Skip to main content

The Enthusiast

 Paul Zelinsky won awards for "Rapunzel" and "Rumpelstiltskin," and he worked with Beverly Cleary on "Dear Mr. Henshaw" and "Strider." In yet another burst of creativity, he illustrated "Swamp Angel," which was a kind of response to "Paul Bunyan" and "Johnny Appleseed."


("Swamp Angel" is an American tall tale--but, at last, it's a tall tale with a female protagonist.)

This would be enough for many artists, but, in yet another phase, Zelinsky *also* made the pop-up book that critics have called the greatest of all time. That's "The Wheels on the Bus."

You might not think this song has a plot, but it does. The wheels go round and round, and all's well--but then the lyrics suggest that something has changed. The wipers go swish; the windows go up. Why? The clouds must have gathered; it's raining.

It's this change in weather that fires Zelinsky's imagination. The portly driver bites his lip--an expression of anxiety. The world is reflected in puddles; umbrellas pop up on the sidewalk; one woman, trying to force the bus-window out of a jam, also struggles to keep her smiling, mischievous baby from wiggling out of its bjorn.

When the infants all begin to cry, one set of mom-eyes moves nervously from side to side, one mom kisses a tender forehead, and yet another mom puts an admonitory finger up to her lips.

The clouds clear; the sun shines through. The bus reaches its terminus: The Overtown Library. Everyone is gathering for a free public concert of folk songs.

An entire world in eight or nine stanzas.






Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...