The Dong with a Luminous Nose

Anton Green is a man of exemplary taste. The selection of writers he has referenced on his Facebook page is testimony to this: the diverse list includes the likes of travel-writer Paul Theroux, down to earth theologian Phillip Yancey, the epic George Orwell and soldier-poet Wilfred Owen. The bookshelf in his front room is a bustling thing of beauty and he also sports a tasteful beard and is the father of my good friend Ed.

So, when AG suggested a oddly titled poem by Edward Lear as a subject matter to write about, I took the suggestion seriously and went in search of the said poem. If you want to read it before I ruin its plot, it is here: http://www.nonsenselit.org/Lear/ll/dln.html

The poem tells the tragic tale of the Dong's infatuation for a Jumbly Girl who sailed to his shore in a sieve with a group of other Jumblies. The Dong romanced the Jumbly Girl with his pipe while the Jumblies danced, but the day came when the Jumblies boarded their sieve once more and the Jumbly Girl's absence drove the Dong mad: "What little sense I once possessed has quite gone out of my head". In a moment of nighttime madness he wove himself a nose "of vast proportions and painted red... with a luminous lamp within suspended". The poem ends with the Dong walking the plains every night in a vain search for the Jumbly Girl. I shouldn't have expected anything less from Mr Green.

Some people like to write essays about poems; some like to sit and let them soak into their soul; I prefer to use them as trampolines into poetic invention myself. I going to pick up the Jumbly Girl's story which is unexplored by Lear as she sails away from the admiring and devastated Dong:

What Happened Next to the Jumbly Girl

The Jumbly Girl felt quite morose;

She'd never see the Dong's luminous nose.

Tears dribbled down her sky-blue cheeks

As she sailed the ocean: Zincky Flink.

Karrash: the sieve started to sink;

Her tears were adding to the sieve's numerous leaks.

The clouds above were a violent pink.

The Jumbly Girl cupped her hands round her mouth

And sung a sweet tune in the direction: south.

The melody came from the tips of her toes;

It's hard to repeat, but it went a little like this:

Burbly crumb urgalee so polotix priss

And it summoned an army of indigo crows

Who each gave the Jumbly Girl a delicate kiss.

Then they lifted the sieve up into the air

And the Jumblies cheered loudly and let off a flair,

But their joy was short-lived I'm sorry to say:

The crows grew more weary towards the end of the day

And one by one the Jumblies took a sacrificial leap,

Landing in the mouth of a hungry Crocosheep

Until the Jumbly Girl was the only Jumbly alive

And the crows put her down in the Rumblechunks' hive.

It was true that the crows had delivered her from death,

But the Rumblechunks had cauliflower breath.

They'd been chomping on the cauli for many a year

And they thought they smelt fragrant, like a sweet summer rose

But the Jumbly Girl sat in the hive holding her nose.

The Rumblechunks looked at her, gave her quite a leer

And then Rumblechunk Six did unromantically propose.

The offer from this cauli-gobbler was a bed in their abode,

A smouldering tuft of knee hair and ride on his xchimode

If she decided that smelling his cauli-exhale 'twas wrong

She would be thrown from the hive into the hole of kroogwace.

She had little choice and the wedding took place

Jumbly Girl reminisced about the fabulous Dong,

But 'twas no use, her horrible fate she must face.

Years flew by and Jumbly Girl's diet was dreary:

Cauliflower followed by cauliflower made her stomach grow queery.

Her beautiful blue skin turned white and bobbly.

Her green hair became green leaves that were flimsy and wobbly.

She lost her ability to speak or to think

To breathe or to dance, to eat or to drink

And years later the Dong visited the hive wearing a nose glove

And ate cauliflower cheese and wept for his lost (and quite tasty) love.