a strange, a VERY strange YouTube video with the cryptic title WHMTEAHIU. Make sense? It didn't to me, until I realized what I had here. To backtrack a bit, Pogo was wildly popular in the 1950s, but by the '60s times had changed and the long-running comic strip began to run out of steam. Warner Brothers somehow got a deal with cartoonist Walt Kelly to make an animated Pogo TV special - without any creative input from the man himself.
Chuck Jones took over, and though his animation could be inspired (think of the Road Runner cartoons and the Grinch), he just did not GET the eccentricities of Kelly's menagerie from Okefenokee Swamp. The result was simply atrocious, a slick, un-Kelly-esque travesty that just misfired on every level. Pogo's voice was dubbed by June Foray, making him sound like a slightly more precious version of Rocky the Flying Squirrel. The whole thing was a disaster and Kelly fumed, vowing to undo the damage.
Walt Kelly was dying of untreated diabetes by then, had had a leg amputated and was half blind, but was still determined to get his own vision of an animated Pogo on the screen. All we have of this project are preliminary sketches which he put together on his own, without the help of any studio - narrating all the voices himself and hiring his son-in-law to do the music. No one took him up on it, which is a tragedy, for this sketchy, several-frames-per-second story is a small masterpiece in which all his characters come alive. It's Pogo through and through, and gives us a taste of what might have been if Kelly had lived past 60.
I don't know how I ever even found this curiosity with its incomprehensible title. I couldn't find much about it at all, and in fact it was thought to have been lost for decades. It's called an "unlisted" video for reasons unknown. But the title stands for something: We Have Met the Enemy, and He is Us - probably the most famous Kelly-ism of them all.
This curiosity is remarkable for yet another reason. Its message is environmental. We are ruining the landscape with our carelessness and our greed. At a time (1969) when the only environmental message was, "Give a hoot! Don't pollute!" - or, even worse, "Don't be a litterbug" - Kelly was way ahead of his time.
This has got to be one of the most obscure things on YouTube, and if I hadn't stumbled on it many years ago and saved it, I never would have been able to find it again. The title is a mystery, until you figure out what the initials mean. When you try to share it, a notification comes up about it being an "unlisted video" and that you should share it with care, though I had no trouble posting it. The comments are closed, so there's no help there.
I was raised on Pogo, still think it's the most brilliant comic strip ever, and I'm aware that the genius artist Walt Kelly started his career as a Disney animator (and traces of his characters' facial expressions peep out in Dumbo). So he knew animation, and though this is obviously a rough draft of something that had not yet been formally produced, you can more than see what he is getting at. The whole story is here, with the immortal punch line, "We have met the enemy and he is us" - the mystery initials of the video's title. The familiar comic strip characters are also here (all introduced at the beginning), and Kelly, incredibly, does all the voices himself.
Though this preliminary sketch features only a few frames per second, or even less, the fluidity of movement is almost unbelievable, and the facial expressions so vivid that the characters transcend the spasmodic jerkiness that made Paddy the Pelican so surreally atrocious (whether surreally is a word or not - ed). One man doing all the voices is better than the sixteen in the cringeworthy Chuck Jones special that Kelly hated so much. I honestly wonder why he agreed to work with Warner Bros. at all. I wonder, too, if this was in the works before that misguided attempt. Or was it his answer to the atrocity, the cheapening of his unique and inspired strip into a bland commercial disaster? For there was no second Pogo special, and even the first one wasn't very. Special. This one may not have made it because it was too "message-y", and might still be considered that today, as we have a million more reasons to be very afraid when it comes to the ruin of the environment. Kelly was a visionary, to be sure, and too often they fade from public view when their message becomes too uncomfortable.
June Foray as Pogo (Rocky the Flying Squirrel) grates on the nerves. I could never stand Foray as a voice artist and thought all her characters sounded exactly alike. Her lowest point was dubbing a girl character in The Twilight Zone (the last episode ever broadcast), with astonishingly bad results. Kelly gives Pogo a higher male voice with a Southern drawl, which is just right. Albert the Alligator is nothing short of brilliant. It IS Albert, cigar-chomping, outrageous, the kingpin of Okefenokee.
I remember in the Pogo strip seeing those amazing backgrounds of the swamp, and though I didn't appreciate the artistry back then, I do now. Pogo was criticized sometimes for being too talky, too smart-alecky or just too smart (gasp!), but who else could have come up with a statement like, "New-clear fizzicks ain't so new, and ain't so clear"? I rediscovered a few gifs I made from the Kelly cartoon special, the one that was never fully realized. The improbably graceful few frames per second is especially poignant here. He could never have envisioned - or maybe he could, given the dreck that was being made for TV at the end of his life - what would happen to cartoons, how they would become computerized and devoid of human feeling. How brilliant wit and quixotic story lines would be replaced by witless schlock.
This is an ancient holy relic from the swamp of my childhood: the first of many Pogo books we owned, and the best-loved/mutilated. I am not sure whose attempts at cursive writing festoon the frontispiece, nor do I know who did that awful math (probably me - I still can't add). Many of the pages are crayoned, which could have been done by my siblings. Although the colouring doesn't stay in the lines, so it could well be mine. I think that's my mother's handwriting at the top. My God.
This is fascinating! It's a kind of sketch or early draft by Walt Kelly for a Pogo animated cartoon. This had already been done, abominably, by Chuck Jones, who somehow got the rights from Kelly. The two cartooning styles didn't mix, and the results were characterizations that were just "off" in every conceivable way. June Foray voiced Pogo in a sugary little-girl voice, a cross between Rocky the Flying Squirrel and those screechy princesses she did on Fractured Fairy Tales. The animation was similarly out of whack. These creatures just weren't from Okefenokee Swamp, or anywhere else for that matter.
