On Farts, Life, and Religion
Conversation between myself and
several of my former Peace Corps colleagues have led to this discussion on some of the
basics of life that all folks will experience during their time on Earth. The culprits in this discussion and exchange
of emails are Stephen H. Fisher, Richard Niemi, and myself. Where possible I will assign credit to the
various sayings, quotes and contributions.
Farting was more than just a bodily
function for my two friends. It was once
recounted to me by the two of them that Niemi came to Fisher’s lodging in NYC
for Thanksgiving dinner. Fisher’s in
laws were also there, and while at the table Fisher is thought to have provoked
a farting contest with Niemi that simply was beyond the comprehension of
Fisher’s in laws. It did however
‘cement’ the relationship of Fisher and Niemi.
Editor’s
note: Niemi is recognized as one of the
true scholar-critics of my Tanzania Peace Corps group.. He
graduated summa cum laude from the U. of Minnesota in English literature
and continued on the way to a Phd. in the same field. When we trained together at Syracuse University in the
mid-1960’s Niemi gave dramatic readings and impressed all with his wonderful
voice. Much later when my wife Marie-Andree was
doing her Master’s in Teaching English as a Second Language, she taped Niemi’s
reading of “There Was a Child Went Forth” by Walt Whitman for one of her
classes. Niemi was also much admired for
his ability to curse in Shakespearean voice and enunciation.
September 6, 2022
A FART BY ANY OTHER NAME
In my regular
correspondence with another friend, one Alistair Smith, an accountant in
Zimbabwe he sent me the following:
ODE TO FART GETS AIRING AT LAST
By Polly Curtis, Education correspondent
June 23, 2005
Hundreds of poems banned in the 17th
century for discussing such salacious matters as ‘stincking’ farts in
parliament have been published together for the first time.
The poems and lyrics provide a
running commentary on the political and royal scandals of the day, outing the
homosexual affairs of kings and exposing political assassins. They were banned under the tough censorship laws
in the run-up to the civil war in 1640.
Some 350 examples of libelous
rhymes, previously tucked away in old manuscripts in the British library or the
Bodleian in Oxford, have been collected by Professor Andrew McRae, of the
university of Exeter, and Professor Alastair Bellany, of Rutgers University and
published on a website.
The Censure of the Parliament
Fart (1607) was written as an ode to a fart emitted during a parliamentary
debate. “It’s clearly prompted by a
bloke who farted in parliament in 1607. Obviously,
it’s a lot more about parliament as an institution and how it functions. It was hugely popular, and people were
reading it for 50 years after it was written.
The Censure of the Parliament Fart (1607)
Never was bestowed such an art
Upon the turning of a fart.
Downe came grave autient Sir John Cooke
And redd his message in his booke…
Fearie well, Quoth Sir William Morris, Soe:
But Henry Ludlowes Tayle cry’d Noe.
Up starts on fuller of devotion
The Eloquence; and said a very ill motion
So neither
quoth Sir Henry Jenkin
The Motion was good; but for the stincking
Well quoth sir Henry Poole it was a bold tricke
To Fart in the nose of the bodie politieque
Indeed I confess quoth Sir Edward Grevill
Thanke God quoth Sir Edward Hungerford
That this Fart proved not a Turdd.
The above poem was forwarded by
Brose to Dick Niemi, knowing full well his interest in the subject matter. Also accompanying that missive was Brose’s
own composition.
An Ode to the First Fart
As the Almighty looked down
On what he'd begat,
He smiled so hard
He almost shat.
Can’t help it,
these evil, pernicious thoughts keep passing through my mind. Brose
June 27, 2005 You take my breath away – at both ends.
I’d say you have
talent enough for something complex, like a limerick. How about cooking one up? Niemi
My reply: June 28, 2005 at 9:53 AM
A limerick it is.
When
searching for palms and warm breeze
A fart was entrenched in feces.
It recoiled past the liver
And whilst forcing a shiver
Was coughed up and ejected a wheeze.
