The White Rabbit
Mark's Curious Adventure
told by a curious book
in a very curious sort of rolling poetry
Narration based upon Alice in Wonderland
by Charles Dodgeson, aka Lewis Carroll
Lithograph illustration by Sir John Tenniel
(in the original hardcopy of THE WHITE RABBIT)
Poetry based upon the most curious thing of all, reality
Written by me
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- It starts with Alice's plunge down a hole in pursuit of
- a White Rabbit with a watch. "Would the fall never
- come to an end?"
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An old young man, I sat in this library
wanting to be born again
wanting to know joy, wanting a mystery
yet unable to care, to feel,
like an old house that has seen too much history
then what do I spy, but a curious young lady
short bouncy hair, youthful, older than
eightteen
(but not more than eighty!)
talking to herself, about widgets and wonders
dancing 'twixt shelves, tossing pages asunder
who is this lass, wonder I to myself
who is so curious, so confident, and yet talks like an elf
I must know these reasons, I approach her with care
drawn like a magnet, to her bouncy black hair
but more her approachability, her confidence,
her spirit, her strength
overpowers my resistance, to move closer,
to shorten the length
but before my plan reaches fruition,
to my delight and surprise
she dances to me, yet carefully averting her eyes.
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- Mark encounters a girl looking much like Alice from
- Wonderland; by approaching her, he
finds he has stepped
- through the looking glass. But it is he that falls
- into the role of Alice, searching and following this
- willow-wisp of a girl as if she were
the White Rabbit.
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- Alice lands in a hall lined with doors. On a table, a
- tiny gold key. The key fits a tiny door, which leads to
- a small passage. Beyond that: a garden.
But Alice
- can't fit through.
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Like a corporation in play, I knew decisions
must be made fast
I asked if I could help (glad that was past!)
she said she was looking for WARK,
I could not comprehend what for
I asked her again, again WARK, nothing more
in a baffled sea of confusion, I tumbled
and tore
my dreams had been beached
beached upon that miserable shore
of misunderstanding, of hearing everything
through a tunnel
this is terrible, I thought, I'm in
very bad trouble
the third times the charm, what more could I do?
asking again, I heard the word ART,
by comparing with WARK 2
RIGHT HERE IS THE ART, said I, for it
was true
and before me
baffled by coincidence, she told me, she wrote poetry
imagine my astonishment
of her emotional subtlety, and her devilish
precocity
to speak to me with an English accent and so suddenly,
in making a good impression, she had totally lost me.
* * * confusion * * * * * * confusion * * *
regaining my senses, I gave her my name and my number
should I do the same, out loud she had wondered
no, said I, that was not necessary
that was an error; her nature was contrary.
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- Mark realizes that he has somehow become haunted by this
- girl, and he must find her again, to know more. The
- task is daunting, for he doesn't even
know her name and
- Augusta is a big city.
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- "Drink me," says a bottle. She does and shrinks but
- leaves a key on the table, out of reach. After a string
- of frustrations, she cries, and ends
up swimming in her
- own tears with assorted animals. Everyone is wet, so
- the Mouse recites the driest thing he knows - a treatise
- on English history.
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Back in my life
the phone never rings, and I wonder why not
unable to sit still, I begin to think and plan my
grand plot
I will not just wait, there must be
a way
to find this curious girl, before I submit to dismay
I must find her again, but the city is huge
I become the detective, compiling the clues
using everything I know, I search, pounding
my shoes
at the library I inquire
can you help me dear woman, my curiosity is on fire
I am looking for someone who checked out a book
on this day and in this subject, will
you please
help me look
but from her bureaucratic mind, I receive the party line
"We give out no such information, no way, no time"
dismay troubled my heart, I can do no
more
I feel so powerless, it is truly, in the hands
of a higher power, for sure.
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- She enters the White Rabbit's house and grows large
- again. Squeezed for space, she puts an arm out the
- window, a foot up the chimney. Hearing
the White Rabbit
- outside, she grabs for him. Crash! The rabbit has
- tumbled into a cucumber frame.
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After the fact, it seemed a sure encounter,
yet lest we forget
the distance, the time, even the math,
was really against it
my chances she would return to the same
library,
the same way
a week later, at the same time, on the very same day
were fractionally small, atomic, not there, at all
nevertheless I return to that library,
no hope on my face
yet it lives down inside me, beyond the great waste
at the edge of my country, in a corner so small
towers a new god, tall, yet tis only a flower
beyond my reach, protected from the
pluck
of human despair
by its conviction, I am driven to find, and to dare
into the parking lot, the looking glass shatters my mind
with a hearty "Hi Mark", the phantasm
I find
I stumble and grab for her name and her number
"Mandy", says she, and I'm blown away, thrown asunder
an odd name befitting an even more curious
girl, I say
but she is already gone, having moved
up the driveway
and I have no more answers, then I had had before.