I don't hate Jones. Some of his stuff is brilliant, and the Grinch (the original) will never be equalled. But somehow or other, this thing didn't gel. Kelly frankly hated the result, which was aired once and shelved, but which you can still see (of course!) on YouTube.
This, though, is a treasure, a stumble-upon while dredging through an underground maze of Pogo-files. Though this isn't the final animation and only involves a few frames per second, it still has a sense of movement and grace. And it's Pogo-ish. Kelly does ALL the voices himself, which I think is a clever dig at Jones and the atrocious choices he made in voice characterizations.
This little fragment has an environmental message which was far ahead of its time. Kelly only lived to be 60 due to grossly-neglected diabetes which caused him to go blind and lose a leg. Considering all this, these preliminary sketches are remarkable. They're some of the last creations of a dying man.
Think of how it would have been! Just picture it. It would have been like being right inside those Sunday colour comics with all our quirky old friends. But it was never to be.
There aren't many Pogophiles left in the world. I think most of Walt Kelly's cartoons went out of print a long time ago, though he makes brief appearances on the internet. But just sort of scattered around.
I was raised on Pogo. I may even have a raggy old Pogo comic book left somewhere, its cover torn off, with pencil-printing and scribbling all over it from four little kids learning to write at different times. For some reason, certain books became scribblers for us. (Scribblers being, for my American readers, things you scribble into). We also had a Pogo hard-cover book, a real luxury, which included many of the early scribble-books in one luxurious volume. It never had a cover on it in my memory. And then there was a weird and wonderful record album called Songs of the Pogo, which you can listen to right now if you want to:
As with the rest of Pogo, the songs were written in a smart-assed double-talk that no one could decipher. It wasn't meant to be deciphered, as it was just too twisty-turny and pun-laden to be understandable (and yet, there was meaning in it too).
Just off the top of my head:
I was stirring up a stirrup cup
In a stolen sterling stein
When I chanced upon a ladle
Who was once my valentine:
"O wence that wince, my wench?" quoth I,
She blushed and said, "Oh, sir -
Old Daddy isn't stirring since my Mama's been in stir."
I made an attempt to transcribe a few more of these, and I just couldn't do it. Maybe they aren't meant to be written down, but only heard.
As a kid, I was by far the youngest, a full thirteen years younger than my eldest sister. That means I was, in essence, surrounded by adults. They all seemed to know what Pogo meant, what the words were all about. I had no idea. In fact, the older I got, the less sense they made.
No one ever explained any of this to me. It was like Ernie Kovacs (one of my very first memories), completely incomprehensible to me, though I was sure the adults knew what it was all about - and that I SHOULD know, but was just too slow and dense to pick it up. So I dared not ask.
When they went and put me in something called a Major Work Class in Grade 5 (in essence, for kids with abnormally high IQs), I was completely shocked. Up until that point, I had known all my siblings were smart, but assumed that I wasn't.
Pogo is stashed pretty far back in my mind, though I did find a nice Pogo for President sign during the horrors of the election. Then today I found a bonanza: a story called NO, which I'd never seen before, though I do remember hearing an odd recording of it which was an add-on to a CD re-release of Songs of the Pogo.
I first discovered some individual panels from NO on Google, but I never thought I'd find it all. Today it appeared on somebody's blog, all 28 pages of it, and the pages were all the same size! So I was quickly able to make one of my little gif slideshows out of it, which you see at the top. As far as copyright and all that, what the hell can you do? EVERYTHING is on Pinterest and other "shared "sites now, and it is impossible to find the provenance of anything. It can't be done. Everything on Facebook is shared. I am easily able to "embed" Facebook videos on my blog, because there is an "embed" setting that allows you to. . . embed. If they didn't WANT you to embed, why would it even be there?
Everything belongs to everyone. Is this Communism in action?
So anyway, I made a giffy thing with the whole story (at the top, did I say that?), though of course the problem is the speed of it. Like all of Kelly's stuff, it's very talky, and this increases as the story wears on. This is about as slow as these gifs go, so the large amount of text at the end might be tricky. But the thing goes around and repeats endlessly, and there are page numbers at the bottom which are a help. (Page numbers are heaven to me, as are indexes. Sometimes I wish fiction had indexes.)
Should I now make PicMix bling-pictures of these? Not sure how I'd do it, but who knows. If I can bling Hilda, maybe I can bling Pogo.
ARCHAELOGICAL DIG DEPARTMENT: dig this! These are just a few images from the brown, crumbling Pogo book I still have on my bookshelf. It was published in 1951, three years before I was born. The first one is a scan of a "thing" that looks like a chunk of papyrus or mummy-wrapping. Was it ever rectangular? It's hard to believe. There is some serious mathematics going on here, whatever it means, and someone has written something that looks like Pagor in primitive cursive.
For those who are not familiar with Kelly-esque
linguistic arabesques, here's a sample page of it.
I had forgotten, if I ever knew, that "someone" coloured in some of these pages. The same thing happened to my lovely Wesley Dennis pen-and-ink drawings in my copy of Misty of Chincoteague. (Come to think of it, it wasn't even my copy. My brother Walt owned it and passed it down to Arthur, who passed it down to me. Nothing was mine when I was a kid: in every picture I can find, I am wearing boys' clothing that has been handed down twice.) The colouring is bad enough that this might be my handiwork. Howland Owl looks pretty scribbly. But then. . . isn't scribbling what it's all about?
Incredibly, the first title I considered for this blog was Scribble Scribble. Then it was Margaret Gunning's House of Dreams: intentionally sappy and Barbie-ish, but I changed it when some bitch pronounced my blog "embarrassing". But that was after my piece about how nasty Lloyd Dykk was, which didn't go down well with people after he died.
I honestly think, to this day, that he would have found it entertaining.
