A short essay by Joyce Carol Oates on Alice In Wonderland's influence on her. I am reminded yet again of a book I should either read to or have Leanna read to herself. I myself didn't fully appreciate this book until an adult. But I can see all kinds of wonderful things in it that could capture a child's imagination!
(By the way, if you ever wondered about a translation of the poem, Jabberwocky, here's one.)
I have a few connections to Alice myself, now that I think about it. I made Leanna into Alice in Wonderland a few Halloweens ago. And way back in my senior year in high school, I wrote a paper analysing the poem Lewis Carroll wrote in the preface to the second Alice book, Through the Looking Glass. When I took the AP English exam, the teacher had given all 8 of us taking it an envelope with a piece of gum for the break, and an encouraging note. Mine said something about pretending I was telling a story to a young child, a reference to the Alice analysis I'd written. (Must've worked, I was the only one to score a 5).
The poem I analysed for Mrs. Thomas:
Child of the pure unclouded brow
Child of the pure unclouded brow
And dreaming eyes of wonder!
Though time be fleet, and I and thou
Are half a life asunder,
Thy loving smile will surely hail
The love-gift of a fairy-tale.
I have not seen thy sunny face,
Nor heard thy silver laughter;
No thought of me shall find a place
In thy young life's hereafter -
Enough that now thou wilt not fail
To listen to my fairy-tale.
A tale begun in other days,
When summer suns were glowing -
A simple chime, that served to time
The rhythm of our rowing -
Whose echoes live in memory yet,
Though envious years would say 'forget'.
Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread,
With bitter tidings laden,
Shall summon to unwelcome bed
A melancholy maiden!
We are but older children, dear,
Who fret to find our bedtime near.
Without, the frost, the blinding snow,
The storm-wind's moody madness -
Within, the firelight's ruddy glow,
And childhood's nest of gladness.
The magic words shall hold thee fast:
Thou shalt not heed the raving blast.
And though the shadow of a sigh
May tremble through the story,
For 'happy summer days' gone by,
And vanish'd summer glory -
It shall not touch with breath of bale
The pleasance of our fairy-tale.
(By the way, if you ever wondered about a translation of the poem, Jabberwocky, here's one.)
I have a few connections to Alice myself, now that I think about it. I made Leanna into Alice in Wonderland a few Halloweens ago. And way back in my senior year in high school, I wrote a paper analysing the poem Lewis Carroll wrote in the preface to the second Alice book, Through the Looking Glass. When I took the AP English exam, the teacher had given all 8 of us taking it an envelope with a piece of gum for the break, and an encouraging note. Mine said something about pretending I was telling a story to a young child, a reference to the Alice analysis I'd written. (Must've worked, I was the only one to score a 5).
The poem I analysed for Mrs. Thomas:
Child of the pure unclouded brow
Child of the pure unclouded brow
And dreaming eyes of wonder!
Though time be fleet, and I and thou
Are half a life asunder,
Thy loving smile will surely hail
The love-gift of a fairy-tale.
I have not seen thy sunny face,
Nor heard thy silver laughter;
No thought of me shall find a place
In thy young life's hereafter -
Enough that now thou wilt not fail
To listen to my fairy-tale.
A tale begun in other days,
When summer suns were glowing -
A simple chime, that served to time
The rhythm of our rowing -
Whose echoes live in memory yet,
Though envious years would say 'forget'.
Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread,
With bitter tidings laden,
Shall summon to unwelcome bed
A melancholy maiden!
We are but older children, dear,
Who fret to find our bedtime near.
Without, the frost, the blinding snow,
The storm-wind's moody madness -
Within, the firelight's ruddy glow,
And childhood's nest of gladness.
The magic words shall hold thee fast:
Thou shalt not heed the raving blast.
And though the shadow of a sigh
May tremble through the story,
For 'happy summer days' gone by,
And vanish'd summer glory -
It shall not touch with breath of bale
The pleasance of our fairy-tale.
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