The Underrated Limerick

The limerick is an underrated art form.

You say "limerick" and people automatically think of the bawdy kind. But the limerick is simply a verse form (for those into such things, it's got the rhyme scheme of aabba, with a definite number of syllables and stresses in each line). They are usually humorous, but I'd even go so far as to say that most of them are not bawdy.

The king of the limerick was Edward Lear, an English writer of the Victorian age. He was roughly contemporary with Lewis Carroll, whom I mention in the same breath with good reason: what the two have in common is that both are thought of as writers for children.

Most people, if I ask them if they know of Lear, say No. However, if you ask them if they know certain of Lear's better-known works, such as "The Owl and the Pussy-Cat," they will say Yes. Lear wrote that, and "The Jumblies," and stories, a number of long poems, and many limericks. And more. (For a collection of his works, see The Nonsense Books of Edward Lear, New American Library, 1964.) He called what he wrote "nonsense," but I think that that word needs to be understood in a certain way. And the world needs more of this sort of nonsense, I feel.

I myself have written quite a few limericks. Most of them came about by a rather strange occurrence. It is strange to me—the only time this has happened to me—and I'm sure stranger still to anyone else—except those who already doubt my sanity.

This was while I was a graduate student, in the 1960s. For a period of about 24 hours, my mind just kept composing limericks. I think I was sitting in my classes writing limericks. When I went to bed at night, a limerick would form itself in my mind and I'd have to sit up, turn on the light, and write it down. Then I'd go back to bed—and the process repeated itself. Over and over. When this fit of limerick-writing finally passed, I'd written nearly 50 limericks (unfortunately I've lost a number of them because the paper has disintegrated over the years).

I've often thought they should be published and, from time to time, I've made a half-hearted effort to find someone who could do drawings to accompany them. (Lear's limericks have drawings which I presume he himself did.)

Copyright © 2009 by Richard Stein