The Dentist -- A P Herbert

Guest poem submitted by William Grey:

(Poem #1830) The Dentist Yes, yes, the dentist talks a lot For he's content and you are not. He is the tiger in the house And you are, as it were, the mouse. No wonder, then, as you come in He greets you with a happy grin And drops hilarious remarks About the flowers in the parks, About the holidays he's had, About the weather, good or bad, Though at the moment, as he knows, You don't care if it rains or snows. For ever since the date was made You've been dejected and afraid. You dreamed of drills, in vain you chewed Your favourite forbidden food, Since every bite reminded you Of this repugnant interview. And now that you are in the chair, You cannot think what brought you there, In fact you hardly like to name The tusk you fancied was to blame. At least it is quiescent now Why stir it up and cause a row? And he who has the notion too That there is nothing wrong with you With cruel steel goes picking round A tooth that's absolutely sound Deliberately tries to bore A hole where there was none before! You splutter "That is not the one!" He answers "Plenty to be done" And makes a systematic mess Of all the teeth that you possess. Then still with gossip bright and gay He moves the horrid wheel your way And from a crowd delights to draw The largest drill you ever saw. The rest's too painful to be read. I think that Aristotle said That children of a certain age Should not be eaten on the stage And there are things too dark and solemn To be recorded in this column, Whose purpose after all is just To show the bread beneath the crust And how the darkest cloud is lined With silver of the brightest kind. Well then, I will not dwell on all The horrors that may now befall The things with which he stuffs your mouth, The cotton wadding, north and south, The pumps which suck with such a will But seem to make you wetter still, And when the fun begins to flag, The grisly gutta-percha gag. But I implore you all the time To concentrate on the Sublime. Remember in the woods of June The nightingale salutes the moon, The Thames keeps rolling up and down, In Autumn all the leaves are brown, The bluebells still will flood the copse However many teeth he stops. And if you still remain distressed Hug this reflection to your breast That some poor fellows, after all, Have not got any teeth at all. -- A P Herbert

Although dental technology has advanced considerably in the last 80 years,
many elements of the dental surgery are instantly recognizable, and the
affective impact of a visit to the dentist is little changed. Some
biographical notes on the poet were included with [1] to which this is a
marvellous companion piece. Herbert's representations on Minstrels remain
sparse [1], [2]. More details about his life can be found in his
autobiography [3].

William Grey

[1] Poem #1805, The Doctor -- A.P. Herbert
[2] Poem #732, To the Lady Behind Me at the Theatre --  A.P. Herbert
[3] A.P.H.: His Life and Times (1970) -- A.P. Herbert

The Doctor -- A P Herbert

Guest poem sent in by William Grey

(Poem #1800) The Doctor The doctor took my shirt away; He did it for the best; He said, "It's very cold today," And took away my vest; Then, having nothing more to say, He hit me in the chest. Oh, he did clout my ribs about Till I was bruised and red, Then stood and listened to my spine To see if I was dead, And when I shouted "Ninety-nine!" He simply shook his head. He rather thought that rain would fall, He made me hop about the hall, And savagely he said, "There's nothing wrong with you at all You'd better go to bed! "Oh you must eat no scrap of meat, No rabbit, bird, or fish; Apart from that have what you please, But no potato, bread, or cheese; Not butter, alcohol, or peas; Not sausage, egg, and ratafias A very starchy dish; Have any other foods but these HAVE ANYTHING YOU WISH! But at and after every meal, And twice an hour between, Take this -- and this -- and this -- and THIS In water and quinine, And wash it down with liquorice And nitro-glycerine. "You must not smoke, or read a book, You must not eat or drink; You must not bicycle or run, You must not talk to anyone; It's better not to think. A daily bath I don't advise; It's dangerous to snore; But let your life be otherwise As active as before. And don't imagine you are ill, I beg you not to mope; There's nothing wrong with you -- but still, While there is life, there's hope." I woke and screamed a hideous scream As greedy children do Who eat too much vanilla cream For I was having 'flu; And it was just an awful dream But, all the same, it's true. -- A P Herbert

