Hi Arthur

Yes I have subscribed before, but I have been away fighting other
battles. Now I am back, but still fighting other battles (with my other
leg)

This gets curiouser and curiouser - the format you said it should have
been in looks exactly like the format I got it in before - is it summat
to do with hard returns?

STEVE

-----Original Message-----
From: The Pennine Poetry Works [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
Behalf Of arthur seeley
Sent: 05 May 2003 11:45
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Re: New sub: The Periphrasist ( Steve)


Steve , thanks for the read. You  seem to have received this in an
entirely different form to that in which I sent it. The lines do get
longer but not to the extent they appear in the version you piggy backed
on. Below is the original version which I hope transmits a little better
this time. I am sure you have subscribed before Steve, for your address
seems familiar, but not, I think, for some time. So welcome back.
Regards Arthur.



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..?