General Chat

That is beautiful BC, I have copied it, very peaceful Dee ;-))

This is a poem by Wendell Berry and it is on my dressing table. Whenever I feel stressed or worried, it soothes me.. The Peace of Wild Things When despair for the world grows in me And I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief, I come into the presence of still water. And I feel `above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Very true Helen My son bought me a book of Latin for Family Historians, but I must admit I have found it quite hard going Dee ;-))

CBand Dee, The other thing Latin is good for is translating gravestones!!!!

I will try Faith ;-)) Annie Found your poem, you have remembered it well if it is 40 years since you have seen it Dee ;-)) They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest Uncoffined ? just as found: His landmark is a kopje-crest That breaks the veldt around; And foreign constellations west Each night above his mound. Young Hodge the Drummer never knew ? Fresh from his Wessex home ? The meaning of the broad Karoo, The Bush, the dusty loam, And why uprose to nightly view Strange stars amid the gloam. Yet portion of that unknown plain Will Hodge forever be; His homely Northern breast and brain Grow to some Southern tree, And strange-eyed constellation reign His stars eternally.

Indeed, Dee. If I can't find them in my poetry books, I search the internet. I have just been reading Hiawatha.... that took me back to my junior schooldays!.... and before that: Tyger Tyger... :-) Joy

Annie I agree, Hardy did write some very sad poems Some of the poets would, no doubt, have gone to the war zones and written from first hand experience. I wonder why gypsies were written about so often? Was it, do you think, because the poets thought that the lifestyle was so romantic? I have several books of poetry, and of course the internet is invaluable for finding long forgotten verses. I expect you have found that Joy? Dee ;-))

I have a book published by Classic FM - 100 favourite poems. :-) Joy

I haven't got it quite right but I remember a wonderful evocative poem by Thomas Hardy. He always seemed to choose sad subjects. This is about a local boy who was killed in the Boer war. Young Hodge the drummer never Knew Straight from his Wessex home The meaning of the broad Karoo The Veldt the dusty loam Yet part of that strange southern Plain will Hodge for ever be his homely northern brain and brawn grown to some southern tree and foreign constellations west each night above his mound. I don't think I have heard or seen it for nearly forty years. I remember my mother reciting quinquereme of Ninevah. I loved all the exotic words and we used to have a clapping game to My mother said I never should play with the gypsies in the wood If I did my hair wouldn't curl and my shoes wouldn't shine very politically incorrect Dea I like feeling my age when I can indulge in nostalgia.

It is indeed a fascinating place to visit, Dee. My grandparents used to live not far from there, and I visited Kipling's home when in my teens. :-) Joy

Glad you found it interesting Mandy, I love the Stanley Holloway stuff, have a CD of his btw Jill, I like Stevenson's work, and have an anthology of his that I have had since I was a child He seemed taken with railways and did Faster than fairies, faster than witches Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches And charging along like troops in a battle All through the meadows the horses and cattle Dee ;-)) Joy, Bateman's in Sussex, where Kipling once lived, is owned and run by the National Trust. I'd love to be a volunteer there, it must be fascinating

I love poetry, Dee, and have visited the house where Kipling used to live in Sussex. :-) Joy

Hi Jill I think this is the one. If so it is Kipling, and probably written about the Sussex coast as he lived in Sussex for a while Dee ;-)) A Smuggler's Song If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse's feet, Don't go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street. Them that ask no questions isn't told a lie. Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by! Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the dark -- Brandy for the Parson, 'Baccy for the Clerk; Laces for a lady, letters for a spy, And watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by! Running round the woodlump if you chance to find Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine, Don't you shout to come and look, nor use 'em for your play. Put the brishwood back again -- and they'll be gone next day! If you see the stable-door setting open wide; If you see a tired horse lying down inside; If your mother mends a coat cut about and tore; If the lining's wet and warm -- don't you ask no more! If you meet King George's men, dressed in blue and red, You be carefull what you say, and mindful what is said. If they call you 'pretty maid,' and chuck you 'neath the chin, Don't you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one's been! Knocks and footsteps round the house -- whistles after dark -- You've no call for running out till the house-dogs bark. Trusty's here, and Pincher's here, and see how dumb they lie -- They don't fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by! If you do as you've been told, 'likely there's a chance, You'll be given a dainty doll, all the way from France, With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood -- A present from the Gentlemen, along o' being good! Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the dark -- Brandy for the Parson, 'Baccy for the Clerk; Them that asks no questions isn't told a lie -- Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by! Rudyard Kipling

Mandy, The sketch is on the website if you want to have a look at it to see if you recognise it at all Dee xx

