THE TWADDLE AND THE GURCK — INTERPRETED BY THE AUTHOR!
© 1999 by Travis Edward Pike  All Rights Reserved
A brief introduction seems in order.  The Twaddle and the Gurck is a tale of Otherworld.  Behavior quite natural there may be reprehensible to people from this world, but you must remember that this world’s social covenants simply do not exist in Otherworld.  In this interpretation, I have, instead of simply translating the text, sought to reveal this delightfully gruesome adventure from the perspective of this world and I fear that for some, it may cast the minions of Otherworld in an unfavorable light, but as one of their most famous bards once said, “Truth serves not.  It is its own unbending master,” and nothing less than the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth is acceptable if the story is to be told at all.
“THE TWADDLE AND THE GURCK”
“THE INTERPRETATION”
Cai, if an Illy cry, “Dunair!”
Cai, if an Owsie lie zerutch.
Cai, if an Elwith sigh, “Ferair!”
A Twaddle gare is overmuch.
 
 


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 “Cai” translates directly as “woe,” and each following phrase has to do with what would inspire woe in this otherworldly realm.  It is certainly an occasion of woe if an Illy cries “Dunair!”  An Illy is a gentle creature whose sorrow would melt the hardest heart.  As for an Owsie, a playful creature much loved and in demand by the minions of otherworld who prize Owsies as pets, who wouldn't mourn the sight of an Owsie “zerutched,” it’s life squished out of it in the middle of the road.  As much as you love and treasure your kitty or puppy, as well you should, for they make excellent pets for earthly folk, surely you can imagine the depth of sorrow experienced by the denizens of otherworld at the sight of a dead or worse still, mortally injured Owsie!  And of the Elwith’s mournful sigh, known to herald the death of someone close, there is no need to speak!  But as ever awful these several terrible events may be, nothing is more woeful than the arrival, in your vicinity, of a “Twaddle gare,” for the Twaddle is an insatiable killer and the death it deals is full of slashings and tearings and rippings and rendings and dismemberments too horrible to contemplate!  To a Twaddle, the killing of anything and everything in its path seems to be its sole purpose.  There has never been a more horrible otherworldly monster than the Twaddle, and even in the violent otherworld it is considered the ultimate evil, killing for pleasure, a creature outside nature itself!

Thus the refrain, and so, to the story . . .
Full tane and twilly were the Woof,
 
 
 

 

 The Woof are a tribe of like creatures, small and vulnerable taken one at a time, but more formidable when assembled to do battle in numbers.  In English we would expect “tane and twilly” to refer to their numbers, or to their size and dispostion, but in the language of Otherworld, it conveys a sense of both.
But their pockenthatch lang queerily denn.
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 Despite their numbers and readiness, they lack “pockenthatch” which translates well as morale or confidence.  This is conveyed by the phrase pertaining to their pockenthatch, reporting that it “lang queerily denn” or strangely subdued, yielding the sense that despite their numbers, preparedness and weapons, morale was low.  One could go so far as to say they were filled with dread and foreboding!
Sighed Imberlick, “Lass ho nee sufe!”
 
 
 

 

 Imberlick, the proper name of the leader of the Woof, friend to Umberling, another Woof, may here be invoking divine (or demonic), intervention.  The sense is “Let (something horrible) not come to pass,” here uttered as a charm against disaster, but also evocative of some arcane and mysterious power.
And Umberling gas worrilly, “Venn!”

 Umberling wishes the spell well, saying “So let it be” (or even “Amen”)!
The Twaddle cam and gye the twack,

 The Twaddle, a voracious monster, appears and attacks.
The Twaddle, gare and capricocious, The gory Twaddle, killing for the joy of it!
The Twaddle, ratch and lapfernack  The Twaddle with its swift and deadly claws.
And, inciderilly, ociferocious.

 

 The Twaddle, the most ferocious, mindless and sophisticated killer in all of Otherworld, offering no quarter for its prey!
Cai, if an Illy cry, “Dunair!”
Cai, if an Owsie lie zerutch.
Cai, if an Elwith sigh, “Ferair!”
A Twaddle gare is overmuch.
(The Refrain)
The Twaddle cam and gye the twack.
Noo, nee full twilly were the Woof.