* * *
With the number I can not reach her,
she is never
at home
again, dismay looms, again, watching the phone
a week passes, again I go back, go back, go back
the third times the charm (try, there
can be no harm)
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- She's tiny Alice once more, and meets
a Caterpillar.
- He says that one side of the mushroom will make her grow
- tall, and the other side short. Sizing herself up takes
- some trial and error.
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Again I do see her, again she is just leaving
my surprise is revealing, yet it is really bizarre
how she pops up around a shelf, a corner,
or out of a car
and surprises me totally, catches me off guard
like a Cheshire cat, yet this time there's a flair
"Come to my music recital at eight,
see you there."
* * *
Ah, not we are getting to a point, think I of
the chase
now here is somewhere, where she will stay in one place
and I can find my answers, of this curious
face
So I go to the flower shop, and question a man
I want a small bouquet of flowers, but
will it ruin my plan
is it appropriate for a recital, is
it too much,
I inquire politely
will it stand her still in one place, as I hope, or
anger her lightly
he says its appropriate, to make a sale or to help me
I know not which, I deliberate greatly
finally, eventually, I create an arrangement.
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- She attends a tea party. The guest list includes a
- thoroughly mad Hatter, a March Hare, and a Dormouse
- who keeps snoozing off. The Hatter
and March Hare dunk
- the Dormouse into the teapot.
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At the recital, I scan the faces, which is she?
Her face, I have never had a chance,
to study closely
I check the program, it is a viola she's playing
then that is her, in the front row, carefully swaying
the bow back and forth, the music she is feeling
I close my eyes, and dream of a time,
and of healing
when life was young, and I was a promise
green meadows, pastures, summer air, and happiness
I am so young, but I feel so old
feeling nothing has been better than
feeling the cold
the program is over, she exists stage right
I run to the car, with all of my might
I get those flowers, to catch her before she is gone
around a corner, she finds me alone
holding the flowers
holding the flowers, I give them to her
we walk back inside, and sit with her mother
everything is cool, we leave, but off she runs again
I feel at a loss, with this mystery
ever end?
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- Mark, unable to get her on the phone, is getting very
- annoyed. He can never engage a conversation,
because
- she is so flighty, so he decides to force a coup d'etat.
- A letter from his soul is the ticket - perhaps he can
- force a conversation to blossom.
So he writes this book,
- which you are now holding. Everything from here on, in
- this book, is only conjecture, it hasn't happened (yet).
- But this is on the other side of the
looking glass...
- even time is malleable, and rules are unrules.
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- At last Alice finds herself in the longed for garden.
- Playing-card characters scurry around.
Everyone is
- twitchy. The Queen of Hearts likes to shout, "Off with
- their heads!" The Queen demands a game of croquet, with
- flamingos for mallets, while the Cheshire
Cat fades in
- and out.
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So finally I am invited, I know not yet how
to visit her house, and sit with her
down
and talk with her family, and meet everyone
and finally get comfortable, and have some great fun
I am finally here, where this girl has come from
to learn her life story, her interests,
her emotional origin
her family seems cool, her brothers are crazy
running about, some fighting, some lazy.
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- A Mock Turtle and Gryphon dance a Lobster-Quadrille.
- The Turtle sings several choruses
of "Turtle Soup."
- The Gryphon calls for an encore, but a cry of
- "The trial's beginning!" interrupts, and all rush off.
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Two of them fight about what I don't know
the youngest, wanting attention, as always,
puts on a show
her mother and father, raise their hands
in frustration
everything's quite hectic, to my jubilation
finally peace settles down, and there is some sort
of quiet
a big family can be, sometimes, quite
a wild riot
Mandy's mother calls, she says its time for cake
we fetch to the table, and grab our own plate.
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- The Queen of Hearts makes some tarts. The Knave of
- Hearts steals them. "Sentence first - verdict
- afterwards," says the Queen. So goes
legal procedure in
- Wonderland. Fed up, Alice plays her trump: "You're
- nothing but a pack of cards!" As the cards fly up,
- she wakes from her dream.
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Mandy's mother has made some very beautiful
cookies and cakes
tasty and delicious, my mouth just can't wait
beautiful smells and decorations, all
fine and pretty
but things soon get out of hand, what a palatable pity
the boys have soon started, a dangerous food fight
and though my mouth aches, for those tasty delights
we must away from here, so I ask cute Mandy
where is this best friend, who taught her so handy
to talk like an Englishman, so clever, I say, what?
Out the door we go, and at a speedy horse - trot
down the street together, forewarned
or not,
into the sublime
through the looking glass we step
to another place, another time.
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