Brouhaha

Here's an old poem of mine from the cellar, 90's vintage:

BROUHAHA

"A gift, though small, is hardly all

That passes 'twixt giver and getter;

For as we get near it, that generous spirit

Leaves both a little bit better."

"Blarney," gibed Joan, "John, you just want the loan

Of my body. Such credit's not smart.

You think to deceive, but I'll not believe

'Til your tongue becomes dumber than your heart."

(This is the continuation of the Blarney Duck Ale verse, now in the "failed seduction" genre. I still have not quite solved the technical problems of two speakers and of bridging the gap from the first to the second stanzas. Cheers, anyway!)

A Bit of Blarney . . .

. . . is good for you.

That's a little poem from the back of my beer label--Blarney Duck Ale--and that I penned in cards for Xmas back in the early 90's. The beer wasn't much, certainly not a special recipe, but just a share of the home brew that I helped Peter W with once or twice. Still, the brewing process was educational, and drinking the product was also fine, though I could buy a better dark ale for the same amount of money. Better in taste, though not necessarily in satisfaction.

I like my bit of blarney, so much so that I sing it much as I do that Tolkien finding-song, adjusting the delivery to my moods. I think I capture a certain truth of generosity of spirit in those mere four lines; the music is intentional. I have kept playing with it, trying to expand it. In 1996 or so, I added a second stanza for a more dramatic, problematic effect, creating a dialogue in the "seduction" genre. (Actually, in the "failed seduction" genre.) I'll put that version in a different blog entry: "Brouhaha."

On some of the bottles of Blarney Duck, I put a favorite poem from Samuel "Dictionary" Johnson and the 18th century. I like the shift in tone from the speaker's address to the old hermit, from the speaker's yearning for solace and truth, from the seriousness of the opening stanza--from all that--to the gray sage's response, to the hermit's smiling solution, to the fun of the closing stanza. What's a wise old man's solution to the woes of this wicked world? A pint, my lads and lasses; what else?

That brew, along with most home brews, definitely demanded letting the contents settle. Brewing was a blast, once I managed to put away my anxiety about how it would all turn out, so for a few moments at a time. Ideally, I would have brewed more and gotten past worrying about results. In the garage, I have all the gear . . . .

P.S. As I was taking photos outside in the generous light of the sun, the faint wind started shooting stiff gusts to whisk away these old labels. One shot seems worth keeping, though. Cheers!