Mandy Was this what you are thinking of? From the web site www.monologues(.)co(.)uk/Pukka_Sahib.htm Based on the Milton Hayes poem 'THE GREEN EYE OF THE LITTLE YELLOW GOD', this sketch involved Stanley Holloway as a serious monologuist in full evening dress, hounded to distraction by Leslie Henson and Cyril Ritchard as two Indian army officers. From their vantage point in the stage box, they interrupted throughout and constantly sought to make Holloway 'dry' or smile. As Holloway recalled, 'If they had succeeded, the monologue would have lost all credibility and it was one of the hardest jobs of my life to resist the leg-pulling of that sophisticated artist Cyril Ritchard and my beloved, gravelly-voiced friend, Leslie Henson.' Dee ;-))

Hi David I can almost see you standing there quoting that passage. If someone enjoys literature/poetry they can really make a piece of prose or poetry come to life when it is read aloud, can’t they? BC It seems to have gone out of fashion now, the art of recitation. I shall never forget our first trip to Ireland . We were guests of a professional body out there, and after the big dinner/dance a group of us were sat round in the bar. One by one the Irish hosts got up and did a song, or poem, and then of course we were expected to as well. I was so embarrassed. The next time we went I made sure I had perfected a piece that I could recite Claire Jabberwocky is another one of those that is magical to listen to, but is not easy to read. I often think poetry needs to be listened to, rather than read. Mind you I often read poetry aloud (when I am on my own- I hasten to add) ;-)) Mau Thank you for adding that. Vonny Think I was wrong about it being Stevenson, seems it was by Eleanor Farjeon Dee ;-))

Mandy Just for you Mau :O))) The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God 1911 J. Milton Hayes -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THERE’S a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu, There’s a little marble cross below the town; There’s a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew, And the Yellow God forever gazes down. He was known as “Mad Carew” by the subs at Khatmandu, He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell; But for all his foolish pranks, he was worshipped in the ranks, And the Colonel’s daughter smiled on him as well. He had loved her all along, with a passion of the strong, The fact that she loved him was plain to all. She was nearly twenty-one and arrangements had begun To celebrate her birthday with a ball. He wrote to ask what present she would like from Mad Carew; They met next day as he dismissed a squad; And jestingly she told him then that nothing else would do But the green eye of the little Yellow God. On the night before the dance, Mad Carew seemed in a trance, And they chaffed him as they puffed at their cigars: But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone awhile, Then went out into the night beneath the stars. He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and tunic torn, And a gash across his temple dripping red; He was patched up right away, and he slept through all the day, And the Colonel’s daughter watched beside his bed. He woke at last and asked if they could send his tunic through; She brought it, and he thanked her with a nod; He bade her search the pocket saying “That’s from Mad Carew,” And she found the little green eye of the god. She upbraided poor Carew in the way that women do, Though both her eyes were strangely hot and wet; But she wouldn’t take the stone and Mad Carew was left alone With the jewel that he’d chanced his life to get. When the ball was at its height, on that still and tropic night, She thought of him and hurried to his room; As she crossed the barrack square she could hear the dreamy air Of a waltz tune softly stealing thro’ the gloom. His door was open wide, with silver moonlight shining through; The place was wet and slipp’ry where she trod; An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew, ‘Twas the “Vengeance of the Little Yellow God.” There’s a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu, There’s a little marble cross below the town; There’s a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew, And the Yellow God forever gazes down. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome wraths outgrabe Beware the Jabberwock my son. The teeth that bite, the claws that snatch. Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun the fruminous Bandersnatch. Jaberwocky. by Lewis Carrol There are more verses but I can't remember them all now. Claire xx

This is a lovely thread, Dee, thank you:-) Mandy, that poem was The Green Eye of The Little Yellow God and whenever we had parties in our house, my mother, who did not sing, would recite every verse of this poem. To a hushed and totally appreciate audience! Happy memories...XX BC

Hi Dee My dad and grandmother could remember loads of poetry from school but I only ever had to learn one thing which was the speech Macbeth makes after hearing Lady Macbeth has died. Can still remember it all ( I think) She should have died hereafter There would have been a time for such a word Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow Creeps on this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death Out out brief candle Life is but a walking shadow that struts and frets its last hour upon the stage And then is heard no more It is a tale told by an idiot full of sound and fury Signifying nothing I think that's right lol Hope yr suitably impressed:)) I love literature and poetry and try and remember bits that I really like - especially like some of the ends of novels. Can remember other bits of Shakespeare that I've read or studied since school but most of my favourite poems are too long for me to remember them all:)