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ASF Poetry Thread

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http://www.gutenberg.org/files/16362/16362.txt
CJ Dennis on hypocrisy:-

THE SECOND RHYME OF SYM
from ThE Glugs of Gosh, By CJ Dennis

"Now come," said the Devil, he said to me, With his swart face all a-grin,
"This day, ere ever the clock strikes three, Shall you sin your darling sin.
For I've wagered a crown with Beelzebub, Down there at the Gentlemen's Brimstone Club,
I shall tempt you once, I shall tempt you twice, Yet thrice shall you fall ere I tempt you thrice."

"Begone, base Devil!" I made reply-- "Begone with your fiendish grin!
How hope you to profit by such as I? For I have no darling sin.
But many there be, and I know them well, All foul with sinning and ripe for Hell.
And I name no names, but the whole world knows That I am never of such as those."

"How nowt' said the Devil. "I'll spread my net, And I vow I'll gather you in!
By this and by that shall I win my bet, And you shall sin the sin!
Come, fill up a bumper of good red wine, Your heart shall sing, and your eye shall shine,
You shall know such joy as you never have known. For the salving of men was the good vine grown."

"Begone, red Devil!" I made reply. "Parch shall these lips of mine,
And my tongue shall shrink, and my throat go dry, Ere ever I taste your wine!
But greet you shall, as I know full well, A tipsy score of my friends in Hell.
And I name no names, but the whole world wots Most of my fellows are drunken sots."

"Ah, ha!" said the Devil. "You scorn the wine! Thrice shall you sin, I say,
To win me a crown from a friend of mine, Ere three o' the clock this day.
Are you calling to mind some lady fair? And is she a wife or a maiden rare?
'Twere folly to shackle young love, hot Youth; And stolen kisses are sweet, forsooth!"

"Begone, foul Devil!" I made reply; "For never in all my life
Have I looked on a woman with lustful eye, Be she maid, or widow, or wife.
But my brothers! Alas! I am scandalized By their evil passions so ill disguised.
And I name no names, but my thanks I give That I loathe the lives my fellow-men live."

"Ho, ho!" roared the Devil in fiendish glee. "'Tis a silver crown I win!
Thrice have you fallen! 0 Pharisee, You have sinned your darling sin!"
"But, nay," said I; "and I scorn your lure. I have sinned no sin, and my heart is pure.
Come, show me a sign of the sin you see!" But the Devil was gone . . . and the clock struck three.
 
MATTERS OF THE HEART

by Way of preamble, it’s easy to gamble, when dice are odds-on and it’s wise
and your Head’s in control, and the facts are in BOLD and they’re easy to rationalise,
but Where do you start with affairs of the heart, like two lovers’ tortured goodbyes,
who Needs to be chaste, its such a damned waste
they Much prefer lock-jawed and wrestle-embraced
(you Try it on strangers you’re sure to get maced)
and a Needing, bleeding, and frenzied-feeding - pleading trust in their eyes.
(As long as they don’t get to actually breeding before’n they formalise).

cos you Haven’t felt warmth till you’ve been there child, tho’ you’ve sat in front of the fire,
nor Shared in so dizzy a dream there child, with your heart on so swinging a tyre,
if Only one knew how to “beam there” child, one would yell from the highest spire,
but Rational thoughts – in love – distorts,
and the Two don’t combine well by all reports,
you just Give of your soul and your innermost thoughts,
and be Blissfully, wis(t)fully, ultralong kissfully - glissfully lost in the mire.
(you could Bottle and bank it and make a pile - Swissfully – selling to the highest buyer).

hey- it’s Not always happy, - it sometimes turns blue, and painful those hearts that are hurt,
you can Go lose umbrellas – or even a shoe - or, Hell, even go lose your shirt!,
but to Lose in love is to lose your sun, and leave you to blabber and blurt,
and to Lose a lover with clinging last clenches,
is Enough to melt hearts and to cause such wrenches,
that you Feel like go-finding some long lonely trenches,
and get Hopelessly, mopelessly, Bishop-and-Popelessly, copelessly buried in dirt.
(we’ve All been there child, let’s hope that you soaplessly “unearth” and “pristine revert”.)

and it’s True – or praps not - that the heart was involved (though you’re playing with fire for a cert)
with your First young kiss when your head first revolved – or a simple smile or a flirt,
cos your Heart clicks in when you least expect, while pretending to be inert
and Instantly takes on a passionate warm
and Equal inclined to find sunshine or storm -
and it Never pretended that Peace was the norm
not to Play, not to stray, not to make your soul pay, nor to stay on guard and alert,
(but you’ll Follow with strength of a bullock dray, and despite the risk of a hurt.)

