- Elector_Nerdlingen
- Sep 27, 2004
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I have a thing for long-rear end poems. I'm not going to post the text of them here.
Coleridge's The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner is probably my absolute favorite: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173253
I love the whole part with the ghost-ship, but this is my favorite single verse:
quote:
The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow followed free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.
There's also The Jervis Bay, by Michael Thwaites. It's probably longer than the Ancient Mariner, and it's also a sea-poem. This one's about an armed merchant ship trying to protect a convoy from a German warship. It's sad as gently caress. http://handle.slv.vic.gov.au/10381/94681
Also, pretty much anything Henry Lawson wrote. Not so much his "the Australian bush is really great" stuff, but his stuff about working-class people and revolution is awesome.
This is "My Army, O, My Army!". The final two lines are amazing.
quote:
My army, O, my army! The time I dreamed of comes!
I want to see your colours; I want to hear your drums!
I heard them in my boyhood when all men's hearts seemed cold;
I heard them as a Young Man — and I am growing old!
My army, O, my army! The signs are manifold!
My army, O, my army! My army and my Queen!
I used to sing your battle-songs when I was seventeen!
They came to me from ages, they came from far and near;
They came to me from Paris, they came to me from Here! —
They came when I was marching with the Army of the Rear.
My Queen's dark eyes were flashing (oh, she was younger then!);
My Queen's Red Cap was redder than the reddest blood of men!
My Queen marched like an Amazon, with anger manifest —
Her dark hair darkly matted from a knifegash in her breast
(For blood will flow where milk will not — her sisters knew the rest).
My legions ne'er were listed, they had no need to be;
My army ne'er was trained in arms — 'twas trained in misery!
It took long years to mould it, but war could never drown
The shuffling of my army's feet in the hunger-haunted town —
A little child was murdered, and so Tyranny went down.
My army kept no order, my army kept no time;
My army dug no trenches, yet died in dust and slime;
Its troops were fiercely ignorant, as to the manner born;
Its clothes were rags and tatters, or patches worn and torn —
Ah, me! It wore a uniform that I have often worn!
The faces of my army were ghastly as the dead;
My army's cause was Hunger, my army's cry was "Bread!"
It called on God and Mary and Christ of Nazareth;
It cried to kings and courtesans that fainted at its breath —
Its women beat their poor, flat breasts where babes had starved to death.
My army! My army — I hear the sound of drums
Above the roar of battles — and, lo! my army comes!
Nor creed of man may stay it — nor war, nor nation's law —
The pikes go through the firing-lines as pitchforks go through straw —
Like pitchforks through the litter, while empires stand in awe.
I also love "The Sign Of The Old Black Eye".
quote:
When your rifle is lost, and your bayonet too,
And your mates have all turned tail,
And captain and country are done with you,
And the chances are death or gaol —
When the treacherous knife for your throat is raised
Or the handcuffs held for your wrists —
Then put up a fight with your fists, old man!
Oh, put up a fight with your fists!
For the sign of a man since strife began
(Which nobody can deny),
Of the Man who Won, and the Beaten Man,
Was the sign of the Old Black Eye.
Oh, the signs of a man since a man had foes,
To show 'em the reason why,
Were ever the sign of the Broken Nose
And the sign of the Blue-Black Eye.
When you're down in the world where you once were up —
When weather and friends were fair —
And the coat you wear is a lonesome coat,
And your pants are a lonesome pair,
When the friends who borrowed when luck was good
All leave you severely alone,
Then put up a fight on your own, old man!
Oh, put up a fight on your own!
You'll need to stand, where the down-track ends,
With your drink-lulled senses clear,
For you'll get no help from your fine new friends,
And you'll get no help from beer.
They'll call you a boozer and loafer and all,
And be noble for your disgrace.
But put your back to the nearest wall,
And strike at the nearest face.
There are friends you helped, when your star was high,
Who pass you as something strange —
Oh, they drank your beer in the days gone by,
And they borrowed your careless change!
But you pass 'em blind and you pass 'em dumb,
And they'll borrow your cash again;
For they'll drink your wine in the days to come,
And you'll pity the world of men.
There were friends that you lost by your own neglect
In the days of your sinful pride;
There were friends that you lost with your self-respect
Who'd have fought for you side by side.
You'd never have thought it would come to this —
That you'd battle the world alone —
But swallow the lump in your throat, old man,
And put up a fight of your own.
There were friends who came thrice, with help and advice,
Ere the days of your folly were spent —
Oh, you wish you had answered the letters they wrote
And paid back the money they lent!
Think not of the grey-black mists behind,
Nor the future's lurid mists,
But put up a fight with your fists (so to speak) —
Oh, put up a fight with your fists.
You'll know, when it's done, and the fight you've won —
And won on your lonesome own —
That a man goes up with a host of friends,
But a man goes down alone.
But you laugh at it all as they chair you in,
As they did in the days gone by,
And they'll chuckle and grin, and drink to your win,
At the Sign of the Old Black Eye.
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Nov 20, 2013 07:32
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