During my father’s recent stay, many of our conversations centered around family, genealogy, U.S. history, personal history, and of course, politics. We had avoided our talks about religion, per se, even though we have come to some unexpressed accord after years of not recognizing we’re really on the same team.
So, when he said to me at breakfast the morning after hearing me read poetry at a feature, that he had a revelation the night before, it was with great anticipation that I awaited what would pour forth from his mouth next. I thought we may be having another breakthrough in our relationship, that something I read or alluded to had inspired a fissure in one of the dams between us, to crack it open and release understanding and newfound wisdom. Silly me.
Dad said, “I think I might be able to take a stab at this poetry thing. I really liked those limericks that one poet recited last night.” Though my heart took a minor dip, I recovered quickly to realize, hey, did I just hear my father say he was going to write poetry? Another booster engine ignited to propel my father forward in expending his Sagittarian energy!
He quickly related how he had recently been following a Reader’s Digest’s contest where potential poets respond to a piece of art with a limerick. For those of you whose memory needs jogging, a limerick is a kind of humorous verse of five lines, in which the first, second, and fifth lines rhyme with each other, and the third and fourth lines, which are shorter, form a rhymed couplet.
Mostly, limericks have acquired a rather untoward reputation because of the overt or implied sexuality usually tied to them. When my father heard the retired pastor deliver four innocuous but meaningful limericks in a row, he was hooked.
Over breakfast, I imparted all I knew about the form and spouted one I use with my students.
The once was a man from Nantucket,
who kept all his cash in a bucket.
His daughter named Nan,
ran away with a man,
And as for the bucket, Nan took it.
Since my father is mostly a hands-on kinda guy, I retrieved some printouts from websites for him, brimming with definitions and examples. But, knowing also he is not a big fan of reading much beyond non-fiction success stories, I also had to provide auditory cues to get across the idea of metrics to him. But, he’s a quick study when he can smell profit in the wind. Or, when he can find another outlet for his tremendous sense of humor.
Within two days of his return home to Roanoke, he had copied the art that was to inspire contestants and had written four limericks for my critique. Before I could respond by email, within two more days he sent six more. He’s since written to say that he’s entered the contest and eagerly anticipates publication! But, will this fledgling poet be satisfied? No, he has been bitten by the muse, Dame Humor.
After this week’s whiff of a sweep, when the Orioles defeated the Yankees in their first two games, my Dad sent me an email saying he was enclosing a limerick in a sympathy card and sending it to his pastor who is a dyed-in-the-wool Yankees fan, but with a sense of humor himself.
There was a team from the big city,
who showed their enemies no pity.
But one of their foes,
known as the O’s,
gave them a lesson in humility.
-B. Jerry Hoover
What do you think? Has the man got promise, or what?