you’ll Go though life day by day my child, and it’s all from a standing start,
then you’ll Learn you’ve a Cupid at bay my child, and you’ll feel the point of his dart,
And you won’t always do what you’d reason was right, or what was particularly smart,
And from countless splatters, when your world just shatters,
Or in fits of love when you’re mad as hatters,
You’ll find that the soul of what really matters
Are the trusting, lusting, and love-till-you’e-busting, - gusting affairs of the heart
(which, in time, with age, becomes “love-till-you’re-rusting”, but keep that old horse before cart)
 
FUNNY HOW FASHIONS HAVE SHIFTED

I'm of Italian extraction, Opera brings me to tears,
Julius Caesar was one of my Grandaddy's Uncle's etcetera's peers;
Funny how fashions have shifted, Passions have changed through the years,
I like the opera, he liked the roaring of Gladiatorial cheers.

I'm of a Grecian extraction (Ode more than this Grecian urns),
Plato, my forebear, refused to make argument, Till one defined all one's terms;
Funny how fashions have shifted, Sometimes it even unlearns,
My wife can argue on nothing till morning, to Hell with Platonic concerns.

I'm of Egyptian extraction, Trinket sales on Golden Mile,
Ramses the third was my distant Great-greatuncle, (There was a ruler with style!);
Funny how fashions have shifted, Sphinx watching on all the while -
I like to punt on a gullible tourist trade, He the Royal Punt on the Nile.

I'm of a Kenyan extraction, Homo and Rectus were ‘rels’,
I like to scout o'er the great broad savannah while Staying at five star motels;
Funny how fashions have shifted, New-fangled whistles and bells,
I use a camera to search out wild animals, They used a rock axe and yells.

I'm from Neanderthal's hometown, We both like party and rave,
I like my beard trimmed a neat Van-Gogh goatie, He didn't like much to shave;
Funny how fashions have shifted, Subtle things how we behave,
I met my wife in a nightclub in Dusseldorf, He clubbed his wife in some cave.

Of all my distant relations, First was the miracle son,
I get to exercise 10 zillion body cells, Proto the Zoan had one;
Funny how fashions have shifted, Proto you son of a gun,
He didn’t get to have one raw emotion, I write strange ditties for fun.
 
NO REGRETS
http://www.talkinbroadway.com/talkin/piaf_trib.html
Edith Piaf was born in France in utter poverty. At the age of 12 she was blind, but miraculously regained her sight. Later on in life, she was blinded again, but the same thing happened, and her sight was restored. She literally sang for her supper in the streets of Paris during the Second World War. She then led a life of prostitution on the streets of Pigalle (a section of Paris). Still, she sang, and Parisians began to take notice of this extraordinarily gifted songbird. To make a long story short, she became a very famous chanteuse of France during the time that Judy Garland (America) and Marlene Dietrich (Germany) were enjoying fame. Her songs epitomized the vulnerability of France (then German occupied) and a nation rushed to her ... adored her, loved her. Her voice was inspired by God and she could sell a song like no one in this century. In short the nation of France was in love with their very own Edith Piaf. She appeared on stage in a plain black dress, a harsh spotlight on her, and she just sang her heart out. Audiences cried, laughed, and cheered. She became known as The Little Sparrow.

Her fame spread throughout the world and she appeared in concerts in London, New York and just about every major city in the world. Her songs were in French, but audiences understood, even if they could not understand the language, such was the power of her delivery.

But drugs, booze, and multiple marriages took their toll on Piaf. She aged rapidly, sinned in the eyes of the very Catholic French, and lost popularity. Her health was never very good to begin with. But, she possessed that stage magic! In the 60's, she had a pop hit in America called "MILORD" which was played on all the top 40 stations. I wonder if they knew then that it was about a prostitute and her client if they would have played it.
.....
France was outraged by her behavior in marrying a much younger man, especially in her state of health. Still, she did what she wanted to do. She partied hard, drank, the drugs, the young men ... but she was seeking love and she was desperate for it. And to do this in America .. well, Frenchmen were furious with her.

She contracted to do a concert toward the end of her life in Paris ... still knowing how her people were still fuming with her. And she pulled a coup d'etat even after being warned not to do what she was about to do. She walked out on stage in that black dress ... that small spotlight .. and opened her show with a new song that was penned for her by Dummont/Vaucaire, part of her writing friends.

She sang ... NON, JE NE REGRETTE RIEN ... (NO, I regret Nothing!) ... she floored the audience and they fell in love all over again. The song is highly personal and roughly translates to "I have no regrets. The past is forgotten. I don't need my memories. I'm starting all over again....with you."

