Squid-jiggin': more classic Canadiana

Oh, this is the place where they're fishin' and gatherin'
Oil-skins and boots and the Cape hands batten down
All sizes of figures with squid lines and jiggers
They congregate here on the squid jiggin' ground.

Some are workin' their jiggers, while others are yarnin'

There's some standin' up and there's more lyin' down

While all kinds of fun, jokes and drinks are begun

As they wait for the squid on the squid jiggin' ground.

There's men of all ages and boys in the bargain
There's old Billy Cave and there's young Raymond Brown
There's Rip, Red and Gory out here in the dory
A runnin' down squires on the squid jiggin' ground.

There's men from the harbor, there's men from the tickle
And all kinds of motor-boats, green, gray and brown
Right yonder is Bobby and with him is Nobby
He's chawin' hard tack on the squid jiggin' ground

God bless my soul, there's Skipper John, John Champy
He's the best hand at squid jiggin' here, I'll be bound
Hello, what's the row? Why he's jiggin' one now
The very first squid on the squid jiggin' ground.

The man with the whisker is old Jacob Steele

He's gettin' well on, but he's still pretty sound

While Uncle Bob Hockins wears six pairs of stockin's

Whenever he's out on the squid jiggin' ground.

Holy Smoke! What a scuffle! All hands are excited

It's a wonder to me that there's nobody drowned

There's a bustle, confusion, the wonderful hustle

They're all jiggin' squid on the squid jiggin' ground.

Says Bobby, "The squids are on top of the water,
I just got me riggers 'bout one fathom down"
But a squid in the boat scuddered right down his throat
And he swam like mad on the squid jiggin' ground.

There's poor Uncle Louie, his whiskers are spattered
With spots of the squid juice that's flyin' around
One poor little boy got it right in the eye
But they don't give a darn on the squid jiggin' ground.

Now, if you ever feel inclined to go squiddin'
Leave your white clothes behind in the town
And if you get cranky without your silk hanky
You'd better steer clear of the squid jiggin' ground.

 

Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book

    It took me years to write, will you take a look

Order The Glass Character from:

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Chapters/Indigo
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De Nice Leetle Canadienne, and other racist poems

William Henry Drummond, now. We "took" him in school in the '60s, by God, and were supposed to take him seriously. This was the "Canadian content" that the school board so desperately craved, so we took him, along with Bliss Carman and a few other hopeless schmaltz-mongers.

I remember my English teacher reading these out loud. She was thirty-seven years old, unmarried, and dressed like a frump. Her interpretations of the poems in her breathy, hesitant voice were awkward, but what can you expect? I seem to have a dim memory of hearing Drummond himself perform some of these tasty verses, but I may be wrong; he may have died in 1872 or something.

It used to be OK, even desirable, even necessary to "poke fun" at French-Canadians, to say that they had litters of children like puppies, that they were crude and ignorant and illiterate. If you said that now, they'd blow you to kingdom come.

A bunch of raving separatists, aren't they? But by yiminy, dey make dern-toonderin'-good cornbeef avec moutard.  Meantime, here's some awful Canadian non-history. I offer this one only because it's one of the few Drummond poems that is less than 6,000 lines long.  I have a theory as to why the lines are numbered: to give you hope. If you knew it would be over in 40 lines, you could somehow hang on and keep from screaming. Then again, maybe it was like hypnosis. . . with each. . . line. . . taking you. . . deeper. . . and deeper. . .

. . . into a coma.

