Oddfellows Passage – First Chapter

The middle and high schools that I attended in Connecticut tried to teach me a great many things I didn’t want to be taught. One of these was poetry. The first one I remember was a poem called Casey at the Bat, and over the ensuing years I would memorize poems such as Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken and Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Walt Whitman’s O Captain! My Captain!, fragments of Shakespeare’s To Be, or Not to Be, and that’s the extent of those mandatory ones as far as I can remember. And when I say I memorized these, that means I did so only in the interest of knowing the words so as to check off the completed box. Their meanings were hardly ever considered.

There was one instance where we were allowed to choose from an online poetry database which poem we wanted to memorize, and unfortunately for me we had to memorize one of them. I chose Percy Bysshe Shelly’s Ozymandias, first and foremost because it was short and I didn’t want to work hard, and then secondly because it had an interesting sound to it. Other short poems I considered were Robert Frost’s Fire and Ice and Lewis Carroll’s Jabberwocky. I tell this story for a few reasons. The first reason is to express that in spite of my love for words and stories, I always found poetry eye-gougingly dry. I wanted Lord of the Rings or Redwall or Dragonlance, and couldn’t be bothered to settle for anything less. The second reason is to highlight one of the poems I didn’t choose, but one which left a markedly odd impression—Jabberwocky.

I vaguely remember mentioning this poem to my dad and hearing him remark how that was his favorite poem. Reading Jabberwocky now I’m struck by the delightful strangeness of the poem, but at that time I was just struck by the strangeness of the poem. Now we have a time skip.

I’m starting to read and write poetry on a frequent basis—this is several years back—and I come across Lewis Carroll’s The Hunting of the Snark. I found it online, I believe the site was Poetry Foundation, and noticed that the grey bar on the right side for scrolling down was small to point of nonexistence. It couldn’t possibly be that long, could it? It was. And longer. And my God was it brilliant! I hadn’t ever read Alice in Wonderland, and I only remembered Jabberwocky for its strangeness, but The Hunting of the Snark absolutely floored me with its uniqueness and its humor and its capacity for wordplay. It was a poem, a story, and so much more. It made me want to write, and so I did: something of my attempt at Carroll’s Snark.

That’s a lot of words on my part for an introduction, and probably too many. Poets are supposed to be concise. In that sense I’m not a very good poet, but such is life. The book I’ve written—and that still sounds odd to me just saying it—is called Oddfellows Passage and Other Poetic Whimsy. 31 poems make up the Other Poetic Whimsy, while one poem makes up Oddfellows Passage. It clocks in at 40-some-odd pages and is greatly influenced by Carroll’s The Hunting of the Snark. It’s a maritime adventure, and I hope you enjoy it. This is the first chapter, and I’ll likely post the rest in subsequent posts on here. Thanks!

Sidenote – I’m not good with technology and haven’t yet found how to break these into the stanzas they should be broken into. There should be a break after each fourth line.

A-Questing, We Will Go

I set out to sea on behalf of the three

Fellow passengers once in my care.

First the squirrel had a hunch the best place to lunch

Was a grove full of walnuts, most rare.

She constantly mentioned her grandmother’s brother

When citing to that which she sought.

Supposedly he had heard tell of a dwelling 

Where squirrels and chipmunks once fought. 

“A bloody and needlessly frivolous fight,”

She would say with a shake of her head.

“My granduncle told me the whole of the blight 

Out of foolishness fully, was bred.

“They lived then in truce, without strife or contention,

And feasted on walnuts all day—

Until the two tribes parted peace with dissension

Of notions no side could allay.”

Her eyes would cast down when the squirrel spoke the next part, 

“A dispute grew between the two sides:

The chipmunks believed with the nuts it was smartest

To store safely back in their hides.

“My ancestors claimed it made much better sense

Just to bury them right in the ground.

From out of these views would a conflict commence

And their utopia quickly unwound.”

We had met in a port when I saw she was short

A few pennies when purchasing fruit.

I covered the cost and remarked she looked lost

And a bit distressed, even, to boot.

So she told me her story to which I replied 

That I was the man for the role! 

The role in that case serving gladly to guide

To that grove of her people of old.

“Believe me,” I said, “when I tell you that I

Know a few things about expeditions.

To sail for adventure where danger lay nigh

Is my life’s one and only ambition!”

I neglected to mention the failings of youth

When I squandered my family’s wealth

Charting courses ill-aimed (telling plainly the truth)

With a crew left in rather-poor health.

“My ship isn’t grand, and we’ll need a few hands 

For the manning of sails and the rest.

But I feel that fate and a few steadfast mates

Will allow us, the sea, to contest!”

With zeal and great-gusto (and feeling robust-o) 

We set out to fill in our crew. 

I said to the squirrel that the port held some pearls

If one knew how to sift through the slew. 

The second, we added, while searching for one

Who could handle himself in a scrap.

Outside of a tavern which weakness would shun

Was a burly and well-seasoned chap.

All-scarred and scowling, we heard the wind howling 

That this fellow knew how to fight.

I made my approach for the voyage to broach,

But a sound came which caught my delight:

A song like a siren’s was filling the air

Both by voice and with notes plucked by string.

The squirrel and I noticed the source was a hare

Bearing antlers befit for a king.

A musical jackalope, yes that was a first,

But I knew then and there we had found

Someone perfect for questing (and likely well versed)

In the calming of nerves tightly wound.

“The songs that I play—which I’ve seen sway the throngs—

Are a form of expression, just so.”

Then the jackalope added, “And as for your question,

My answer will have to be no.”

I hadn’t yet spoken a word to the rabbit, 

Whose sorcery left me perplexed.

“Sorry,” he said, “just a reflex of habit

To skip over any pretext.”

“Adventure,” I said, “is aloft on the ocean

And you and your harp fit the call.

Like Jason of old when his trek set in motion, 

I’ll need you, for braving the squalls.”

We pitched him our purpose to find what was lost

And to purchase a place of renown. 

He cared not for fame, but his eyes gained a gloss

When I said walnuts were to be found. 

“I’m in,” said the jackalope, “a bard on a boat

Might the making of songs have in store!”

We were now near to leaving for islands remote

And the raising of anchor ashore.

Our third, save myself, we procured on the twelfth

Day of seeking for seafaring lads.

The well had run dry and our search gone awry

When we stumbled upon one to add.

An eagle-eyed sort just outside of the port

Was training a hawk for her flight.

I said to him, “Ho, that’s a talent, you know.

I bet you’re not bad with a kite!”

He looked not my way, but the hawk turned her head,

With a quizzical, quarter-cocked stare.

So I spoke of the trip and the distance to tread

Just to make sure that he was aware. 

I mentioned the offer of legend to author

Which yielded no sort of address. 

When I talked up the grove and its lushness to rove,

Then the man turned and looked to assess.

He smiled at me and preparing to talk

He cried out with a noblest shout. 

It occurred to me, then, that he only spoke hawk

And we’d need to keep searching about. 

“Does your ship have a crow’s nest?” I heard to the side

And its source came, to me, a surprise.

The hawk spoke (and well) so I kindly replied

That our nest was in need of their eyes.

They muttered in hushed-hawk a minute before 

The reply came that they would take part.

Our crew would be few, but a trustworthy core

Was enough for our journey to start! 

So I set out to sea on behalf of the three

(Or four) fellow friends then in tow. 

Hoisting the anchor we all had a hanker 

For walnuts thought lost long ago.