NO REGRETS

No! No regrets - No! I will have no regrets
All the things - That went wrong
For at last I have learned to be strong

No! No regrets - No! I will have no regrets
For the grief doesn't last -It is gone
I've forgotten the past

And the memories I had - I no longer desire
Both the good and the bad - I have flung in a fire
And I feel in my heart - That the seed has been sown
It is something quite new - It's like nothing I've known

No! No regrets - No! I will have no regrets
All the things that went wrong - For at last I have learned to be strong

No! No regrets - No! I will have no regrets
For the seed that is new - It's the love
that is growing for you

Gee this internet is good - you find out the story behind the song - you hear the song again - it just means so much more
 


Lovely summary of Piaf's life, 2020. I'm not sure exactly why, but I find some common quality in her and Billie Holliday - a sort of sultry underlying sadness.

Julia
 
This post is more about memories we file away with a song or a poem or whatever, "associations" stored - some we hold dear, some I guess we would prefer to forget but cant - This particular song has damn all literary merit, but for me it qualifies as a part of a "magnificent" memory. I once heard it sung by a group of about 10 or 15 kids in the 60's. They were orphans and, somehow or other, us students were giving them a day out - a hayride of sorts - anyway these kids just broke into song as we were driving down the road, ... and I've never forgotten it! They had spirit those kids I'll give em that!

A WORLD OF OUR OWN
Close the door, light the light; we're staying home tonight,
Far away from the bustle and the bright city lights.
Let them all fade away; just leave us alone,
And we'll live in a world of our own.

We'll build a world of our own that no one else can share;
All our sorrows we'll leave far behind us there.
And I know you will find
There'll be peace of mind
When we live in a world of our own.

Oh, my love, oh, my love, I cried for you so much;
Lonely nights without sleeping while I longed for your touch.
Now your lips can erase the heartache I've known;
Come with me to a world of our own.
etc "

Website ( lost the link):- The Seekers set out on their trip of a lifetime playing their own way on a P & O cruise ship. They had no idea what they were in for. Bruce Woodley:- "We arrived there for the sound check and there's a chalk board out the front that said, 'Tonight The Seekers by Public Demand'. It didn't get any better than that. That night we followed the Bingo. This fellow comes on in front of the curtains and says in this heavy Yorkshire accent, 'It has come to my attention, certain of our members have been seen relieving themselves against the west wall of the club. It's bloody disgusting and it's got to stop. Ladies and gentlemen, The Seekers'" etc etc lol.

...Then folk singer, Dusty Springfield, caught their act and mentioned it to her brother, Tom. ...'I'll Never Find Another You'... and the rest is history
 
Julia said:
Lovely summary of Piaf's life, 2020. I'm not sure exactly why, but I find some common quality in her and Billie Holliday - a sort of sultry underlying sadness. Julia
Click to expand...
Julia - not a word of my post about Piaf was original of cors cept last sentence.

I don't know about her and Billie Halliday having things in common - but I know she and I do....take the excerpt for instance , lol
2020hindsight said:
She aged rapidly,...
Click to expand...

You're right, you can hear that underlying sadness in someone's voice, difficult to feign it , the real thing that is. Sorry I'm a bit of a novice on Billie but I agree black american jazz singers do "sultry" and "sad" pretty damned well.

I'll be honest with you, the best female voice for me is Shirley Bassey. (with Piaf and Judith Durham) With your kind permission, I was just gonna post one more - call it a "trilogy...".

IF YOU GO AWAY
http://www.songsofshirleybassey.co.uk/song/sng67008.html
Jacques Brel wrote the original French version "Ne Me Quitte Pas" ..born in Belgian and became one of France's most beloved and enduring musical figures ...
Rod McKuen, penned the English words to this song ...900 songs .....His poetry is studied in schools, colleges, ..around the world. ....After Rod McKuen had received the test-pressing of the album "And We Were Lovers" including Shirley's version of his song, he wrote to Shirley Bassey:

Dear Shirley,
It's been a bang-bang day. Too much work. Too much work undone. An hour ago, the test pressing of your album arrived and I used it as an excuse to begin unwinding. Maybe it's the scotch. Maybe it's the time of evening and the fact that I'm by myself - whatever, i am unwinding and next to me is that probing, prying voice of yours - now warm, now cold as an iceberg, coaxing out my song and a brilliant programme of other tunes. Thank You for singing If You Go Away. Thank you for doing something different with it. Also, thank you for singing everything you sing. Most of all, thank you for being beautiful always and in all ways - and tonight, thanks for helping me to let go.
I love you,
Rod McKuen

