The following is adapted from Clement Clarke Moore’s ‘The Night Before Christmas’, originally published as ‘A Visit from St Nicholas’.
The nine Muses are:
Calliope - (kah-LI-uh-pee), epic poetry
Clio - (KLEE-oh), history
Euterpe - (you-TER-pee), music
Erato - (er-RAH-toh), love poetry and mimicry
Melpomene - (mel-PO-men-nee), tragedy
Polyhymnia - (pol-HIM-nee-ah), sacred poetry, classics, mime, geometry
Terpsichore - (terp-SIC-oh-ree), dance
Thalia - (THAH-lee-ah), comedy
Urania - (you-RAY-ni-ah), astronomy and the future
Partly inspired by MrT's deconstruction of Clement Clarke Moore’s poem ‘A Visit from St Nicholas’, this is my own little offering: a direct parody of the classic. Some of you have seen my effort before, as it has been posted more-or-less annually since 2002.
MrT (a now little-remembered master-writer on the forum of years gone by) launched a series of posts built around a riddle whose answer was Nicholas of Myra, also known as St Nicholas or Santa Claus. I was moved by his work to also write something to send my fellow forumites a heartfelt Christmas/seasonal wish of peace, joy and good writing. It was done in little more than one sitting (names of the Muses and all) and I have been reluctant to edit it since - in truth if not quality it was inspired. And it was harder to write than you might suppose – try rhyming those Greek names for yourself while sticking strictly to Mr Moore’s script! I see in the comments to the original thread that I had also considered naming the reindeer for popular forumites of the day but couldn’t get their avatar names to rhyme with anything – probably a blessing since few of us remember those people now, or, indeed, myself.
The poem never gets many comments but I hope it gives an occasional reader a smile (and a kick in the pants to get back to writing). Some of my truest friendships are with people on this forum, and I have tried - as a writer, a Gazette alumni, a former moderator and an all-too-infrequent commenter - to give back something to the people and the place. ‘Our’ Paradox forum is a mythical, wondrous place that gives me more pleasure than most real ones. It is populated by some remarkable writers, great souls and good people - more genuinely good people than you would expect to find on an internet forum, or, really, collected anywhere in one place. You fine people have seen me through some hard times and bad emotional places, and the writing has been my favorite hobby, paid for – as I never cease to remind people – by comments, the only forum currency of value.
In this hectic, commercial time of crowds, obnoxious family members, forced cheer and foul weather, I wish for all of you a quiet mind and a peaceful heart, and may you find all the joy that you can hold – plus a soupcon of lagniappe, cher, just because. God Bless Us – There’s None Like Us.
Now GO WRITE.
The nine Muses are:
Calliope - (kah-LI-uh-pee), epic poetry
Clio - (KLEE-oh), history
Euterpe - (you-TER-pee), music
Erato - (er-RAH-toh), love poetry and mimicry
Melpomene - (mel-PO-men-nee), tragedy
Polyhymnia - (pol-HIM-nee-ah), sacred poetry, classics, mime, geometry
Terpsichore - (terp-SIC-oh-ree), dance
Thalia - (THAH-lee-ah), comedy
Urania - (you-RAY-ni-ah), astronomy and the future
A Visit from Miss Clio
‘Twas the week before Christmas, and all ‘cross the board
WritAARs were writing and posting-counts soared.
The threads they were hung on the forum with care
In the hope that some readers would place comments there.
The mods they were snoozing with eyelids like lead
While visions of centerfolds danced in their heads;
And I with my book, and my cat in my lap
Had just settled in my recliner for a long evening nap.
When out from my computer there arose such a sound
I sprang to my desk to see what could be found,
And there on the screen I saw in a flash
Past WORD and WINDOWS, behind all that trash,
A background of blue, letters bold as a star,
The Paradox screen lit with words from afar.
When what must my wondering eyes then embrace
But the shape of a book, with eight women in trace!
And the elf that was driving, so lively and quick, Oh,
I knew from my classics she could only be Clio!
More dainty than fireflies her helpers they came
And she caroled and praised them, and called them by name;
“Now Polyhymnia! Now Euterpe! Now Thalia and Terpsichore!
On Calliope! On Urania! On Erato and Melpomene!
Off the screen! On the desk! To yon keyboard you go!
Now dance away, dance away, don’t you be slow!”
As spirits that fly at a Harvest Moon Fest
When they dance out the dwindling of autumn in death,
So out of my screen the fair maidens then flew
With their chariot book, and of course Clio, too.
And then in a twinkling I heard next to me
The rattling and pounding of each keyboard key,
And I drew back in alarm and was spinning around
When to my bookshelf Clio went with a bound.
She was dressed all in velvet, with pearls and white lace,
But no raiment compared to her beautiful face;
My books on their shelf she perused with great care
And then turned around and gave me a stare.
Her eyes – how they sparkled, her smile was so merry!
Her wings were the gossamer of a pureblooded faerie!
Her pert little lips showed white teeth in a grin
And her shimmering hair matched the snow of her skin;
The scroll of her office of History she gripped,
And from it the essence of all sagas dripped;
Her expression was patient, and willing and sage,
Like a book that’s your good friend no matter your age.
