Ochity Bochity, Diggery-Doo


Look.  I’ve got important things to do. So I have asked my poet friend Beatitude Tutman to write something for the Pig.  Something really deep that no one can understand but makes them want to try so they can argue about it in the comments while I get some work done.

Tutman, as you may know, lives in a beach hut in Matzatlan on the Pacific coast of Mexico, trying to maintain a traditional beatnik life style while surrounded by drug lords shooting at each other.  He says he has to write really fast which is good because that’s how you get to the real Zen Tutman truth.  Here’s what he sent.

Ochity Bochity, Diggery Doo


Beatitude Tutman


In the frothy bubbling bowels

that bled so blithely when they

disemboweled  the basement

I found a secret signet

that secretes a certain substance —

and it certainly surprised me.


It warbled awful cheerily

and improbably began:

“Twee-dee, Twee-dee, Ti-twittery-tee

The bulk of the middle comes

after the ending.

The bulk of the ocean got sucked by

the sand.

I’ll tell you the rest before I’m embittered

I’ll tell you the rest before I begin.

You mustn’t relax or rely on the mountain

Or stop up the children by dreaming up rivers.

You must tell the truth or be bitten by raindrops,

You must eat the apple or box up your goods.

Twee-tee, Twee-tee, Twee tittery-tittery, box up

your apples or lap up the sand.”


The question of time bombs (not brought up till later),

inevitably darkens the humble remains.

The landscape did quiver, I felt up the lightning.

It felt like a desert laid out on the plain.

I questioned the meaning of all of this questioning,

I could hardly believe it had lasted so long.

I trembled and quibbled like Awful John Littleton

but wouldn’t relieve the recalcitrant throng.


“Beware of the mongoose, old brother, old beezer,

The twitch of his tail may erase your amends.”

He toddled off dripping like the old veterinarian

had addled his hardly incipient brain.

The hair on his head stood up brightly

like clover.

I begged him to cover his hideous stew.


The elephants gamboling like rainy-day women

could only incite him to riotous actions

like milkweed, like mosses, like elegant linen.

Like action, like unction, and pious remarks.

“Oh why”, said the carpet, “you tred like

an angel.

It bothers me mightily.”


I can’t help my silly self.

Ochity Bochity, Diggery Doo.


Like Tinkerbell, Beatitude depends on the faith of children to maintain his tenuous lifestyle.  Let him know you believe or he might disappear.


photo credit: http://www.traveljournals.net/travelers/adamhunt/pictures/

8 thoughts on “Ochity Bochity, Diggery-Doo

  1. Well, Mr. Tutman certainly succeeded in the so-deep-you-can’t-understand-it department. Darn glad I didn’t get this poem for my AP English essay analysis back in high school. On the other hand, I probably could’ve spewed a whole lot of theoretical nonsense and no one would’ve known the difference.


  2. Aw, this is an easy one. Tutman is being oblique, as we used to say. The significance is in the bop positioning of the words more than what the words mean. Tutman, I believe, was an early proponent of seeing what the words look like rather than worrying about what the words say. As a cat, one who chases and jumps after what you humans think are invisible imps, it all makes sense to me. Don’t ask me to explain, it would probably burn off your whiskers.


  3. I just wish he hadn’t put in that part about Awful John Littleton. I couldn’t find anything on him in Wikipedia. My question to you is, why wouldn’t he relieve the recalcitrant throng if he had the power to do so? And what does this have to do with Obama’s unfortunate choice of financial advisers?


  4. See, the fact he wouldn’t relieve the recalcitrant throng was, I believe, a nod to the notion of individual responsibility in the face of the unrepentant masses thinking themselves so bloody right simply because there were so many of them. Therein lies the tie to Obama’s choices. Just because a whole plethora of wooga-wooga say they are right doesn’t necessarily make them right, do it?

    Has anyone seen my catnip mouse? It was under the coffee table last I checked.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I’ve been reading up more on Awful John Littleton. Most people say this is the same Awful John Littleton that rode with Quantrill’s Raiders. “Quantrill’s Quibbler” they called him after he said he thought they shouldn’t burn, rape and pillage Lawrence, Kansas because people lived there.


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