IF YOU GO AWAY

If you go away, on this summer day
Then you might as well take the sun away
All the birds that flew in the summer sky
When our love was new and our hearts were high
When the day was young and the night was long
And the moon stood still for the night birds' song
If you go away, if you go away, if you go away

But if you stay, I'll make you a day
Like no day has been or will be again
We'll sail the sun, we'll ride on the rain
We'll talk to the trees and worship the wind
Then if you go, I'll understand
Leave me just enough love to hold in my hand
If you go away, if you go away, if you go away

If you go away, as I know you will
You must tell the world to stop turning till
You return again, if you ever do
For what good is love without loving you
Can I tell you now as you turn to go
I'll be dying slowly till the next hello
If you go away, if you go away, if you go away

But if you stay I'll make you a night
Like no night has been or will be again
I'll sail on your smile, I'll ride on your touch
I'll talk to your eyes that I love so much
But if you go I won't cry
Though the good is gone from the word goodbye
If you go away, if you go away, if you go away

If you go away as I know you must
There'll be nothing left in the world to trust
Just an empty room full of empty space
Like the empty look I see on your face
I'd have been the shadow of your dog
If I thought you might have kept me by your side
If you go away, if you go away, if you go away

Concerning the French version:-
http://ilx.wh3rd.net/thread.php?msgid=3202327
One bloke says that the French is better - "McKuan changes the desperate "Don't leave me" to the rather pathetic "If you go away" ". Personally mate, I really like McKuen's words, but true the French and the Italians can get a lot of emotion into a song.

PS I have a friend who married an Italian lady who does the housework with a string of operas - BLARING - she cries after vacuuming the lounge, she laughs after washing the dishes, then she cries again after doing the ironing then etcetc. -and so on "till the end of an average day" lol.
 
For reference, lyrics to "Ne me quitte pas" (allegedly) translated directly in English: ("allegedly" - because , as the bishop said to the actress, I dont do french). Much more powerful than McKuen's lyrics... ?
I'll let you folk be the judges. (that's assuming youcan be bothered reading it lol - personally I think it gets better as it progresses - true there is more passion in this version - call it wild lateral thinking looking for crazy romantic comparisons - but I still like the subtlety of McKuen's "if you go away ..."I'll be dying slowly" - and hell when its sung by Bassey, God save the Queen would come out passionate - probably even sexy lol)
http://ilx.wh3rd.net/thread.php?msgid=3202327

Don't leave me. We must forget
all that can be forgotten, that already has passed away.
Forget the times of misunderstandings,
and the times lost trying to know how
Forget those hours which sometimes killed
in attacks of "whys" the heart of happiness.
Don't leave me. Don't leave me.
Don't leave me. Don't leave me.

I'll cover you with pearls of rain
from countries where it never rains.
I will dig the earth until my death
to cover your body with gold and lights.
I will make a land, where love will be king,
where love will be law, and you my queen., DLM etc

DLM. I'll make up crazy words that you'll understand.
I'll tell you about the lovers who have twice seen their hearts catch fire.
I'll tell you the story of this king who died from not being able to meet you., DLM etc

We often see the fire erupt
from the ancient volcano we once thought too old
It is shown that lands that were burned
gave more wheat than the best April.
And when the evening comes with the sky blazing
-- the red and the black -- which doesn't blend., DLM etc

Don't leave me. I won't cry anymore
I won't talk anymore I will hide there.
To watch you dance and smile
and to hear you sing and then laugh.
Let me become the shadow of your shadow,
the shadow of your hand, the shadow of your dog. DLM etc

Sorry correction - I believe it was the Actress to the Bishop - you know how liberated Bishops are these days.
 
"as the mufti said to the actress?"
maybe "as the actress said to the mufti?"
..Naaah just doesnt ..... sound right. (yield not into temptation)
 
KRXG (Xanana Gusmão)
a) a letter to a young fan, who b) wrote him a poem
then c) XG's story, and d) one of his poems + excerpts from a website.

LETTER TO MARTA B. NEVES, LISBON
My very dear Marta, (a child who had written to him in prison)
Thank you for your poem and, above all, thank you for your sensitivity to the struggle of the Maubere people. At your age, most East Timorese children are already contributing to the struggle in one form or another.

I have lots of stories, many of them based on my own experiences, which highlight the participation of the children of East Timor. If you would like, one day, I will tell them to you. Today I don't have time to do so. As you know, I am in the prison of a colonialist and repressive regime. A place where I am not permitted to do much except to mix with other prisoners and listen to their tales of crimes not committed. The conclusion they would have one reach is that they are in fact not guilty and that, had they had sufficient money to pay the judges, the sentence they received would have been far less severe.