Now, How ‘bout a sonnet from you, dear Niemi? Brose
Reply from Niemi:
Little did I
imagine that I would be so unfortunate as to have you take up my offer.
It occurs to one
that you might have spent the wee hours toiling over this vile specimen. And now, having spawned this latest addition
to the world’s supply of doggerel, you make bold to assign me a verse form
nearly three times longer and excessively taxing in its rhyming
requirements. Were I to accept this
task, why, I should have to devote a fartnight…. fortnight to the doing of it.
Yet, how can I
decline? You, after all, leapt to my
challenge like a dungbeetle assaulting an elephant bolus. A sonnet, is it. Give me a few days. Give me until Labor Day.
If, by some
miracle, I manage to grind out 14 lines of drivel, you, sir, will then be
liable for a short narrative verse of at least double the lines, comprised of
rhyming couplets in trochaic tetrameter.
God’s blood,
Niemi
On a roll, within
an hour I concocted this reply to the Master:
I would not deign
ask you, Great Dick, to foul your life with such travail
‘Tis the harvest
soon upon us and hoes and implements must now prevail.
The fortunes of
Bayer and other relievers of pain should not be posted to burners back.
Whilst noble poet
doth place his mind upon the rack.
This tetrameter of
trochaic nature that you purport
To thrust upon my
honor as last resort to
Besmirch and permit cries of foul nature upon my
profession’s holy rep
Says only that you
doubt a lowly jockstrap’s power to brew a concept.
For indeed that stenchly
support of playing fields profane
Did once a wit and
several points quotient oft restrain.
I relieve you of
said burden, oh once so princely, Mr. Dick
And look toward
yonder bullpen, perhaps to find a stiffer Prick.
Brose
June 29, 2005 13:02 And back with no pause from Niemi
Well, well,
well. You’ve followed up your slow curve
with a hard slider breaking low and away.
I have a protest,
a question, and a comment.
1.
You
do wrong me, sir, if you claim to detect any suggestion of snobbishness on my
part, or disparagement of the working class.
I myself am descended from Finnish iron-miners and to this day
voluntarily and cheerfully stick my pitchfork into shit on a regular basis.
2.
The
last thing I would ever do is drive an earthmover of criticism over this
delicate poetic flower you have so painstakingly crafted, but I am compelled to
ask: In the first two lines of stanza
three, are you alluding to your experiences as a teacher?
3.
Even
though your intent is to drive an arrow through my heart, I must admire the
genuine brilliance of lines 3 and 4 of the last stanza. It was a real reward for persevering to the
end.
You are well on your way to becoming Poet Laureate….of
what? The Dunghill? I’d take my hat off to you if you wouldn’t
wipe your arse with it. …..Niemi
Part II
In this section the author(s) will be taking aliases to protect their professional reputations. Brose will be Steiner, Fisher will be Classen, and Niemi will be Nieminen. I have chosen to call our literary group: The Circle
WARNING: Some of you of a religious bent may wish to terminate your reading at this point.
The Circle or Farts in the Bible
by George Brose (Steiner) in correspondence with Stephen Fisher (Classen) and Richard Niemi (Niemenen)
The mid-August humidity engulfed the one story, cinder block building with the faded County Coroner’s Office hand painted in black letters on the blistering white, mildew encrusted blocks of crumbling concrete. A small sign was taped on the inside of the glass in the front door, Mediation Office.
It was almost as hot inside as the air outside. Only difference was the humidity and stuffiness inside the building. It smelled stale, like week-old bread with the wrapper left open, and the air tasted of mold when mouthing curses about County Maintenance. Jake Steiner had his shoeless, sweaty feet propped on the chair back next to his desk reading e-mail from former friends and colleagues now living around the country and planet. Most were in their early sixties either retired or about to be. They were the front end of the Baby Boom, now the village elders in their communities hoping for a few more years of worry-free life before booking into a nursing home in which to close out their existences.
