{"id":135106,"date":"2019-04-03T13:00:54","date_gmt":"2019-04-03T17:00:54","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=135106"},"modified":"2019-04-03T16:43:51","modified_gmt":"2019-04-03T20:43:51","slug":"limericks-from-beyond-the-rings-of-saturn","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/04\/03\/limericks-from-beyond-the-rings-of-saturn\/","title":{"rendered":"Limericks from beyond the Rings of Saturn"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Illustration by Edward Lear<\/p><\/div>\n

I must write about Waterman. I must try to do justice to Waterman. Inclination, affection, and duty combine: I must speak and write about Waterman.<\/p>\n

23 September 2017, I was in Chicago. I was in a bookstore I seldom visit: Open Books. Open Books does not often \u201cspeak to my concerns,\u201d but that day was an exception. I had found, for six dollars, a hardcover of Kierkegaard\u2019s\u00a0Letters and Documents<\/i>, volume 25: Princeton edition, jacket intact. I did not yet know that the book is neither rare nor valuable. Nor did I know that, in a year and a half of owning the book, I would not open it once. No, I was exultant: I thought it was probably worth forty-five dollars, and that I would start reading it in the airport on the way back to Texas.<\/p>\n

That day I found something else special. I found Paul Waterman. In particular, I found his 1965 book,\u00a0Five Lines to Limerick<\/i>. It has fifty-six numbered pages. It was warmly inscribed (\u201cBest to Virginia Rick\u201d) in ballpoint pen on 22 April 1966, in Worcester, New York. The book was published by Candor Press in Dexter, Missouri. Here is the cover:<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\n
\n

I speculate I am the first person to read this book in forty years. If anyone looking at the present article knows different, I beg you to email me. Go to my website. In fact, if any of you have any\u00a0images\u00a0of Paul Waterman, or knowledge about his life, your assistance would be cordially appreciated.<\/p>\n

Not\u00a0that<\/i> Paul Waterman, by the way. Not the CEO of whatever. I\u2019m talking about Paul Waterman, the author of:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n

\u2022\u00a0Boy for a Blonde\u00a0<\/i>(1932)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

\u2022\u00a0Cabin for Two<\/i>\u00a0(1934)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

\u2022\u00a0Love to the Town<\/i>\u00a0(1955)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

\u2022\u00a0Mad Land of Limerick<\/i>\u00a0(1963)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

\u2022\u00a0Those Brats from Limerick<\/i>\u00a0(1964)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

\u2022\u00a0Five Lines to Limerick<\/i>\u00a0(1965)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

\u2022\u00a0Thus and Now<\/i>\u00a0(1974)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n
\n

And don\u2019t misunderstand. I would not have you think my attachment to Waterman is owing to the merit, properly so-called, of his limericks. His limericks, and really only this one book of them, which is all I have, are<\/i>\u00a0the reason for my attachment\u2014but it isn\u2019t about merit.<\/p>\n

What\u2019s it about then. It\u2019s about some random dude who was cuckoo\u2014perfectly, utterly cuckoo\u2014in the same way Christopher Smart and John Clare and William Cowper were. I\u2019m saying: Waterman was mad,\u00a0but his poetic talent operated unhindered by his madness.<\/p>\n

Do you know that bit in\u00a0Apocalypse Now<\/i> where Dennis Hopper says of Marlon Brando, \u201cThe man is clear in his mind, but his soul is mad\u201d? Well, with Waterman, both mind and soul are mad\u2014but his prosody\u00a0is sane.<\/p>\n

How do I know he was mad? I don\u2019t. Maybe he wasn\u2019t. But I defy anyone who reads these limericks to think he was merely weird. The word weird<\/em> is insufficient. Quite insufficient.<\/p>\n

Consider: Edward Lear\u2019s limericks are called \u201cnonsense,\u201d but they\u2019re not really that. They make sense; they\u2019re just perverse.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n

There was an Old Man of Dunluce,
\nWho went out to sea on a goose;
\nWhen he\u2019d gone out a mile, he observed with a smile,
\n\u201cIt is time to return to Dunluce.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n
\n

It\u2019s not that that doesn\u2019t make sense. It\u2019s just deliberately pointless. Indeed, the humor partly depends on the reader\u2019s recognizing the effect is deliberate. Whereas,\u00a0Waterman\u2019s limericks really are nonsense. Which is to say: they are unintelligible. Not all of them\u2014but most. Just to give you an idea:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n

THE VAPORIZING HORNS<\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

There was a wild teen on a lift
\nWho stole the whole cage to be deft,
\nWho fumbled the \u201cpower\u201d
\nTill lower and lower
\nHe sank to red horns and \u201cwent p-f-f-f-t\u201d!<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n
\n

It should be noted I\u2019ve retained Waterman\u2019s punctuation exactly. I\u2019m only going to say this once: Every Waterman original I quote in this piece is reproduced with molecular accuracy, from my copy\u2019s text.<\/p>\n

But wait.\u00a0Is<\/em>\u00a0the above limerick unintelligible? A teenager hijacks a freight elevator\u2014got that. I guess he plummets to his demise\u2014which, for some reason, is figured as the deflation of a football. Pretty much following. The parts I\u00a0don\u2019t\u00a0get are the title and the construction \u201csank to red horns.\u201d<\/p>\n