Thanks to the poems, letters and solidarity of children of your age, I have every faith that I will survive the next 17 years which remain of this most cruel and yet, at the same time, beautiful experience of my life. And it is, dear Marta! Have you ever heard it said that prisons were made for people? Well, here I am and I must tell you that I have learnt so much, and there is still much to learn. I am certain that you will now be asking me: "learn what?"

Well, to struggle, my dear! And I know that you and "many, many other" Portuguese children are with me in this struggle to bring to an end the war in East Timor. With kisses of love, KRXG, Cipinang, 9 October, 1995

GRANDFATHER CROCODILE (by young Portugese child)

The legend says - and who am I to disbelieve!
The sun perched atop the sea - opened its eyes
and with its rays -indicated a way
From the depths of the ocean - a crocodile in search of a destiny
spied the pool of light, and there he surfaced

Then wearily, he stretched himself out - in time - and his lumpy hide was transformed - into a mountain range
where people were born - and where people died
Grandfather crocodile
””the legend says - and who am I to disbelieve
that he is Timor!

http://www.etan.org/et2003/september/21-30/21intrvw.htm

POET, painter, pumpkin farmer. These are the only titles Jose Alexandre 'Xanana' Gusmao really wants on his business card these days. 'Independence is like a blank piece of paper where we can write our dreams, and dream of happiness for our children.' But 25 years of dodging bullets from the Indonesian Armed Forces in storm and shine, and then fighting to stay sane in a prison cell no bigger than a grave, have put paid to that wish.

On May 20, 2002, Mr Gusmao, 57, became the first democratically-elected President of Timor Leste .....But the man who fought a guerilla war for its freedom tells Sunday Review: 'A few months after the presidency, I still felt that I was not the right man to be President. I never studied to be a President, I studied to be an engineer! I'm not the right man for the job.' ..........laughs... 'Although I don't think I am the right man for the job, I'm trying to learn to be a good President.'

....Journalist John Pilger wrote in Britain's Guardian newspaper in December 1995: '(Mr Gusmao) became a Pimpernel figure, eluding capture for more than a decade. In their frustration, the Indonesians deployed a tactic known as 'the fence of legs'. 'They forced tens of thousands of old people, women and children to march through the jungle in all conditions, 'sweeping' the undergrowth for guerillas and calling on them to surrender.' Instead, the marchers whispered warnings in Tetum, their mother tongue, to Mr Gusmao and his fighters, thus saving them.

Published in that same article were excerpts from Mr Gusmao's war diary, which included these lines: 'Six weeks of pain and daily fighting. I couldn't sit down, I couldn't stay standing up and I couldn't bear to lie down. I used to roll around on the ground as if possessed. How I cried!'

What a world away that was from his carefree teenhood, when he was given the nickname Xanana from the 1970s American rock-and-roll show, Sha Na Na (which is how Xanana is pronounced).....In July 2000, he married Ms Kirsty Sword, 37, an Australian undercover agent for the East Timor resistance movement who went by the codename Ruby Blade. She met him in prison in 1994, and their love blossomed through a flurry of letters. ...two sons.

But while Mr Gusmao spent years running through streets slippery with the blood of friends and foes, ruthlessness has no place in his book. He has forgiven the pro-Jakarta militants who massacred the East Timorese in the thousands and urged the latter not to retaliate against them. As he puts it: 'We have to remember that it was a foreign occupation and we fought for our own destiny. It was that for which we suffered, and we should accept that. If not, we keep trying to deny the values of what we fought for in the first place.' He stresses: 'Now, we must keep the past in the past. We must honour all this sacrifice. We all suffered. We have already got our objectives. Now, we must look to the future, learn how to solve problems, how to send our children to school. "

....
Call him Asia's Nelson Mandela, and he chafes. 'I don't agree. I can only learn from him. He is my inspiration. 'You cannot compare the student to the teacher,' he says. He then lets on - with a laugh - that when Mr Mandela visited him in prison in 1997, the legendary freedom fighter asked him: 'Xanana, what are you trying to do?' Mr Gusmao recalls: 'His words that will always stay with me were that there is the need for dialogue and the need for tolerance.

'That has helped me very, very much. We cannot get all we need, but we achieve what we can through dialogue and listening.' These days, his aides tell Sunday Review, he spends three weeks in a month walking Mr Mandela's talk by going over Timor Leste's hills and vales to hear his people's grouses.
'He calls it his open presidency programme,' says his media relations officer, Ms Elizabeth Exposto.

