FerenjiNan's Backpack by sparclear
In January 2015 FerenjiNan packed her well travelled backpack again. Her mission: puppet shows in Laos.
The trusty old backpack lies there, slowly filling.
Yes, a few well worn garments are rolled in, the comfy ones, with history. A couple of flutes and whistles.
Scant stuff.
One likes to travel light.
To see the light.
But more essentially, it fills with hopes, with anticipations, wishes for happiness to be found, and given.
It fills with the knowingness of not knowing. The certainty of insecurity, the possibilities of pain and fear and love.
So it sits there as things are flung in and pulled out.
Inanimate?
Does it perhaps complain? Oh! Going there again? But really, people are starting to sneer at my age and shabbiness. To them it is not a patina of experience...they condescend. Mere yoofs, yah, weren't even born when first I saw the baby Indus.
Hold yer whisht! I tell it. Let them sneer. Their memory banks are paltry chambers, with commonplace name-brand objects du jour lying in empty spiderwebbed corners. Gap-year herds wheeling along well trodden cliches.
You, the Xenophon of rucksacks, what you've seen, why you could write a book! True, you've a few patches, but also, newish zippers- with history!
You're good to go.
The modern pipsqueaks of rolly cases, they cannot be repaired. Early graves for them. You- miles to go before you sleep.
With luck, we can last together.
So hush now, time is drawing near.
off again.
Yes, a few well worn garments are rolled in, the comfy ones, with history. A couple of flutes and whistles.
Scant stuff.
One likes to travel light.
To see the light.
But more essentially, it fills with hopes, with anticipations, wishes for happiness to be found, and given.
It fills with the knowingness of not knowing. The certainty of insecurity, the possibilities of pain and fear and love.
So it sits there as things are flung in and pulled out.
Inanimate?
Does it perhaps complain? Oh! Going there again? But really, people are starting to sneer at my age and shabbiness. To them it is not a patina of experience...they condescend. Mere yoofs, yah, weren't even born when first I saw the baby Indus.
Hold yer whisht! I tell it. Let them sneer. Their memory banks are paltry chambers, with commonplace name-brand objects du jour lying in empty spiderwebbed corners. Gap-year herds wheeling along well trodden cliches.
You, the Xenophon of rucksacks, what you've seen, why you could write a book! True, you've a few patches, but also, newish zippers- with history!
You're good to go.
The modern pipsqueaks of rolly cases, they cannot be repaired. Early graves for them. You- miles to go before you sleep.
With luck, we can last together.
So hush now, time is drawing near.
off again.
Old Backpack: Look...
Flute 1 : I've told you before, not to squeeze me just there.
OB: It's nothing to do wi me, chum.
Flute 1: [crossly] Oh, I suppose that makes it all right then.
Flute 2: Why not breathe in, and slip yourself down amongst these socksies?
F1: Might have known you'd come up with some "bright suggestion".
OB: Oooof!
Ferenjia: [Firmly] This is the rucksack Nan stuffed. These are the puppets to ride in the sack. These are the shirts that wrap the puppets that go in the pack that's 13a's aloft and is poked by the flutes that fought in the socks that Nan stuffed. This is the passport, frayed and worn, that held the photo night & morn, that was seen by uniformed men at dawn, who searched the pack that came from the back that trod the Earth for Theatre's sake....
sparclear
09 January 2015 10:12am
Old Backpack: Can we go now? Please?
Flute 2: Oh, goody!
Socksie 2: Don't rejoice too soon...
Flute 1: I appear to be still here. [whines] Can't I be left on the mantelpiece?
Socksie 1: [with a tone of bogus mystery] Hot air has its place.
Ferenjia: Right! I think that's everything! This is the trek that Nan takes. All the kit that makes the trip that Nan takes. This is the string that knots the top that closes the sack that Nan lifts. Here's the ticket to pay the way and make the day of the ferryman. These are the puppets fashioned by friends to grow Love's wings and say wise things. These 2 flutes will whistle up juice to trickle a spell into childish ears and light up smiles and lift the blinds and warm the hearts of the Travellers....
sparclear FerenjiNan
24 February 2015 10:43am
This is the backpack Nan totes. This is the flute in the side of the pack, and this is the memory sweet and cute, saved from the journey as Nan floats. Here are the puppets, ragged and frayed, who purposeful theatre daily made, that laughed and bobbed and worked and lobbed, & ride in the pack with Nan's coats. Round them the soxies, woollen and worn, who fitted the chilliest feet at dawn, washed at intervals far from home, and riding along where'er she roam. Quick Friends Love the high notes.
sparclear FerenjiNan
27 February 2015 9:06am
Here is the Nan that travel smote. This is the shoulder strap, stout but worn, that joined the pack which Nan tote. Here are the travellers up in the sky, who send their greetings by and by, and wobble alongside Nan's note.
sparclear FerenjiNan
02 March 2015 11:51am
Here is the chaise, so longue and strongue, that props Ferenjia sleepwards. Backpack is slumped and empty of flutes, spilled her socksies and her boots, who wanted to travel more, more. Those are the puppets the babes adore, sat on a shelf right by the door, fit to 14d a tune for the floor, that sets the café dancing for sure.
Flute 1 : I've told you before, not to squeeze me just there.
OB: It's nothing to do wi me, chum.
Flute 1: [crossly] Oh, I suppose that makes it all right then.
Flute 2: Why not breathe in, and slip yourself down amongst these socksies?
