Ruining Rhyme to Have a Good time
Stopping by Jungle on a Snowy Evening
This picture book reminds me of my favourite high school English teacher, Mr. Tingy. He had snowy white hair and looked like a college professor with his crisp blouses and wooly vests. From Chaucer to Robert Frost, Mr. Tingy loved literature. He put Norton’s Anthology of English Literature on our Grade 11 list of class material, calling it essential reading for any serious student of English. Considering myself one, I tracked down this anthology (new word for me) at a used bookstore and shuddered at the sight. Bigger than The Bible, it was overloaded with poems and stories. Many of the voices I hardly understood. Every few verses, I’d get sleepy and zonk out.
My Norton’s Anthology travelled from the dining room table to the computer desk to the nightstand to somewhere under the bed. Eventually it disappeared, so when I entered third-year university, I regrettably had to purchase it again. I did learn what all those poems and stories were about, and let’s just say, I was disappointed.
But back to Mr. Tingy, my high school English teacher.
Like this snowy-haired bibliophile, I held reverence for the content and form of language. And so, when Mr. Tingy told me—a near high-school drop out—that I was a good writer, you better believe it meant the world.
Once, while studying sonnets, Mr. Tingy informed the class that Petrarchan sonnets were too difficult. No one could write them anymore. I went home and quickly penned one. It was bad. Full of silliness and nonsense rhymes. Mr. Tingy did not like it, and Ron L., the class genius, swiftly stole the spotlight with a truly gorgeous sonnet. Mr. Tingy heaped lavish praise upon Ron.
The words of his poem sang. Oh, how they sang.
Did I regret writing my very bad, irreverent poem? Yes. I did. Mr. Tingy was also disappointed. He knew I could do better. I knew I could do better. Ron knew I could do better. Two truths and a lie, but, hey, a girl can dream—and digress.
Back to the new, cute picture book, which Ron L. won’t upstage this time.
Stopping by Jungle on a Snowy Evening:
Strict rhyme and meter cannot prevent a small boy, his hippo and a meteor from straying into snowy woods and ruining a famous poem by Robert Frost. Peaceful cadence turns into mayhem and misery for the poet and anyone who holds reverence for language (like me).
Perhaps because I know how difficult it is to tighten verses into efficient clockwork while saying something meaningful, I did not love the reverse engineering of Frost’s lovely poem. Even this book’s title lacks grammar, seemingly to prepare the ears for many other violations of sound and sense.
But wait, what’s that at the very end? Could it be? Yes! It is the soft, soft sweep of poetry. Inspired. Meaningful. Peaceful. How gently, how beautifully, the sounds fall on the ear following their interruption.
Whose words are these? I think I know.
Illustrations feature an expressive hippo as the boy’s silent sidekick and colourful jungle plants and creatures to liven the landscape.