De Nice Leetle Canadienne

1 You can pass on de worl' w'erever you lak, 2 Tak' de steamboat for go Angleterre, 3 Tak' car on de State, an' den you come back, 4 An' go all de place, I don't care-- 5 Ma frien' dat 's a fack, I know you will say, 6 W'en you come on dis contree again, 7 Dere 's no girl can touch, w'at we see ev'ry day, 8 De nice leetle Canadienne. 9 Don't matter how poor dat girl she may be, 10 Her dress is so neat ab' so clean, 11 Mos' ev'rywan t'ink it was mak' on Paree 12 An' she wear it, wall! jus' lak de Queen. 13 Den come for fin' out she is mak' it herse'f, 14 For she ain't got moche monee for spen', 15 But all de sam' tam, she was never get lef', 16 Dat nice leetle Canadienne. 17 W'en 'un vrai Canayen' is mak' it mariée, 18 You t'ink he go leev on beeg flat 19 An' bodder hese'f all de tam, night an' day, 20 Wit' housemaid, an' cook, an' all dat? 21 Not moche, ma dear frien', he tak' de maison,     22 Cos' only nine dollar or ten, 23 W'ere he leev lak blood rooster, an' save de l'argent, 24 Wit' hees nice leetle Canadienne. 25 I marry ma famme w'en I 'm jus' twenty year, 26 An' now we got fine familee, 27 Dat skip roun' de place lak leetle small deer, 28 No smarter crowd you never see-- 29 An' I t'ink as I watch dem all chasin' about, 30 Four boy an' six girl, she mak' ten, 31 Dat 's help mebbe kip it, de stock from run out, 32 Of de nice leetle Canadienne. 33 O she 's quick an' she 's smart, an' got plaintee heart, 34 If you know correc' way go about, 35 An' if you don't know, she soon tole you so 36 Den tak' de firs' chance an' get out; 37 But if she love you, I spik it for true, 38 She will mak' it more beautiful den, 39 An' sun on de sky can't shine lak de eye 40 Of dat nice leetle Canadienne.       http://margaretgunnng.blogspot.com/2012/01/synopsis-glass-character-novel-by.html http://members.shaw.ca/margaret_gunning/betterthanlife.htm

Yu bet!: The poetry of the Norsk Nightingale

Ay tel yu, dis har feller William F. Kirk, he ban write some dam gude werse! In his day, dialect poetry was wildly popular, usually read from the podium to howls of laughter. Dis har stuff is at least a little less cringe-inducing than the "negro dialect ballads" of the day, or even the awful stereotypical French-Canadian stuff we studied in school (I'll have to dig some of it out - it was excruciating).


If you read these aloud, which I recommend, you will note that you sound a lot like the Schmenge Brothers on SCTV. Though they were Leutonian and this guy was some kind of generic Scandinavian, it's close enough for jazz.


In the past I've posted Sonnet on Stewed Prunes and Ode to a Lumberyack, but here the Norsk Nightingale waxes even more poetic. Yu bet!

Mortality

Vat for should dis spirit of mortal ban proud?
Man valk round a minute, and talk purty loud;
Den doctor ban coming, and say, "Ay can't save."
And man have to tak running yump into grave.

To-day dis har faller ban svelling around,
His head ban so light dat his feet ant touch ground.
To-morrow he light vith his face in the sand,
And hustle lak hal to get gude helping hand.

Ay see lots of fallers who tenk dey ban vise,
Yu see dem yureself ef yu open yure eyes;
Dey tal 'bout the gold dey skol making some day,
And yump ven the vash-voman com for her pay.

Ay tal yu, dear frend, purty sune we ban dead,
So ay tenk we ban suckers to getting svelled head.
It ant wery far from Prince Albert to shroud;
Vat for should dis spirit of mortal ban proud?

The Day is Done

The day ban done, and darkness
Falling from vengs of night,
Lak fedder flying from ruster,
Ven he ban having fight.
Ay see the lights of willage
Shining tru rain and mist,
And ay skol feel dam sleepy,
Lak fallers playing whist.

Come, read tu me some werses,
Ay ant care vat yu read,
Yust so it ant 'bout trouble
Or hearts vich ache and bleed.
Ay lak dese har nice yingles
'Bout sun and trees and grass;
But, ven it com to heartache,
Yerusalem! ay skol pass!