Sir Alan Patrick Herbert, 1890-1971, was a regular contributor of comic
verse (over his initials "A.P.H.") to the English magazine 'Punch'. He is a
distinguished member of a great tradition of English comic poets, which
includes such luminaries as Edward Lear (1812-1888), Lewis Carroll
(1832-1898), and Herbert's contemporary Patrick Barrington (1909-1990).  The
only poem of Herbert on Minstrels to date is 'To the Lady Behind Me at the
Theatre'[1]. He merits more extensive representation.

As well as comic verse, Herbert was a novelist, librettist of successful
comic operas, author of children's books, and he served as a member of the
House of Commons for Oxford University from 1935 until 1950. He was largely
responsible for the passage of the bill (1937) which reformed the
then-archaic divorce law of England. For more details see his autobiography[2].

William Grey

[1] Poem #732, To the Lady Behind Me at the Theatre --  A.P. Herbert
[2] A.P.H.: His Life and Times (1970) -- A.P. Herbert

At the Theatre: To the Lady Behind Me -- A P Herbert

Guest poem sent in by Jeff Berndt

(Poem #732) At the Theatre: To the Lady Behind Me Dear Madam, you have seen this play; I never saw it till today. You know the details of the plot, But, let me tell you, I do not. The author seeks to keep from me The murderer's identity, And you are not a friend of his If you keep shouting who it is. The actors in their funny way Have several funny things to say, But they do not amuse me more If you have said them just before; The merit of the drama lies, I understand, in some surprise; But the surprise must now be small Since you have just foretold it all. The lady you have brought with you Is, I infer, a half-wit too, But I can understand the piece Without assistance from your niece. In short, foul woman, it would suit Me just as well if you were mute; In fact, to make my meaning plain, I trust you will not speak again. And---may I add one human touch?--- Don't breathe upon my neck so much. -- A P Herbert

Once upon a time you sent the Deep Sorriness Atonement Song ("They're all
sorry, very sorry, but I'm sorrier by far") and commented that poetry _can_
be useful.  I first read this poem in ninth grade.  We didn't study it.  I
was bored and was paging ahead in our literature book.  I had it
half-memorized once upon a time, mostly because it's funny.  Then, years
later, I became involved in community theater. This poem should be printed
on the inside cover of every program handed out to every person who ever
goes to a live theater production.  My only complaint is that it doesn't
mention pagers and cell phones, which did not exist in A P Herbert's time.

Info on A.P.Herbert:

From Simpson's Contemporary Quotations:
  A P Herbert, Member of British Parliament
  QUOTATION: I am sure that the party system is right
  and necessary. there must be some scum.
  Wrote a series for Punch! Magazine called 'Misleading
  Cases'  Here's a link: http://www.kmoser.com/herbert/
  Also wrote a book called 'The Water Gypsies'

Here's his entry in Factmonster.com:
  Herbert, A. P. (Sir Alan Patrick Herbert), 1890-1971,
  English author and member of Parliament. He was a
  regular contributor to the comic magazine Punch from
  1910 until his death. Herbert served in Parliament
  from 1935 until 1950 as a representative for Oxford
  Univ. and was largely responsible for the bill (1937)
  liberalizing English divorce law. His numerous books
  include The House by the River (1921), The Water
  Gipsies (1930), and The Singing Swan (1968). He was
  knighted in 1945.

- JKB

[Martin adds]

We've had, over the years, a number of letters from readers, expressing
their delight at rediscovering poems whose half-remembered fragments had
been haunting them. Well, the cosmic balance has been restored somewhat -
today's poem is one I read once, some ten years ago, and have been trying to
relocate ever since (helped not at all by the fact that I only remembered
the opening four lines). Many thanks to Jeff, with whose comments I agree
fully.

Links:

The aforementioned 'Deep Sorriness Atonement Song' can be found at poem #602

m.