This is a very common problem for me, as I go through the hundred limericks in this book. I keep thinking maybe Waterman was from Australia or something, and all these bizarre constructions are idioms from twenties Canberra. The principal weakness of that theory is the effect comes up way too often. Poem after poem, you read the thing and go, What<\/i>. No question mark, just: What<\/i>.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n

THE SQUIRREL AND THE PUMPGUNNERS<\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

There was a wise squirrel in a stump,
\n\u201cWho\u201d said, \u201cWhen the savages \u201cpump\u201d,
\nIt\u2019s prudently good
\nTo cling to the wood,
\nAvoiding the \u201csmoke-with-a-bump\u201d.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n
\n

What<\/i>.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n

THE TRACK THUNDERBOLT<\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

There\u2019 a car which is known as the Whiz,
\nA car past the day of the Liz.
\nHow fast is this car?
\nWhy, fast as a star
\nOr fast as a capital Is!<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n
\n

What<\/i>.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n

1700\u2014THE LITTLE WITCH QUEEN<\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

There was a mean king in a huff
\nWho spoke to his queen with such guff
\nShe faded away
\nTwo thirds of a day
\nAnd hid in the smoke of his bluff.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n
\n

What<\/i>.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n

THE DUKE WHO HATED AUTOGRAPHING<\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

There was a young Duke in his slumber
\nThrew girls by the horde from his Humber,
\nThen told the whole court
\nHe wasn\u2019t the sort
\nTo pester a dream for the number.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n
\n

What<\/i>.<\/p>\n

When I was reading the book for the first time, in the airport on the way back to Texas (and neglecting Kierkegaard, \u2019cuz I thought he would be too difficult), I believed for the longest time I was simply distracted. I kept saying to myself \u201cWake up, man. Pay attention!\u201d because page after page was delivering precisely the sensation of reading something easy but not understanding it \u2019cuz you\u2019re not paying attention.<\/p>\n

I have no doubt someone reading these words will think he or she understands one or more of the above-quoted specimens. And maybe you do, pal. Maybe you\u2019re a hundred and one years old, born in Canberra. Or maybe\u2014and I want you to think hard about this before you email me\u2014maybe you\u2019re simply as nuts as Waterman. Explain these:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n

BLUE SUNDAY<\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

Said a minister caught by a flirt,
\n\u201cThere\u2019s hope in the fall of a quirt.
\nAnd so at the start,
\nI\u2019m going to \u201csmart\u201d
\nOne stroke where you choose to be hurt.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

BEFORE THE TEARS<\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
There was an old stripper named Clarice
\nWho hid in the folds of an arras,
\nWho saw on the stage
\nFour \u201cstrips\u201d of her age
\nAnd \u201cknew\u201d she was younger than Clarice.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\n

THE SUM AND THE PRICE<\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
A waspish old lady of Macon
\nCame home with a passel of bacon.
\nOn finding she\u2019d paid
\nToo much by a shade,
\nShe threw all the bacon to Macon.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\n

THE FALL OF A STAR<\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
There was a good egg in a bar
\nWho paid for the drinks of a tar.
\nWho damaged his \u201cshell\u201d,
\nIn paying so well,
\nAnd fell from his role as a star.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n
\n
In every one of these cases, Waterman demonstrates excellent control of his sound palette. There\u2019s hardly a limerick in the whole book with any kind of prosodic fault. Awkwardness and what Samuel Johnson called \u201cuncertain meter\u201d are almost unknown here. Everything is rhythmically limpid; one can sight-read the stuff with complete confidence. Yet it\u2019s like these poems are fantastic creatures whose only habitat is your peripheral vision. You can see something moving there, but if it holds up some fingers and says \u201cHow many?\u201d you can\u2019t tell. You turn to look\u2014and the limerick\u2019s gone.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\n

Oh Waterman, where are you? Where are your grandchildren? Why did you write these pieces? Would that I had been there in Worcester, New York when you read them aloud. I would not have seen you, Waterman. I would have been facing the audience the whole time, for I am dying to know how they took it.<\/p>\n

By the way, this essay is the first of two on Waterman. Part II will let you know all I learn from Waterman\u2019s other books, which are in the mail, headed my way, even as I write this. I am particularly interested to see if his earliest books are like what I\u2019ve described here. I shall also create an anthology of annihilating prose snippets, written (no doubt) in the haughty style of Vladimir Nabokov and hurled at me by Australian code-breakers. Meanwhile, the overstimulated should be warned: Waterman\u2019s books are surprisingly expensive. The copy of Five Lines to Limerick<\/i>\u00a0I\u2019m looking at, on an open tab in front of me, is thirty-five dollars. \u201cAbout that I know not what to make.\u201d<\/p>\n

I close, though, with a limerick wherein Waterman uncharacteristically mentions himself. Here, too, he leaves you squinting:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n

LADY WITH A PAST<\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

Said a limerick written by Paul,
\n\u201cMy character\u2019s bad as my fall:
\nHis terrible pen,
\nNow scratching again,
\nHas gone to the heart of the moll.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n
\n

Anthony Madrid lives in Victoria, Texas. His second book is\u00a0<\/em>Try Never<\/a>. He is a correspondent for the\u00a0<\/em>Daily.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

 <\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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