*L* arthur ... now I think you won't mind if i tell you, just briefly, of
course, because i know that you don't have time for brainless chatter, you
have better things to do on a may evening, i am sure, we all have things to
do don't we, a life to live, yes, you won't mind if i tell you in a very few
words, and i promise i won't digree, i never do, not i!, so i will simply
say that i rather found this piece absolutely to the point. ;)

michi


----- Original Message -----
From: arthur seeley <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Saturday, May 03, 2003 6:07 PM
Subject: New sub: The Periphrasist


The Periphrasist.


A word with you if I may, a moment of your time,
why thank you, I am grateful, I shall not keep you long,
my father, it was, who often averred
that prolixity, sir, was a sin
and verbosity an indulgence of the undisciplined mind,
to say the least, and I am my father’s son
and will not, therefore, beat about the bush,
but come straight to the point,
for circumlocution, I know you will agree,
is a great waste of breath and time
and being a gentleman whose life,
I am sure, is as full and busy
as I assure you mine is also,
cannot afford the ineffectual and inefficient expense of either,
so I will get right to the heart of the matter,
not go round the houses, in needless perambulations,
for I eschew tortuous long-windedness, sir, deplore it utterly,
for I am not, you will have gathered,
from our brief acquaintance, by nature, loquacious,
my flow of words dams up with ‘ums’ and ‘errs’ and ‘as it weres’.
You understand, I’m sure, the need for pith and punch
a rapier of swift debate, I’ll be bound, an abjurer of idle chatter,
the pastime of women and sparrows, sir, I always say,
yes, a man after my own heart, I know it,
damn my eyes, I knew it right off,
not a man to bluster and prevaricate,
no penny-a-liner he, I thought,
starve he would if he were paid per word, I thought.
Am I right, sir, am I right? Of course I am right,
I have always prided myself upon my astute judgement of a man,
and you, sir, I can tell at a glance, are a man of few words
I can detect the odour of terseness about you, the aura of brevity,
never use two words where one might suffice, eh,
a coiner of the telling phrase, the apt response,
the witty thrust, the barbed word,
the bon-mot, the riposte that disarms.
My old father, I mentioned him before you will recall,
may he rest in peace, dead these twenty years or more, you know,
choked one Easter on a piece of crackling from a Wiltshire hog,
greatly upsetting my mother who was seated opposite him,
as she had been accustomed to since they were wed,
now he was a man who could still a room with a word,
admired around the town, he was, guest at many a feast,
invited for his conversation, no less, which blazed finely with brandy,
he was a person of some note, his savoir-faire renowned,
his repartee a thing of legend, ah, the parties he regaled
but I digress, where was I……?