Read from some humble geezer,
Whose songs ban sveet to hear—
Who making, from his poetry,
'Bout saxteen cents a year.
Ay lak to hear his yingles,
Ay tell yu, dey ban fine;
Dis har ban vy ay lak dem—
Dey ban so much lak mine.

Such songs have gude, nice sound—
Dey making sorrow fly;
Dey coming lak glass of seltzer
Vich follows drenk of rye.
And night skol be full of music,
And tengs we lak to forget
Skol fold op tents lak yipsies,
And sneaking avay, yu bet!

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Turn that thing off!

I wish I knew the name of the composer of this clever fugue, based on the Nokia ring tone which seems to be ruining classical music concerts everywhere.

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Donald Draper is a living doll!

One wonders, sometimes, how many degrees of separation exists between "something" and "something".

Or "something" and "anything".

My obsession with Mad Men is longstanding, but it's starting to wear thin as I realize I will have to wait TWO MORE MONTHS before Season 5 begins. And that wait offers no guarantee that the show won't finally jump the shark into mediocrity.
                                                                                            

   

Perhaps to fill the void, I've been sucked into another obsession: the wonderfully creepy Enchanted Dolls of Marina Bychkova, a local genius who seems to snatch these lovely waxen lilies right out of the subconscious.

But wait! It couldn't be. And yet, it IS.

                                                         

What are Mad Men figures doing in a Barbie collector's magazine, you might

ask?

What do you think, dumb-bell?

My beloved Mad Men characters have been turned into dolls.

Not just any dolls, but Barbies!

High-end Barbies , I would guess, with nice wardrobes and all, but still. Mattel must have seen a good marketing opportunity and grabbed it

But I must find the sweet sauce in the poisoned apple. Now I get to toy with Don Draper all day long! Never mind that his face and body look alarmingly like Ken's and are probably poured into an identical mould.

At last I can indulge my fantasy of taking his clothes off, even if his pants are only three inches long.

Already there's controversy over this (which will no doubt sell more dolls): is Mad Men selling out? What next, I wonder: nouveau Bryll Cream? Mad Men push-up brassieres with  pencil-sharp points at the front?

Who's going to buy these things? Not Moms for their little girls' birthdays, surely. Mad Men is full of sex and booze and smoking and all that other awful stuff that only happened in the '60s. Not good doll material at all.

But wait a minute. Mad Men is all about selling, commodification, "product". What could be more devastatingly tongue-in-cheek than making the show's characters into playthings, merchandise for sale?

Besides, Barbies have a shelf life of about six months, and a shorter life once the box is opened. They all seem to end up buried at the bottom of the closet, naked and with their hair in a frizzled mess.

That means you'll just have to go out and buy another one.

Bychkova's dolls, much more exquisitely-made, would never fall into that category.  Yes, they're bought and sold, sometimes for as much as $40,000.00: but only to serious collectors who will cherish the dolls forever.

On the other hand. . .

On the other hand, glittering like a glacier, we might find a high-end diamond-encrusted engagement ring by Victoria Buckley,  displayed by an elegantly-posing Marina Bychkova bride doll.

It seems that though Barbie lasts but a moment, an art doll (like a diamond?) is forever.

 

Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book

    It took me years to write, will you take a look

Order The Glass Character from:

Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001K7NGDA

Barnes & Noble

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-glass-character-margaret-gunning/1117863913?ean=9781927068885

Thistledown Press

http://www.thistledownpress.com/html/search/genre/Fiction/the_glass_character_p580.cfm

Chapters/Indigo
http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/books/the-glass-character/9781927068885-item.html?ikwid=the%

Chatty Cathy's great-great-great grandmother

Oh Lor', oh Lor', we can't get OFF this topic now.

I've known about this little monster ever since I wrote a novel called Bus People back in 2005. (Yes, that's right. Bus People. Ever heard of it?) One of the characters was obsessed with old wax cylinder recordings and eventually found herself talking to one of them. Imagine her surprise when the recording talked back.