They all seemed to have some type of retirement plan, except Steiner who had never had a plan in life. He just drifted through it, taking it as it appeared and finding ways to survive and raise a family in the process. Life had never been particularly hard or cruel to him and his family. Even though both his parents had died unexpectedly in accidents, they had lived full and complete lives and had not suffered long and painful illnesses.
Classen in his vile best had written that morning via e-mail about ‘farts appearing in the Bible’.
“Dear Jake,”
“I believe you asserted that you did not know where to find the word “fart” in the Bible. Pole (Swahili for ‘sorry, too bad’, pronounced po lay).
“I suspect you’ve been rooting around the Old Testament in your search for four-letter words. For example.”
ISAIAH 36:12
Hath he not sent me to the men that sit upon the walk that they may eat their own dung, and drink their own piss with you. [note: The words “shit” and “turd” had not yet been coined in the early 17th century A.D. – transcriber]
Isaiah was a fairly original writer most of the time, but in this instance the son of a bitch was plagiarizing the author of II KINGS, who writes (18:27):
Hath he not sent me to the men which [!] sit on [!] the wall, that they many eat their own dung and drink their own piss with you?
Note that the same four-letter word, “wall,” figures in another scatological passage I SAMUEL (25:22):
So and more also do God unto the enemies of David, if I leave of all that pertain to him by the morning light any that pisseth against the wall.
No, young Steiner, if you want to see the word “fart” in the Bible you have to go to the kinder, gentler New Testament. Check II TIMOTHY 2:34 and clip a clothes pin on your nose.
Scriptfully yours,
Classen
Steiner grinned outwardly and hooted internally at Classen’s latest outpouring. No one in the Circle could keep up with Classen who had been a career journalist with some of the nation’s most recognizable newspapers. Classen was now living on a ridge of mountains in northeastern Tanzania, collecting Social Security checks and raising a second family. Steiner had just read somewhere that H. L. Mencken had said that ‘...a journalist was a reporter with two pantaloons.’
All partners in the Circle had been in the overseas service as volunteer teachers in the mid 1960s. They had kept in touch for 40 years via mail, email, personal visits, and volunteer reunions. Classen had once written sport for the New York Times, then edited at a respectable Midwest paper and then went back to the East Coast for another daily before putting a bit of money away in a pension fund and moving permanently back to Tanzania. Classen was a native Oklahoman, and both he and Steiner had unknowingly crossed paths at the U. of Oklahoma when Classen was a young sportswriter in Oklahoma City and Steiner was on a sports scholarship at Sooner Than Later U. They were coincidentally both sons of plumbers.
Niemenen, a third member of the Circle, was a Finnish American from International Falls Minnesota now driving a computer for Bayer Aspirin in northern Indiana.
Steiner looked around his scruffy little office in the windowless building where he managed a mediation program for the Domestic Relations Court next door. He had been deposited there to organize the lives and schedule mediations with families of abused children, divorcing parents, truants, and various other delinquents and malfeasants. The coroner used the other half of the building, not for post mortems, fortunately, just paper work.
One might wonder, what there would be to mediate with a drug dependent mother and her abusive husband after they had failed to take their six-month old baby to a doctor when the child had been screaming for several days, until neighbors called Child Protective Services. At the hospital the child might have tested positive for crack cocaine in its system or unmended broken bones and been removed from the parents. Usually the case plan was reviewed in the mediation, and it was a period when all family members, social workers, prosecutor, parents' attorneys, and extended family members could sit down at the same time in a safe place and discuss what would have to be done by parents to hope to get their child returned to them or to visit the child while waiting to be re-united. Ninety-nine point nine percent of the parents said they would do anything to get their kids back. ‘We just love’m to death.’ Yeah and you’re just about killing them with your affection, folks. Would you be willing to piss in a bottle and let us see what you’re carrying in your system today? Most disrespectfully declined on advice from their court appointed, state tax funded attorneys.
Another dispatch came over the net from Classen.
