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Candia Comes Clean

~ Candid cultural comments from the Isles of Wonder

Monthly Archives: November 2015

Mrs Lovett’s Pie Shop

13 Friday Nov 2015

Posted by Candia in History, Humour, Language, Music, Religion, Writing

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Tags

Mrs Lovett's pie shop, Sondheim, Sweeney Todd

Now The Husband is getting in on my act. I’m supposed to be

the one who notices things.

Today we were in Wintoncester Cathedral’s Refectory and I spotted

something amusing on their advertising banners.  Actually, I saw

it a couple of weeks ago, but The Husband made the most fruitful

collocation, as it reminded him of Mrs Lovett’s song in Sweeney Todd.

He is a bigger fan of Sondheim than I am.

What caused the mirth and the despair?

Some bright spark had composed the following enticement:

We grow our own herbs, with as much love as our resident monks did

years ago.

They take centre stage in our Refectory menus.

This reminded us of the lyrics:

It’s priest, have a little priest

…..Sir, it’s too good, at least

……………………………………….

Heavenly

Not as hearty as bishop, perhaps,

But then again

Not as bland as curate…

Trouble is

We only get it on Sundays

Have you any beadle?

Beadle isn’t bad till you smell it and

Notice ‘ow well it’s been greased.

Stick to priest.

Try the friar.

Fried it’s drier.

No, the clergy is really

Too coarse and too mealy.

**************************

Can I help you?

Two resident monks and chips. Salad on the

side.

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Orthographical Side-Effects

12 Thursday Nov 2015

Posted by Candia in Education, Humour

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

ebola, graffiti, orthography

(Photo by Pawel Wozniak- freestocktextures.com)

So, you were in school today? Chlamydia asked.  I don’t

know why you keep going in.  You must be a sucker for

punishment.

Au contraire.  It’s interesting sometimes.

How so?

Well, I was taking in exam papers and noticed some graffiti

on a desk, which said: ‘Ebola surviver.’  The vandal was obviously

infected by orthographical side effects.  Someone needs to write a

research paper on the correlation.

Not you.

No, not me.  I am too busy telling boys who punch walls only to

lash out if the wall hits them first.

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Anthem for Doomed Language

09 Monday Nov 2015

Posted by Candia in History, Humour, Language, Literature, Music, Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

'boldly go', anthem, auxiliary, Browning, Bruce Parry, cantabile, converge, da capo, declensions, Dr Johnson, Ethel Smyth, Florence Jenkins, genuflect, gerund, grammarians, infinitive, inflect, jam and Jerusalem, Kate Middleton's wedding, logorrheica, marked RP, moniker, Parry, participle, past perfect, pedagogy, persona, reprise, Richard D Altick, solecism, subjunctive, syntax, The Grammarian's Funeral, Vivat, Westminster Abbey

I heard it again, I groaned.

What?

Someone on the radio saying, ‘I was sat…’

Oh, I know, agreed Brassica.  It’s really annoying.

It made me think of Browning’s poem about the

grammarian’s funeral, I reflected.

What’s it called? asked Brassie- only mildly interested.

‘The Grammarian’s Funeral’, I think.  Anyway, his body is

being carried by his students to an elevated position, suitable

for his entombment.  There’s a lot of ‘leave the vulgar thorpes’

and ‘leave the unlettered…’

That’s not very kind, is it? remarked Brassie.  Browning sounds a

bit arrogant.

Robert Browning by Herbert Rose Barraud c1888.jpg

Never confuse an adopted persona with the poet himself, or

herself, I cautioned.

Well, I bet he was full of himself, rejoined Brassie.

Hmmm, Richard D. Altick said the grammarian was a dead

gerund-grinder, I countered.

Who’s Richard…?

Don’t even go there, I replied. There aren’t so many grammarians

nowadays.  As a group, they seem to have declined. And never speak

to the moniker; only the gerund-grinder.

She didn’t get the jokes.

When I heard that journalist saying ‘I was sat’, what do you

think came into my head?

Candia, how could I ever guess what would come into your

crazy mind?

Maybe you’ve got a point, but it was pure Parry.

Parry?  Bruce?  He’s quite fit- in both senses of the

word.

Typical.

No, the composer.  Hubert.

Blank look.

(Image uploaded by Tim Riley)

Think Kate Middleton’s wedding.  Westminster Abbey.

Oh, that Parry!  Why?

All I could hear was:

ANTHEM

I was sat…

‘sat’, when they said unto me.

You were NOT!  You were what??

‘Sitting’ is what it should be.

You stayed on that chair for some time,

so, in principle,

use a participle.

The past perfect’s a syntactic crime.

(Editor: This time the imperfect is fine)

Dadadadadadadadadada.

You were sitting- ‘sitting’ is what was agreed

is the norm; judged good form-

what Dr Johnson decreed.

All right- a cat might be sat on a Yorkshire mat

and the vowel in ‘sat’ will be probably flat,

but it’s quite simply the wrong tense. That is that!

If you’d refer to the work of grammarians,

you’d have more class;

sound slightly less crass

and not be lin-guis-ti-cally bar-ba-ri-an!

(cantabile)

O pray plenteous errors will justly decrease;

solecisms will wither and pall.

Recite declensions with fluency, ease:

genuflect,

and inflect-

shock them all!

You were ‘seated’;

‘seated’ is what is preferred.

It’s definitive,

like the infinitive:

so, ne-ver say ‘boldly go!’

Your feet ‘shall’ stand: that auxil-i-ary will show

your strength of will (in hail or snow);

you’ll be transfixed and simp-ly re-fuse to go.

Dadadadadadadadadada

I was gled.

‘Gled’ when I spoke marked RP.

