Another thing about it that has to be said parenthetically. That the sun was very bright. And the wind was very windy in those days. And the tumbleweeds tumbled. They really did. And streetcars roared, and the lake boomed on the shore.
And living beside a Great Lake when spring comes is a very exciting thing. It’s not quite like it is living next to the ocean, because the ocean, you know, tempers the season in a way the Lakes don’t. The Lakes are very cold in the springtime. And the ice that grips that part of the country had broken and cracked away a few weeks before, and now it is alive again! And you can feel the hot wind coming up from the south and it hits that cold air hanging over the Lake and it would be beautiful—just cataclysmic June thunder showers that would come from where those two pieces of air are hitting. And it would all come right down where we lived, right there at the dividing line.
And on one side there would be dogwood and tulip trees blooming. (The state flower of Indiana is the tulip tree.) So there would be tulip trees hanging over there in the dunes, and the dogwood climbing up the side of the hills, and those big, fantastic thundershowers would come roaring down. It’s springtime, my god, it’s really spring! You knew it. Things were moving—you could hear it. Always. Another thing you could hear in the springtime is the very beginnings of frogsongs—I cannot describe to you the sound of the frogs at eight or nine o’clock at night in June in Northern Indiana. Just like the whole earth is singing and making this one, long, warbling note just going on and on and on.
My Ubu Raw
[Pardon the appropriate/objectionable word on the cover and elsewhere. There are five sheets plus a final page with its instructions and special applicator for completing the art project at its appropriate end.]
(Note that TV has recently shown several poop-related ads: hemorrhoid ointment; toilet paper; odor reducing spray for “#2” to none of which I have yet adequately accustomed myself. I still consider them, on the public media, questionable displays of tastelessness.)
Despite these recent public displays of scatollogy, to preclude potential public agitation in the streets, highways, and byways of the Internet, and though I feel that Art and related Artsys should be allowed much wider latitude and longitude, I sadly, hereby, perform an act of self-censorship (forgive me the unforgivable self-indulgence–it’s been a humdinger):
Backside of Box
The publishers [New Directions] are grateful to
Gaberbocchus Press, Ltd.
….Ubu was conceived as hideous, grotesque, with a pear-shaped head, practically no hair and enormous, flabby stomach; the embodiment of cupidity, stupidity, brutality, ferocity.
[Jarry]….then for two days no one saw him. Two of his friends went to see what had become of him and found him lying on his straw bed in a state of indescribable filth, paralyzed in both legs and unaware of what had happened. He was taken to hospital where he became rapidly weaker. And on the 1st November, 1907, he died, at the age of 34. His last request was for a toothpick.