Growing up in a conservative Christian family, attending a private religious school, enmeshed within an immigrant community with a strong religious identity, I memorized countless pages of incomparable prose--Psalms and Gospel narratives, Proverbs and vast portions of the Heidelberg Catechism, various creeds and oh-so-many hymns and carols.
So, why is it, then, that the one thing, the one single thing, that I can still recite effortlessly, perfectly, fully, without having to stop, without thinking, is "The Jabberwocky"?
I dunno, but I suspect I'd be a better person if, in moments of crisis or stress, I could recall the Beatitudes or the 23rd Psalm or a Wesley hymn. But no, I conjure up, "Beware the Jabberwock, my son, the jaws that bite, the claws that catch!"
Which might not seem so odd, really. Fitting for periods of danger. But, the sad fact is, "The Jabberwocky" comes up at the most awkward times. Sex, for example. It's painful to admit, but in moments of extreme intimacy, here's what sometimes comes into my head: "One, two! One, two! And through and through/The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!" Yes, it's very strange. I do worry.
At other times, the poem's echoes have seemed rather more appropriate. During the Margaret Thatcher/Nancy Reagan era, for example, "Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun the frumious Bandersnatch" came to mind as a literal warning. And when the boys were little and had done something amazing, I would cheer, "Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!" These days, I'll look at a dazed undergrad and, I just can't help it, I think of: "And as in uffish thought he stood."
Twas brillig today. The slithy toves gyred and gimbled in the wabe. The borogroves were all mimsy. And the momes raths, the momes rath did totally outgrabe.
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