Let us go…Tally ho!

into the royal marquee.

Inside I found jem and Jeru-salem

and tried to converge

(but then it emerged)

that the chep I thought was posh- just- made- the- tea.

I was glidding-

‘glidding‘ when they said unto me:

Let us go….Pedants, ho!

(That’s the subjunctive, you know.)

My feet...reprise

Da capo.

Then I was glud.

‘Glud‘ when some said unto me,

You’re prescriptive;

so restrictive.

Why don’t you go with the flow?

My heart leapt up as I su-dden-ly re-alised

that I’d been well advised

and parsed with ease, so easy pease, from way back in the mists of Prim’ry Three.

So, vivat Scolastica!

Vivat Grammatica!

Vivat Syntactica!

Vivat Pedagogica!

Vivat Logorrheica!

Vivat! Vivat! Vivat!

You just need an orchestra, said Brassie.

And a choir. And a large cheque book, or a sugar daddy.

I’ll have to ask if one can book Westminster Abbey.

You could reserve a New York venue like Ethel Smyth, the

conductor, or that Jenkins woman, suggested Brassie.

Narcissa Florence Jenkins?

Fits, said Brassie.  The name’s the giveaway.

Cheek!

Florence Foster Jenkins.jpg

(Wikipaedia)

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Ten Little Children

02 Monday Nov 2015

Posted by Candia in Crime, Poetry, Religion, Social Comment, Writing

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

feral children, Ketamine, land mine, people smugglers, The Judgement Day, trafficking

What a world we live in! sighed Brassie.

I know.   I couldn’t get this jingle out of my mind, during the

night, I agreed.

What jingle?

This one:

TEN LITTLE CHILDREN

Ten little children

found an old land mine;

investigated

and then there were nine.

(Image: 2005 David Monniaux)

Nine little children

stuffed in a crate; shipped

by people smugglers-

then there were eight.

Eight little children,

told they’d go to Heaven,

if they wore a martyr’s vest:

now there are seven.

Seven young children

shared explicit pics.

One went to meet a man

and now there are six.

Six feral children,

unlicensed to drive,

nicked a powerful car

and now there are five.

Five drugged up children

broke into a store;

stole some Ketamine

and now there are four.

Four little children,

outside, running free-

the blonde one trafficked

and now there are three.

Three little children-

just as children do,

trusted youth leaders

and now there are two.

Two little children

found their father’s gun.

One pulled the trigger

and now there is one.

One little baby,

born to show the way,

will greet his true friends

on The Judgement Day.

Image result for baby jesus

(Photo: Jeffrey C Cann)

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The Woman at the Well

01 Sunday Nov 2015

Posted by Candia in Bible, Celebrities, Community, Media, Poetry, Religion, Social Comment, Writing

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Gadarene swine, Jacob's Well, Kim Kardashian, Nablus, narcissism, Nazarene, North West, paparazzi, Photini, Rabboni, selfie, villanelle, Woman at the well

(Currier and Ives image)

Did you see Kim Kardashian’s toddler daughter, North West,

addressing the paparazzi with an authoritative: ‘I said no pictures!’?

Yes.  She looked quite cute in her designer jacket and tutu, but

imagine having to be so media savvy from such a young age.

A lot of girls who are not that much older are desperate to

attract media attention, I remarked.

But some people maintain discretion, Brassie reminded me.  Not

everyone is narcissistic.

I often wondered what Photini would have done after she met

Jesus, I mused.  I bet she wouldn’t have asked to take a selfie

with Him.

Who’s Photini?  Brassie asked.  Her name sounds like something

to do with photos, so maybe she would have sold her story to the local

Nablus rag.

No, she sounded as if she had more respect, I decided.  How

about the following villanelle for an exploration of the encounter?

Villanelle?

Listen!

(Matson Photo Service, Matson Collection,

Library of Congress)

JACOB’S WELL

They labelled me: The Woman at the Well –

Put in the Pitcher by a Nazarene!

They said I had a story that would sell.

Swine rooted round me, snuffling at the smell

of scandal – reckless as those Gadarene.

They labelled me: The Woman at the Well…

and camped outside my house, convinced I’d tell;

amazed that He should speak to the unclean

and said I had a story that would sell.

Some vowed He’d mesmerised me; cast a spell

on me; elaborated what they’d seen.

They labelled me: The Woman at the Well…

Those paparazzi made my life sheer hell.

Why not take the shekels and spill the beans?

They said I had a story they could sell.

Rabboni’s Living Water seemed to quell

my raging thirst.  Now I know what peace means.

They labelled me: The Woman at the Well

who had a Story that she Wouldn’t F***ing Sell!

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My name is Candia. Its initial consonant alliterates with “cow” and there are connotations with the adjective “candid.” I started writing this blog in the summer of 2012 and focused on satire at the start.

Interspersed was ironic news comment, reviews and poetry.

Over the years I have won some international poetry competitions and have published in reputable small presses, as well as reviewing and reading alongside well- established poets. I wrote under my own name then, but Candia has taken me over as an online persona. Having brought out a serious anthology last year called 'Its Own Place' which features poetry of an epiphanal nature, I was able to take part in an Arts and Spirituality series of lectures in Winchester in 2016.

Lately I have been experimenting with boussekusekeika, sestinas, rhyme royale, villanelles and other forms. I am exploring Japanese themes at the moment, my interest having been re-ignited by the recent re-evaluations of Hokusai.

Thank you to all my committed followers whose loyalty has encouraged me to keep writing. It has been exciting to meet some of you in the flesh- in venues as far flung as Melbourne and Sydney!

Copyright Notice

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Candia Dixon Stuart and candiacomesclean.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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