She was lissome and sleek, a Titanian elf,
And I smiled when I saw her, in spite of my self;
A flick of her scroll and a nod of her head
And I knew of her purpose, though nothing was said;
So I retook my seat and threw out my plans
While she perched on my shoulder and guided my hands.
Then nodding approval of my edited prose
And waving her scroll, o’er the keyboard she rose;
She remounted her book, to her sisters gave motion
And away they all swept like a boat on the ocean.
And I heard her exclaim as they vanished from sight,
“Merry Christmas – no excuses! Get busy! Go write!”
‘Twas the week before Christmas, and all ‘cross the board
WritAARs were writing and posting-counts soared.
The threads they were hung on the forum with care
In the hope that some readers would place comments there.
The mods they were snoozing with eyelids like lead
While visions of centerfolds danced in their heads;
And I with my book, and my cat in my lap
Had just settled in my recliner for a long evening nap.
When out from my computer there arose such a sound
I sprang to my desk to see what could be found,
And there on the screen I saw in a flash
Past WORD and WINDOWS, behind all that trash,
A background of blue, letters bold as a star,
The Paradox screen lit with words from afar.
When what must my wondering eyes then embrace
But the shape of a book, with eight women in trace!
And the elf that was driving, so lively and quick, Oh,
I knew from my classics she could only be Clio!
More dainty than fireflies her helpers they came
And she caroled and praised them, and called them by name;
“Now Polyhymnia! Now Euterpe! Now Thalia and Terpsichore!
On Calliope! On Urania! On Erato and Melpomene!
Off the screen! On the desk! To yon keyboard you go!
Now dance away, dance away, don’t you be slow!”
As spirits that fly at a Harvest Moon Fest
When they dance out the dwindling of autumn in death,
So out of my screen the fair maidens then flew
With their chariot book, and of course Clio, too.
And then in a twinkling I heard next to me
The rattling and pounding of each keyboard key,
And I drew back in alarm and was spinning around
When to my bookshelf Clio went with a bound.
She was dressed all in velvet, with pearls and white lace,
But no raiment compared to her beautiful face;
My books on their shelf she perused with great care
And then turned around and gave me a stare.
Her eyes – how they sparkled, her smile was so merry!
Her wings were the gossamer of a pureblooded faerie!
Her pert little lips showed white teeth in a grin
And her shimmering hair matched the snow of her skin;
The scroll of her office of History she gripped,
And from it the essence of all sagas dripped;
Her expression was patient, and willing and sage,
Like a book that’s your good friend no matter your age.
She was lissome and sleek, a Titanian elf,
And I smiled when I saw her, in spite of my self;
A flick of her scroll and a nod of her head
And I knew of her purpose, though nothing was said;
So I retook my seat and threw out my plans
While she perched on my shoulder and guided my hands.
Then nodding approval of my edited prose
And waving her scroll, o’er the keyboard she rose;
She remounted her book, to her sisters gave motion
And away they all swept like a boat on the ocean.
And I heard her exclaim as they vanished from sight,
“Merry Christmas – no excuses! Get busy! Go write!”
Partly inspired by MrT's deconstruction of Clement Clarke Moore’s poem ‘A Visit from St Nicholas’, this is my own little offering: a direct parody of the classic. Some of you have seen my effort before, as it has been posted more-or-less annually since 2002.
MrT (a now little-remembered master-writer on the forum of years gone by) launched a series of posts built around a riddle whose answer was Nicholas of Myra, also known as St Nicholas or Santa Claus. I was moved by his work to also write something to send my fellow forumites a heartfelt Christmas/seasonal wish of peace, joy and good writing. It was done in little more than one sitting (names of the Muses and all) and I have been reluctant to edit it since - in truth if not quality it was inspired. And it was harder to write than you might suppose – try rhyming those Greek names for yourself while sticking strictly to Mr Moore’s script! I see in the comments to the original thread that I had also considered naming the reindeer for popular forumites of the day but couldn’t get their avatar names to rhyme with anything – probably a blessing since few of us remember those people now, or, indeed, myself.
The poem never gets many comments but I hope it gives an occasional reader a smile (and a kick in the pants to get back to writing). Some of my truest friendships are with people on this forum, and I have tried - as a writer, a Gazette alumni, a former moderator and an all-too-infrequent commenter - to give back something to the people and the place. ‘Our’ Paradox forum is a mythical, wondrous place that gives me more pleasure than most real ones. It is populated by some remarkable writers, great souls and good people - more genuinely good people than you would expect to find on an internet forum, or, really, collected anywhere in one place. You fine people have seen me through some hard times and bad emotional places, and the writing has been my favorite hobby, paid for – as I never cease to remind people – by comments, the only forum currency of value.
In this hectic, commercial time of crowds, obnoxious family members, forced cheer and foul weather, I wish for all of you a quiet mind and a peaceful heart, and may you find all the joy that you can hold – plus a soupcon of lagniappe, cher, just because. God Bless Us – There’s None Like Us.
Now GO WRITE.
- 4
- 3