Foremost on his mind is building as many schools and hiring as many teachers as quickly as possible for Timor Leste's one million people. He says: 'More than half of my people are under 20 years of age, so East Timor is a very young nation indeed. We will have a bright future if we have education.' Businessweek reported that his 'smooth leadership style' and 'moral authority' is helping the United Nations rebuild and improve the quality of life in Timor Leste.

POET-WARRIOR Jose Alexandre 'Xanana' Gusmao began writing poems as a boy and won a national prize for poetry in 1975. He continued to write and paint throughout his seven years in prison from 1992 to 1999. Here is one of his works:

POETIC JUSTICE. MY SEA OF TIMOR

If I could capture between my fingers the sighs of the sea and share them with children,
If I could caress with my fingers the wave's gentle breeze and feel the hair of children,
If I could feel between my fingers the kiss of the foam and hear the laughter of children,
If I could touch with my fingers the sleep of the sea and coax to slumber the eyes of children,
If I could take between my fingers pretty little shells and make of them necklaces for children

Oh, sea of mine! why do you wait? why don't you give? why don't you feel? why don't you hear?,
Immersed in my thoughts I was suddenly shaken From the sea, my sea, Out of the bellies of ships, tremors came,
I looked at the erupting sky and the size of the sea were cries of agony the gentle breeze the smell of dust and blood the kiss of the foam the death-rattle the sea's slumber. the pebbles of the gravestone and the pretty shells traced the destiny of the Homeland!

- Cipinang Prison, Jakarta October 8, 1995

There's a stack more of poems by him AND OTHERS here :-
http://www.geocities.com/CapitolHill/Senate/7112/poems_frconten.htm

THE FIGHTER WHO FELL By XG
....Throughout the peaks and plains of Timor
The life-bloood flows
And animates the bones
Of the fighters who fell

HOWL
by Emma Lawrence
....ten thousand people a year
is thirty a day
is one death every forty-five minutes
for a generation
in a country smaller than tasmania their
six litres of blood each
would be just over a million
litres of oil, but
3.25 billion dollars will buy you
quite a showbag
with an unused conscience thrown in
 
HEROES . Gusmao, and Mandela - the closest things to statesmen since Churchill. All three are mentioned on "heroes" website - with Ghandi, Churchill, Oliver Tambo, Ataturk, Nancy Wake etc etc:-
http://www.moreorless.au.com/heroes/gusmao.html

Extracts from a letter by Gusmao to Convention 1998:-


Mandela likewise :- similar sentiments:-
http://www.anc.org.za/ancdocs/history/mandela/1990/
http://www.anc.org.za/ancdocs/history/mandela/1990/sp900225-1.html

 
Here's one I saw on that site, (by EB - presumably one of XG's fighters ?) but I've juggled the words a bit to more resemble AL Gordon. Apologies EB.
http://www.geocities.com/CapitolHil...ms_frconten.htm

Orig poem called LONGING

How I long, how I long, for the pillows of my dreams
How I long for the cushion where I'll sleep
How I long, how I long , for the peace of moonlit beams
And the haven of a nest where I can creep.

I will sleep, I will dream, I will fly, fly up high
Climb Ramelau mountain in its cloud,
I will climb through its steam, I will reach the peak and cry
I will shout, I will scream out oh so loud.

I will face that moonlit beam , and ill whisper to my God
Give me wings please, and teach me how to fly,
I want to leave (in my dream), Leave these trails that I've trod
I can't stand it anymore, and I cry.

So much pain, so much sound , of such grief, so much blood,
I can hear the screams of comrades getting near ,
Walls are closing all around, Squeezing, sucking like the mud
Draining all from me that God and I hold dear.

How easy it would be, to just drop from this earth
Through the jungle’s misty tangle – disappear
And that breeze that from the sea , brought my soul here at my birth
Take my body now, but let my soul stay here.
 
http://www.absolutelyrics.com/lyrics/view/bee_gees/new_york_mining_disaster_1941/
I wonder if this song rings truer and more meaningful - at least to Aussies - post Beaconsfield. (but probably to yanks as well).

NEW YORK MINING DISASTER 1941
by the Bee Gees.

In the event of something happening to me,
there is something I would like you all to see.
It's just a photograph of someone that I new.
Have you seen my wife, Mr. Jones?
Do you know what it's like on the outside?
Don't go talking too loud, you'll cause a landslide, Mr. Jones.

I keep straining my ears to hear a sound.
Maybe someone is digging underground,
or have they given up and all gone home to bed,
thinking those who once existed must be dead.