F1: Might have known you'd come up with some "bright suggestion".
OB: Oooof!
Ferenjia: [Firmly] This is the rucksack Nan stuffed. These are the puppets to ride in the sack. These are the shirts that wrap the puppets that go in the pack that's 13a's aloft and is poked by the flutes that fought in the socks that Nan stuffed. This is the passport, frayed and worn, that held the photo night & morn, that was seen by uniformed men at dawn, who searched the pack that came from the back that trod the Earth for Theatre's sake....
sparclear
09 January 2015 10:12am
Old Backpack: Can we go now? Please?
Flute 2: Oh, goody!
Socksie 2: Don't rejoice too soon...
Flute 1: I appear to be still here. [whines] Can't I be left on the mantelpiece?
Socksie 1: [with a tone of bogus mystery] Hot air has its place.
Ferenjia: Right! I think that's everything! This is the trek that Nan takes. All the kit that makes the trip that Nan takes. This is the string that knots the top that closes the sack that Nan lifts. Here's the ticket to pay the way and make the day of the ferryman. These are the puppets fashioned by friends to grow Love's wings and say wise things. These 2 flutes will whistle up juice to trickle a spell into childish ears and light up smiles and lift the blinds and warm the hearts of the Travellers....
sparclear FerenjiNan
24 February 2015 10:43am
This is the backpack Nan totes. This is the flute in the side of the pack, and this is the memory sweet and cute, saved from the journey as Nan floats. Here are the puppets, ragged and frayed, who purposeful theatre daily made, that laughed and bobbed and worked and lobbed, & ride in the pack with Nan's coats. Round them the soxies, woollen and worn, who fitted the chilliest feet at dawn, washed at intervals far from home, and riding along where'er she roam. Quick Friends Love the high notes.
sparclear FerenjiNan
27 February 2015 9:06am
Here is the Nan that travel smote. This is the shoulder strap, stout but worn, that joined the pack which Nan tote. Here are the travellers up in the sky, who send their greetings by and by, and wobble alongside Nan's note.
sparclear FerenjiNan
02 March 2015 11:51am
Here is the chaise, so longue and strongue, that props Ferenjia sleepwards. Backpack is slumped and empty of flutes, spilled her socksies and her boots, who wanted to travel more, more. Those are the puppets the babes adore, sat on a shelf right by the door, fit to 14d a tune for the floor, that sets the café dancing for sure.
FerenjiNan
18 March 2015 5:21am
18 March 2015 5:21am
Old Backpack flops
empty and forlorn,
under the bed
old memories to mourn.
Bouncing around atop a bus
sprayed by a riverboat's wake
amiable, without fuss
accepting all, for the sake...
of Adventures on the Open Road
(Bloop bloop)
But stay!
The Moving Finger poises,
strikes a key
making Ali Baba's magic noises
Moves on, and a ticket doth appear!
The Clans begin to Gather...
empty and forlorn,
under the bed
old memories to mourn.
Bouncing around atop a bus
sprayed by a riverboat's wake
amiable, without fuss
accepting all, for the sake...
of Adventures on the Open Road
(Bloop bloop)
But stay!
The Moving Finger poises,
strikes a key
making Ali Baba's magic noises
Moves on, and a ticket doth appear!
The Clans begin to Gather...
OldBackpack: Can't you sit still for a single minute?
FirstFlute: Thought you'd have known the answer to that by now!
SecondFlute: 'E don't know the answer to nuffink.
OB: That was uncalled for, you old bent Twoosie.
SocksieOne: I'm going for my shower before any more spittle flies.
SocksieTwo: Me too. Can we share? Or is that asking too much?
SO: Anything for you, darling.
ST: We can't afford to let ourselves go...mustn't look threadbare...BSB might see us soon, and we'll be darned if we - have holes -
OB: Talking of which, I'm due for a little repair.
FF: Aren't we all?
SF: You speak for yerself. Some folk call me bent, but I'm in Showroom condition.
FerenjiNan: This is the needle for Nan's thread. These are the items faded and torn that need our loving care this morn, whose stitches frayed all fringed and worn, replaced today the Muse said. Here is the thimble stout an light, sat on the mantlepiece overnight, ready with scissors sharp and bright, and dental floss in the thread's stead. No good yelping when tweaks and snips take away roughness, holes and rips, all to patch our tired old rips, and make us fit for World Tread.
FirstFlute: Thought you'd have known the answer to that by now!
SecondFlute: 'E don't know the answer to nuffink.
OB: That was uncalled for, you old bent Twoosie.
SocksieOne: I'm going for my shower before any more spittle flies.
SocksieTwo: Me too. Can we share? Or is that asking too much?
SO: Anything for you, darling.
ST: We can't afford to let ourselves go...mustn't look threadbare...BSB might see us soon, and we'll be darned if we - have holes -
OB: Talking of which, I'm due for a little repair.
FF: Aren't we all?
SF: You speak for yerself. Some folk call me bent, but I'm in Showroom condition.
FerenjiNan: This is the needle for Nan's thread. These are the items faded and torn that need our loving care this morn, whose stitches frayed all fringed and worn, replaced today the Muse said. Here is the thimble stout an light, sat on the mantlepiece overnight, ready with scissors sharp and bright, and dental floss in the thread's stead. No good yelping when tweaks and snips take away roughness, holes and rips, all to patch our tired old rips, and make us fit for World Tread.