Letters

I had the good fortune to go to high school in the 1970s, when educators generally considered instruction in literature, history and geography to be as important as math and the sciences to a well-rounded education.

One of my favorite poems during those halcyon days was “Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll. As a 15-year-old, it seemed to be a load of gibberish, with words more elfin than English. But, 45 years later, I see the genius that is Lewis Carroll:

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!” …

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!

Now, am I the only one who noticed that Carroll, like Nostradamus before him, foresaw the advent of our Dotard-in-Chief? His serial lying, cofeve slurping, Putin-lovin’, bone-spur burping, burger masticating, and shameless womanizing days are over.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

He chortled in his joy.

Pete Reyer

East Quogue