AUSSIE version, post Beaconsfield:-

I keep straining my ears to hear a sound.
Maybe someone is digging underground,
AND WE'VE BEEN posted on the pub-wall "LOST AND FOUND"!!
and so many beers set up - we might get drowned!!.

http://www.abc.net.au/news/newsitems/200610/s1775332.htm

If ever I meet those blokes (Brant Webb and Todd Russell), I'll be asking them to go shares in a lottery ticket.
 
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Aegean/6732/files/valor_read.html
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Aegean/6732/files/valor_dunbar.html
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Aegean/6732/files/valor_barton.html (be warned - this is a long poem)
Some great poems that came out of the Americal Civil War. - the mothers and the minorities.

http://www.diggerhistory.info/pages-heroes/monash.htm
Interesting to read about Sir John Monash - (some say he won WWI) :-
http://www.theage.com.au/news/Revie...004/11/25/1101219665809.html?from=moreStories (Monash: The outsider who won the war)

Field Marshal Montgomery, the famous British army commander in the Second World War (a junior officer in the First World War), later wrote: "I would name Sir John Monash as the best general on the western front in Europe. "

"The main thing is always to have a plan; if it is not the best plan, it is at least better than no plan at all". Monash

Monash wanted to move away from what he considered to be outdated British tactics, believing that "the true role of infantry was not to expend itself upon heroic physical effort, not to wither away under merciless machine-gun fire, not to impale itself on hostile bayonets, but on the contrary, to advance under the maximum possible protection of the maximum possible array of mechanical resources, in the form of guns, machine-guns, tanks, mortars and aeroplanes; to advance with as little impediment as possible; to be relieved as far as possible of the obligation to fight their way forward".
"Monash's first battle as corps commander, a minor one at Hamel, was a spectacular success. The battle plan combined an innovative approach to the use of aviation and armour with the most detailed artillery and administrative preparations yet. This was but the first of a series of great victories, on which Monash's reputation as a great commander now rests. His next battle was a larger one, incorporating all the innovations of Hamel, at Amiens on 8 August 1918. Few battles of the war were so successful, the Australians and Canadians driving all before them. Some 7,925 prisoners were taken and 173 guns were captured was the corps rolled over the German gun lines. In the wake of the victory, Monash was created a Knight Commander of St Michael and St George (KCMG) by King George V in a ceremony at his headquarters at Bertangles."

Monash clashed with the British theorist, Lieutenant General Sir Ivor Maxse over the role of technology. Maxse still thought in terms of a battalion's strength being in its manpower, and that a battalion of 900 was essential. Monash believed that its strength was in its firepower, and had calculated that a battalion of 700 would be just as effective, as the majority of its firepower came from is automatic weapons. Events proved Monash correct.

The role of the Australian Corps in 1918 was indeed a remarkable one. Comprising only 9.5% of the BEF, it captured 18.5% of the German prisoners, 21.5% of the territory and 14% of the guns captured. This represented an effectiveness 1.95, 2.23 and 1.47 times that of the British Army average.

In 1930 he was conferred with the full rank of General, the first Jew in any army to attain that rank. Monash was once described by British Prime Minister David Lloyd George as ‘the most resourceful General in the British army.’ The Times correspondent Liddell C Hart assessed that Monash would have become commander-in-chief of the combined Allied forces had the war lasted beyond 1918.

AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE OI OI OI

PS Readers who cling to the simplistic view that British commanders in World War I were bunglers and butchers will find comfort in the hoary old story of Allied infantry as "lions led by donkeys", a story now retold with Monash instructing the donkeys how to win a war. Others, I fear, will recognise another example of what Robert Rhodes James called "a kind of nationalistic paranoia". - ahhh bugga it , SO WHAT
AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE OI OI OI
 
At this time of year, we are preparing both for the Melbourne Cup - and Remembrance Day - Let's remember both
Cut to the fourth verse of the poem below if you are in a hurry - East London (lol - need a new compass) East London to a shattered-Luftwafe-demolished-brick, you will recognise it.
http://www.firstworldwar.com/poetsandprose/binyon.htm
http://www.anzacs.org/fallen.html


FOR THE FALLEN
Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

See Also :-
http://www.rockies.net/~spirit/remember.html (Canadian)
PS Good luck on the Cup. - just... spare a thought for the diggers

Wowo Ive learnt somethin - the correct words are "nor the years contemn" , initially I thought it was a typo
http://www.wewillrememberthem.co.uk/ - hey the Poms think it's condemn as well - I dont feel so bad after all
 
http://www.anzacday.org.au/anzacservices/ADcommemservice/hymns.html

LEST WE FORGET (Recessional)
Rudyard Kipling

God of our fathers known of old
Lord of our far flung battle line
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine -
Lord God of hosts be with us yet
Lest we forget - lest we forget.