 

 The narrator repeats the horrible fact of the sudden attack, but adds that after the first assault, the hapless Woof were already diminished in every respect.
The Twaddle cam.  The Woof fie back,

 

 For the third time, the narrator reports the onslaught, and describes the broken ranks and spirit of the fleeing Woof.
And Umberling fail his whifferpoof.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 Alas, a terrible fate befalls Umberling.  Was Umberling’s last stand intended to cover the withdrawal of Imberlick?  Was Imberlick the sacred king of the Woof?  He was certainly a notable.  After all, it was he who pronounced the invocation.  And when brave Umberling’s whifferpoof failed, did that cause the broken ranks and headlong flight of the Woof?  It has been suggested that “Umberling” is as much a rank or position as a name, and should be translated as “Underling,” but I believe Umberling was a creature of some importance.  After all, he is the only other Woof whose name is known to us. 

It matters little if a whifferpoof is a crossbow, blunderbuss or blowgun.  All that matters is that in the critical instant, the weapon failed, the Twaddle carried the day and Umberling was slain.  For those who walk the warrior’s path, there is nothing more horrible than the failing of one’s whifferpoof in the moment of confrontation!  Then, realization, resignation and certain death follow swiftly. 

How serious was the defeat of the Woof?  By the time the dust settled . . . 
The pockenthatch lang sterilly denn.

Not so much their morale as  their beings lay strewn on the field of death, lost forever.
The tane and twilly Woof were doon.
 		 All were down, doomed or dying, utterly destroyed by the ferocious Twaddle.
Noor Imberlick gang herrilly fenn,

 

 Only Imberlick, alone of all the Woof alive, escaped the field, his mind unhinged by the horror, his heart heavy with grief.
And the Twaddle sang ferloon.
 		 And the Twaddle sang its victory song, which is about what you’d expect a Twaddle to do!
Cai, if an Illy cry, “Dunair!”
Cai, if an Owsie lie zerutch.
Cai, if an Elwith sigh, “Ferair!”
A Twaddle gare is overmuch.
(The Familiar Refrain)
Imberlick cam on the floroo. Imberlick made his way to a brook.
He leg his werrilly doon and shree. He collapsed and wept for his lost comrades.
The ruferfull Woof lang gore and due,
   

 

 Notwithstanding the adjective “ruferfull,” to which we shall return, the Woof lay dead and dying, mutilated, terminated, suggested by the use of the otherworldly “due,” which conveys a dreadful sense of finality.
And cam a Gurck by oversee.
 		 And a Gurck happened along and saw Imberlick, lying by the brook, below.
The Gurck ree, “Hoe!”, and, “Rasperoo?”

 

 Well, at first the Gurck greeted Imberlick as anyone might, but then, seeing his miserable condition, asked what had happened.
And Imberlick then sare his core.
 

 

 And Imberlick told him.  To “sare his core” is to convey the gist of the story, not every detail, which he would not have known in the heat and horror of the battle, anyway.
The Gurck aire to, and sare, “Cai, noo?”
 		 The Gurck first listened, then demanded more details!
But Imberlick could nee fermore.

 

 But after telling of the failure of Umberling’s whifferpoof, Imberlick could not go on with the terrible account of the battle.
Cai, if an Illy cry, “Dunair!”
Cai, if an Owsie lie zerutch.
Cai, if an Elwith sigh, “Ferair!”
A Twaddle gare is overmuch.
(Surely, by now, you see the 
perfect sense of The Refrain!)
The Gurck rang haze and ree, “Noo, nye!
 		 The Gurck went into a bloodthirsty rage and shouted , “This is not the end of it!”
I irre nay from ratch and twack!
 		 Ratch and twack (carnage and slaughter) are not unknown to him, nor does he fear them!
The Twaddle, so, by me ferdie!”

 

 The Gurck vows to slay the Twaddle, to kill it to death!  It may sound silly to you, but it didn’t sound silly to Imberlick!
And Imberlick ree “No!  Ferback!”

