Pip Eastop, Horn player, Photographer, Trumpet player

Horn player, Photographer, Trumpet player

Pip Eastop, hornplayer, teacher, horn, trumpet, jazz, sessions, London, soloist, orchestral, improvisation etc....

Posts tagged “transposition

Epiloggy

Epiloggy 
(by Blewhis Barrel)
  Jabberwocky  
(by Lewis Carrol)
No more egg curries!  
‘Twas Britten, and the slidy specs 
Did gyre and gimble down the nose;
 
All flimsy were the borrowed kecks,
 
And the tone rows outphrose.
‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves 
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
 
All mimsy were the borogroves,
 
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Epilogue, my son! 
The slurs that split, the trills that catch!

Beware the “bub-bub” slurred, and tongue 
The curious transposed patch!”
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son! 
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
 
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
 
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal horn in hand: 
Long time his manxome place he sought-
 
So counted he on the Rostrum tree.
 
And stood a’lost and fraught.
He took his vorpal sword in hand: 
Long time the manxome foe he sought-
 
So rested he by the Tumtum tree.
 
And stood awhile in thought.
Attacking huffish notes he stood; 
The Epilogue, with cries of pain,
 
Came whiffling from the offstage wood,
 
And burbled as it came!
And as in uffish thought he stood, 
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
 
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
 
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! Oh phew, we’re through! 
The vorpal horn went splitter-splatt!
 
He left it dead, and with that fled.
 
He had to take it back.
One, two! One, two! And through and through 
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
 
He left it dead, and with its head
 
He went galumphing back.
“Ah, thou hast slain the Epilogue! 
Come drink a pint of Beamish, boy!
 
O frabjous day! (the critics say)”,
 
He fnortled in his joy.
“And hast though slain the Jabberwock? 
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
 
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
 
He chortled in his joy.
‘Twas Britten, and the slidy specs 
Did gyre and gimble down the nose;
 
All flimsy were the borrowed kecks,
 
And the tone rows outphrose.
‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves 
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
 
All mimsy were the borogroves,
 
And the mome raths outgrabe.

©1997 Pip Eastop

   
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