December’s poems

Say it isn’t so! Loveless by My Bloody Valentine has been removed from Spotify.

John-Paul: “What’s Spotify even for, if Loveless isn’t included?”

Karin: “A lot, considering how many hours Spotify is used in this house.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Here are reggae lyrics from The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole. Bear in mind, the diarist/​poet is in his younger teens.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Hear what he saying by A. Mole

Sisters and Brothers listen to Jah,

Hear his words from near and far,

Haile Selassie he sit on the throne.

Hear what he saying. Hear what he saying. (Repeated 10 times.)

JAH! JAH! JAH!

Rise up and follow Selassie, the king.

A new tomorrow to you he will bring. (Repeat.)

E-thi-o-pi-a,

He’ll bring new hope to ya.

Hear what he saying. Hear what he saying. (Repeated 20 times.)

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Not a Christmas poem, exactly, but certain themes are characteristic of the season.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Another quasi-Christmas poem:

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Little boy, O so small,

Please don’t pull upon my mole.

It’s attachèd to my neck.

When you pull, it hurts like heck.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Karin wrote it.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Mother Goose:

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

When good King Arthur ruled this land,

He was a goodly King;

He bought three pecks of barley-meal,

To make a bag-pudding.

A bag-pudding the King did make,

And stuffed it well with plums,

And in it put great lumps of fat,

As big as my two thumbs.

The King and Queen did eat thereof,

And noblemen beside;

And what they could not eat that night,

The Queen next morning fried.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Not only have I run out of “mole” poems, I must give up the “Christmas” pretense.

Body-text fonts, pt. 15: Golden Cockerel

A chicken loitered in neighbors’ front yards this weekend. Then it crossed the road, got into our back yard, and stayed for two days.

Karin posted a notice to an online bulletin board. “No one will claim that bird,” one of her colleagues told her. “It’s a gamecock.”

Karin called the Dept. of Animal Control. She gave our address. The van drove down our street. It didn’t stop. Karin called again. The van came back. This time, it stopped in front of our house.

I went outside. “Are you here for the chicken?” I said.

“No,” said the officer, “I just thought I’d visit.”

Crickets.

“Sorry,” she said. “Yes, I’m here for the chicken.”

We went out back and cornered the chicken. The officer caught it with a net and put it into a pet carrier. “Its wings have been clipped,” she said.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

In honor of this chicken, my typeface of the month is Golden Cockerel, digitized by ITC and originally designed by the brilliant but evil (and ubiquitous) Eric Gill. I don’t think I have any books that use Golden Cockerel for body text rather than display text. It’d have to be a “precious” book indeed. Like this one, or this one:

I take it back: Text Publishing, the Australian company, sets some unglamorous books in Golden Cockerel.

Other typefaces by Gill will be acknowledged in due course.