Monday, March 14, 2011

The Idler, Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Coincidence in rhyming metre

HOW MYSTERIOUS are the workings of coincidence. Yesterday I ventured to use in this column a line of Dutch, commenting on a submitted limerick that had been translated from that language.

Hardly had I written that line for publication when I found myself at an evening soiree where limericks were being read by a distinguished panel comprising Pieter Scholtz, retired head of the drama department at UKZN, Spyker Koekemoer (aka Pat Smythe), raconteur and Bosman enthusiast, and a lady named Sally Stretch.

It was a jolly, convivial evening at St Clements restaurant, where local literati regularly get together for readings of poetry and other stuff over a few glasses of wine. Great fun. And some of the limericks were very saucy. I don't know how Sally (who looked familiar though I couldn't quite place her) managed to read some of hers with a straight face.

Then suddenly I realised where I knew her from. A very long time ago she lectured me at varsity in Afrikaans/Nederlands. And here I was venturing, after all those years, to write in Dutch. How the wheel turns. I hope I didn't spoil her day with my line in Dutch.

O wee, O wee!

Some classics

OF COURSE, most of the limericks read at the soiree are unsuited to a respectable newspaper. Some aren't even suited to a waterfront bar. But some of the clean ones are classics and worth repeating.

There was a young lady of Riga

Who smiled as she rode on a tiger;

They returned from the ride

With the lady inside

And the smile on the face of the tiger.

 

Some explored scientific themes such as Einstein's theory of relativity.

 

There was a young lady named Bright,

Whose speed was far faster than light;

She went out one day

In a relative way

And returned the previous night.

 

Some were classics of the limerick's double entendre.

 

A bather whose clothing was strewed

By winds, that left her quite nude,

Saw a man come along

And unless I am wrong

You expected this line to be rude.

 

And some are just borderline.

While Titian was mixing rose madder,

His model reclined on a ladder;

Her position to Titian

Suggested coition

So he leaped up the ladder and 'ad 'er.

Lijmerijk

 

MEANWHILE, here's the original Dutch version of the limerick that was published in translation yesterday. It came originally from Rinus Salomons, who was a POW in Japan during World War II and worked in Durban for many years in shipping.

 

Een krijgsgevangene opgesloten in Yokohama,

Was zo vermagerd, dat hij had maar een streep op z'n pyjama,

Zo op een dag des's morgens om vier,

Slipte hij weg door een zeer nauwe kier,

En ontsnapte op de rug van een Llama.

 

 

Gezondheid, hoor!

 

Success story

HERE'S a local success story. Most of us, if we were doing a spot of woodwork about the house and accidentally sawed through an antique chair, which we were using as a workbench, might end up with a thick ear from the missus. Whatever, we would probably be discouraged from further DIY.

Not so Ronald Price Hickman, who was born in KwaZulu-Natal and eventually emigrated. In 1961 he was building a wardrobe and accidentally sawed through the chair. But he was not discouraged. He instead designed the Workmate bench, of folding wood and iron, to prevent such DIY accidents.

Hardware companies were at first unenthusiastic about the Workmate. Hickman had to market it himself at trade shows and fairs around Britain. Then, in 1972, Black & Decker took it over, went into mass production and 30 million Workmate units have since been sold world-wide.

I'm obliged for this information to reader Ed Tillett, who says Hickman died last month where he lived on the Channel Island of Jersey, aged 78.

 

Tailpiece

THE DOCTOR drops in at the pub regular as clockwork for a hazelnut daiquiri on his way home. It's always waiting for him on the bar counter. Then one day the barman finds he's run out of hazelnut extract. In a panic, he mixes a daiquiri with hickory nut.

"Hey," says the doctor as he takes a sip. "This isn't a hazelnut daiquiri."

"I'm sorry," says the barman. "It's a hickory daiquiri Doc."

Last word

Those who speak most of progress measure it by quantity and not by quality.

George Santayana

 

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