The tumult and the shouting dies
The captains and the kings depart
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice
A humble and a contrite heart
Lord God of hosts be with us yet
Lest we forget - lest we forget.

Even the second verse of "Austrayl-yins all eat ostriches"

LOL. if you want the full hymn - try this one.
http://www.web-books.com/Classics/Poetry/Anthology/Kipling/index.htm

PS The church maintains (probably correctly ?) that "Thine ancient sacrifice" applies to JC and not to the fallen.
Incidentally Recessional = a hymn that accompanies the exit of clergy from church - everyone knows that lol - I've known that for oooh - 3 minutes

If you're real keen check also http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Recessional_(poem)

http://www.web-books.com/Classics/Poetry/Anthology/Kipling/Epitaphs.htm
Best Kipling you've ever read!!

A SON
My son was killed while laughing at some jest. I would I knew
What it was, and it might serve me in a time when jests are few.

AN ONLY SON
I have slain none except my Mother. She
(Blessing her slayer) died of grief for me.
Click to expand...
 
RAPED AND REVENGED
Rudyard Kipling

One used and butchered me: another spied
Me broken - for which thing an hundred died.
So it was learned among the heathen hosts
How much a freeborn woman's favour costs.

Whilst this is strictly written in a war setting, I wonder if other more recent commentators realise that rape is a no-no.
http://www.web-books.com/Classics/Poetry/Anthology/Kipling/Epitaphs.htm
(almost the last poem)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ode_of_Remembrance = the twofold origins of the Ode of Remembrance.
 
2020hindsight said:
Wowo Ive learnt somethin - the correct words are "nor the years contemn" , initially I thought it was a typo
http://www.wewillrememberthem.co.uk/ - hey the Poms think it's condemn as well - I dont feel so bad after all
Click to expand...
We need a volunteer - someone brave enough to ask the RSL which is correct , contemn (meaning nor the years despise / scorn)
- or condemn (nor the years blame / find guilty).
PS If you havent guessed I have a lot of time for diggers and the RSL. - just dont have enough courage for this mission.
http://www.firstworldwar.com/poetsandprose/binyon.htm

WHEN DUTY MEETS FLOOD

An order came through on the phone to young Jimmy, Some Digger up Darling way - just back of Bourke -
"And hurry son, pack it and send it by sundown, Without it I'm sunk 'cause the pump just won't work."
"It fits on the handle, the one that you push on, The pulling side's perfect - I don't need the kit !
There's no sense in wasting 'cause wanting can follow, The rest of it's pristine - I just need one bit"
"The price is outrageous - what, two dollars fifty! - But Noah's on standby, my back's to the wall -
I think it's the model before the Big Mopper, Before World War 1, son - when duty was all."

Now, floods had been raging for nigh on a fortnight, The whole of the Darling was deeply immersed,
But Jimmy decided he'd do as was bidden - What Diggers would do if the shoes were reversed.
He donned an ole trenchcoat and Wellies and waders, He fitted his scooter with waterwings too,
Like James Bond's intrepid amphibious duckling, He set off through rain that was falling like stew.

He ploughed through the creeks that were running a banker, He raced along cliffedges, floods on all sides.
He dodged the great deluge of cascading debris, He island-hopped treetrunks mid waterfall rides.
And after a night of incredible courage And hundreds of miles through the torrents and churn,
Eureka - he shook the old hand of the Digger, And ooohh - what a grin he received in return.

"Now sit with me son while I demonstrate will power
learnt pumping trenches at each bugle call."
....
He fitted the part, and he pumped till the flood
receded by inches, then metres, then mud,
with blisters on blisters he finally stud -
and smiled through loose dentures like bull chewing cud,
....
"A breeze after Flanders - no bullets no blood -
But that was when duty was all."
 
I liked that comedian a month or two back- Commenting about trends in music -

60's :- Songs you could sing along with :-
http://www.stlyrics.com/lyrics/shrek/imabeliever.htm
http://www.stevesbeatles.com/songs/love_me_do.asp
a few protests thrown in :- Dylan, Baez, PPM, Seekers etc etc

Really good songs when we're crowded around the piano for a singalong at the retirement home - whenever that may be ....

BUT Can't you just imagine the kids of the Naughties (2000's), i.e. modern kids , singing along around the piano with walking sticks and wobbly old voices:-
"F*** y** I won't do what you tell me
F*** y** I won't do what you tell me " -
http://www.ratm.net/lyrics/kil.html
 
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