 
 
 

 

 Imberlick begs the Gurck not to  interfere, to “stay out of it.”  Is this an effort to protect the Gurck from a terrible fate, or might some still more terrible catastrophe occur if the Gurck attempts to slay the Twaddle and fails?  The Twaddle’s killing spree was the result of its joyful pursuits.  What horror might ensue if the Twaddle was threatened or angry!
The Gurck, by fare an omniroo,
   

 

 Now, at last, a description of the Gurck.  "Omniroo” translates as “master,” but to be “by fare” a master is quite beyond simple mastery.  It is an honorific reserved for the unrivalled best in any given field!
An absolissimus ruferfull say,
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 Absolutely, which is just as I said!  And a “ruferfull say,” as well.  Well, a “say” implies wisdom, or perhaps in this instance, merely connotes a thorough knowledge of whatever art the Gurck possesses.  (I have trouble with adjectives like ruferfull.  Imagine dancing with a girl and suddenly she looks into your eyes and says, “Oh my, you are ruferfull!”  Well, should you smile or apologize?  It’s happened to me and I chose to smile, rather hopefully, I must admit, but she refused to dance with me again.)  What can it mean to be so full of rufer, anyway?  I think I know, and it doesn’t sound like an heroic attribute at all.  Ruferfull seems related to ruffian, or worse still, a bloody mercenary!  I’ve tried casting the Gurck as a sheriff, or rancher or forest ranger but it just doesn’t hold up.  I’m afraid, the ruferfull Gurck is a cold-blooded killer, and though he sides with the Woof, I suspect he's doing it for the notoriety!
With coperociousness terroo,
Noo figgery ruse his way.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

“With coperociousness terroo,” a terrible “ability to cope,” or in this case, to plan the destruction of his adversary, the Gurck now figures he’ll overcome the Twaddle through some subterfuge, through a ruse of some sort.  Wouldn’t a hero confront the beast and put his faith in the justice of his cause?  Well, not a Gurck.  “Figgery” actually suggests a conspiracy, but since he’s all alone, that hardly seems to fit.  But some otherworldly creatures have bicameral brains that are only occasionally in touch with their other side, and I suspect that may be the case with all bloodthirsty mercenaries!
Cai, if an Illy cry, “Dunair!”
Cai, if an Owsie lie zerutch.
Cai, if an Elwith sigh, “Ferair!”
A Twaddle gare is overmuch.
(I expect there will be more than 
enough “woe” to go around!)
The Twaddle lang full saferee,
 		 The Twaddle reclined at ease, secure in its deadly prowess.
But everso, his fearilly ratch

 

 Even though the creature was at ease, its fearful “ratch” (almost certainly its nervous, carnage-wreaking claws!)
Clang a farrowless lapferee,
 		 Ripped up everything that came within its grasp or too near its claws,
And goo the sperrilly doon for zatch!

 

 And “continued to destroy smaller creatures and their habitat as well, just for the sheer joy of destruction!
But the Gurck, with oralless fay,
 		 Which is to say, the sheriff (or mercenary), without a word of warning,
Cam the Twaddle from the roo, Snuck up on the Twaddle from behind,
And, with overtwack, ferslay
 
 

 

 This sounds like cold-blooded murder.  True, the Twaddle was a monster, and had to be destroyed, but you see what I mean about it not being a fair fight.  The Gurck snuck up on it and slit its throat or (with overtwack) cut off its head!
The garilly Twaddle, who ratch nerroo.
 		 Garilly or not, it wasn’t very likely to go around ratching anything after that, was it?
Cai, if an Illy cry, “Dunair!”
Cai, if an Owsie lie zerutch.
Cai, if an Elwith sigh, “Ferair!”
But ne'er a Twaddle for Gurck too much!

(The Final Refrain)
The entire tale boils down to this dramatic alteration of the last line of the refrain.  Well, the Gurck's rule seems to be that you always go home at the end of your shift.  It's no good trying to change it.  Otherworld is an honest place and its minions are wont to “tell it like it is.”

Pleasant dreams . . .