From: Lushoto, Tanzania
Dear Steiner and Nieminen,
Explain wherefore lurk you of late
In places where hookers do circulate.
Je (interrogative in Swahili) you picturing images
Of one on one scrimmages
For bedtime when off you will jerkulate?
The Circle composed and proposed limericks and other poetic formats to prod fellow members to new heights of correspondence. Nieminen and Classen at one time had shared a copy of Some Limericks edited by Norman Douglas in the 1920’s, and both bowed to Douglas’ witty commentary about some of the classic limericks listed in his book. An example of which follows:
“There was a young man of Peru
Who dreamt he was had by a Jew.
He woke up at night In a hell of a fright,
And found it was perfectly true.”
The editor, Mr. Douglas follows with this commentary:
“That dreams should convey premonitions of bodily states is well known to the medical profession. An oncoming illness is often heralded in dreams by a sense of uneasiness in that particular region of the body, and it is the experience of nearly all boys that nocturnal emissions are preceded by sexually suggestive visions on the part of the sleeper."
Steiner knew he had to get back to work sometime during the afternoon, but the lack of air conditioning in August was taking a toll on his productivity. He called the once battered mother who had taken the courageous step of leaving her husband. Steiner had interviewed her back in July. She had recounted some of the history of violence in her marriage describing the beatings and what had led up to her finally leaving him. He had kept a plastic garbage can outside the house reserved for her to be cut up and placed inside if she ever thought of leaving him. She indicated that wasn’t enough for her to leave. She was too frightened to leave or seek help. He had always kept loaded guns in the house, and she too was familiar with their use. When a friend with small children had made a daytime visit she had unloaded the shotgun in their bedroom. By coincidence that night he threatened her and pointed the shotgun at her head and pulled the trigger. It didn’t go off. Steiner asked if that is when she left him. No not yet. The kicker was when her sister had been killed by her abusive husband while she was nursing her baby. When that happened, that’s the day she decided her violent marriage could well end in her death, and she was out of the house that night with her son. Now six years later her ex husband had filed for additional visitation with their sixteen year old son and the Court had sent it to Steiner to mediate between the parents. Normally Steiner refused when this much family violence was part of the marriage. But after interviewing her it turned out that this woman insisted on the mediation and she was clearly holding the best cards and was no longer intimidated by the ex. Most domestic abuse cases never ended that well for the victim.
Another little ditty was told to Steiner in a pre-mediation interview. A mother came in, because her sixteen year old son was having problems at his ‘Christian’ high school.
He was very controlling and violent toward his girlfriend. Wanted to drop out and join the Navy, but he didn’t understand that he really needed to finish school before the Navy would accept him. He refused to get a driver’s license so he could manipulate his girlfriend into driving him wherever he needed to be. The kid had some serious issues. I asked her why she thought he might be this way. She said that she had left the father when the boy was six years old. But he had witnessed his mother getting knocked around the house by Dad. Then a stranger broke into the house and tried to kill her. The guy just seemed to know where everything was in the house as if he had been tipped off by someone. She felt the father had hired the guy to do the job for him. The killer didn’t succeed, and from that point it took the mother six more months of scrimping and saving to have enough money to leave the home and get a divorce. West Virginia doesn’t support battered women that much. She moved up to Steiner’s area and raised the boy by herself and since remarried to a good man. Nevertheless the mark of the father was strongly imprinted on the son. The mediation set out a list of behavioral expectations for the kid both in school and at home and with his girlfriend, and consequences were set. Mom was expected to get the son into counseling for his anger. There was not much else that could be done for them. But it did give mom a clear set of guidelines to follow both for her self and for the child. Hopefully he wouldn’t commit an assault on her or his stepfather.
Finally Steiner saw it was checkout time. He walked across the steaming parking lot to the Court House where he punched the time clock and hoped that none of his clients would do too much damage before they came in for their mediations scheduled the next day. He planned to run an easy ten miles to get the system out of his system and be ready for what tomorrow would bring. He found that he needed the humor of his companions to keep his head above water in this job.