This doll talks back too, in a wretched, wobbling voice that must have been pretty awful even when it was first recorded on a tiny gramophone-like disc inserted into the doll's hard metallic abdomen. (Like Chatty Cathy, whom she resembles in many ways, she has a grillwork of holes in her back to let out the sound.) This recording is particularly gruesome because in the "cleaned-up" version she sounds even worse, like a bug in a bottle.

These dolls didn't last long because they broke after only a few cranks, and the mechanism inside couldn't be fixed. Most of them were returned for a full refund, but the remainders soon became collectibles. I'm not sure any of them really play any more: it's possible this horrible sound has been recreated just to scare the bejeezus out of us on an otherwise peaceful Sunday.

Do I have to post any more creepy doll pictures? Please. I really need to lie down now.

http://margaretgunnng.blogspot.com/2012/01/synopsis-glass-character-novel-by.html

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It's the Harold Lloyd doll!

Oh, I never should've gone there! Never!

Every instinct of decency in my body told me not to go there. And I went there. Am I out of my mind?

I am under enchantment, there's no other explanation. Walking through the waxy, pollen-scented underworld of Marina Bychkova and her ball-jointed porcelain dolls, haunted by the memory of Victorian post-mortem photography displaying dead people propped up with staring eyes: it all got to me, I guess, and then I remembered a little black-and-white photo of "something".

Something from my scanty but cherished collection of Harold Lloyd books.

This. This thing, this strange thing. Free Harold Lloyd Dolls While They Last from the Piggly Wiggly. What the fxxx is the Piggly Wiggly??

The fact that you can still buy one of these things from antique doll sites is more than creepy. They average $175.00 and strike me as, well, probably knock-offs, or the cloth would be all brown and greasy like cloth goes when it's turned rotten.

Or loved to death.

The doll looks too fat to be Harold, who was pretty lean and toned from all those stunts, and I can't figure out why his feet are turned backwards.

Okay, next comes the Harold Lloyd paper doll, and I have even more trouble believing this is authentic. When I was a girl you didn't punch out paper dolls (don't take that the wrong way), but cut carefully around them with scissors. It was a tricky business because the paper was so flimsy, and vital parts were often lopped off. But I wonder how such a fragile artifact could ever be so well-preserved. Perhaps he was printed on card stock, making him nice and stiff?

Whatever. I really like the upside-down Harold: he did, after all, hang off the hands of a huge clock in his best-known movie Safey Last!, and was often upside-down in one way or another.

I should apologize for this, but I'm in so deep now I must continue. This thing puts Marina Bychkova's fair lilies of the funeral parlour to shame. It's a hideous object, something that I presume has a big key in its back, and I have to admit at one point during my research I wanted to buy one. It's something like a thousand dollars, but when I discovered it doesn't walk (a Harold toy that doesn't WALK??), I gave up on it. What it does, if it's working at all, is wag its head back and forth, probably with an awful grinding noise. I think its eyes crank open and shut, and the big seam above its upper lip implies that its mouth also moves. In light of the fact that he was in silent movies, this doesn't make much sense.

                                                   

I'm beginning to feel a little sick. This is a Harold Lloyd bell. That's right. A bell. It rang, probably like an alarm clock.  I think there must have been a Harold Lloyd clock somewhere, maybe with a tiny bespectacled man hanging off the hands. But this is just so useless. Why would anyone want a Harold bell?

Old toys creep me out, sort of like those bisque dolls with sunken eyes and cracked, mottled skin. The sarcophagus look. Tin things kind of shrink up and warp and look tarnished, and the paint flakes off. But the representation of Harold is hideous to begin with, like a nightmare. The back view of the bell looks sort of like an upside-down kamikaze angel made of lead.

Excuse me, I'm going to go lie down for a while.

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