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Showing posts with label Poet: Hilaire Belloc. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poet: Hilaire Belloc. Show all posts

Jim -- Hilaire Belloc

       
(Poem #809) Jim
 There was a Boy whose name was Jim;
 His Friends were very good to him.
 They gave him Tea, and Cakes, and Jam,
 And slices of delicious Ham,
 And Chocolate with pink inside
 And little Tricycles to ride,
 And read him Stories through and through,
 And even took him to the Zoo--
 But there it was the dreadful Fate
 Befell him, which I now relate.

 You know--or at least you ought to know,
 For I have often told you so--
 That Children never are allowed
 To leave their Nurses in a Crowd;
 Now this was Jim's especial Foible,
 He ran away when he was able,
 And on this inauspicious day
 He slipped his hand and ran away!

 He hadn't gone a yard when--Bang!
 With open Jaws, a lion sprang,
 And hungrily began to eat
 The Boy: beginning at his feet.
 Now, just imagine how it feels
 When first your toes and then your heels,
 And then by gradual degrees,
 Your shins and ankles, calves and knees,
 Are slowly eaten, bit by bit.
 No wonder Jim detested it!
 No wonder that he shouted "Hi!"

 The Honest Keeper heard his cry,
 Though very fat he almost ran
 To help the little gentleman.
 "Ponto!" he ordered as he came
 (For Ponto was the Lion's name),
 "Ponto!" he cried, with angry Frown,
 "Let go, Sir! Down, Sir! Put it down!"
 The Lion made a sudden stop,
 He let the Dainty Morsel drop,
 And slunk reluctant to his Cage,
 Snarling with Disappointed Rage.
 But when he bent him over Jim,
 The Honest Keeper's Eyes were dim.
 The Lion having reached his Head,
 The Miserable Boy was dead!

 When Nurse informed his Parents, they
 Were more Concerned than I can say:--
 His Mother, as She dried her eyes,
 Said, "Well--it gives me no surprise,
 He would not do as he was told!"
 His Father, who was self-controlled,
 Bade all the children round attend
 To James's miserable end,
 And always keep a-hold of Nurse
 For fear of finding something worse.
-- Hilaire Belloc
Belloc's children's poems fall into two main categories - his animal poems,
collected in 'The Bad Child's Book of Beasts' and 'More Beasts for Worse
Children', and a series of cautionary tales collected, appropriately enough,
in 'Cautionary Tales'.

Today's poem is a fine example of the latter - like Roald Dahl after him,
Belloc appealed to the more gruesome side of children's imaginations, while
at the same time poking fun at the 'cautionary tales' in vogue during the
Victorian era. When Belloc's heroes and heroines come to a Bad End, they
come to a very bad end indeed, the details of which are expounded with glee
and relish, in a manner that has doubtless delighted generations of
children.

Asides:

Speaking of Dahl, he seems to have been influenced more than a little by
Belloc. In particular, the cautionary tales in 'Charlie and the Chocolate
Factory' and its sequel, 'Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator' seem to pay
a definite tribute to Belloc's. Compare the sound and language of today's
poem with this little excerpt from the sad saga of Goldie Pinklewseet:

    You see, how could young Goldie know,
    For nobody had told her so,
    That Grandmama, her old relation
    Suffered from frightful constipation.
    This meant that every night she'd give
    Herself a powerful laxative,
    And all the medicines that she'd bought
    Were naturally of this sort.

        -- Roald Dahl

Also, here's Shel Silverstein on lions and children:

    It's Dark in Here
    I am writing these poems
    From inside a lion,
    And it's rather dark in here.
    So please excuse the handwriting
    Which may not be too clear.
    But this afternoon by the lion's cage
    I'm afraid I got too near.
    And I'm writing these lines
    From inside a lion,
    And it's rather dark in here.

        -- Shel Silverstein

Links:

  There's a biography at poem #124

  A review of a recording of some of Gilbert's poems and a few of Belloc's
  Cautionary Verses:
    http://www.cris.com/~oakapple/gasdisc/mdbabs.htm

  Some of Bentley's illustrations for Belloc's verses:
    http://www.adh.brighton.ac.uk/schoolofdesign/MA.COURSE/08/LCV.html

-martin

The Yak -- Hilaire Belloc

       
(Poem #688) The Yak
 As a friend to the children
   commend me the Yak.
 You will find it exactly the thing:
   It will carry and fetch, you can ride on its back,
 Or lead it about with a string.

 The Tartar who dwells on the plains of Thibet
   (A desolate region of snow)
 Has for centuries made it a nursery pet,
   And surely the Tartar should know!
 Then tell you papa where the Yak can be got,
   And if he is awfully rich
 He will buy you the creature --
   or else
     he will not.
 (I cannot be positive which.)
-- Hilaire Belloc
Another delightful little poem from Belloc's "The Bad Child's Book of
Beasts". While the poem as a whole is certainly worth a read, those of you
familiar with my taste in poetry will be unsurprised to learn that I'm
running it mainly for the ending <g>.

Links:

poem #124 , the previous poem we've run from "The Bad Child's Book of
Beasts", has a biography of Belloc.

We've run several of his other poems too, though no other children's poem -
see [broken link] http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/index_poet.html

Afterthought:

A nice companion piece to today's poem would be Frank Jacobs' poem about the
Yak, which ran in Mad. I'll run it sometime if I can dig up a copy.

-martin

Juliet -- Hilaire Belloc

Guest poem submitted by Anustup Datta :
(Poem #315) Juliet
How did the party go in Portman Square?
I cannot tell you: Juliet was not there.

And how did Lady Gaster's party go?
Juliet was next to me and I do not know.
-- Hilaire Belloc
... I wanted to send just two poems, but came across this beauty from
Belloc, who has been covered in some detail on the group. He is not know
for romantic verse, but the current poem is memorable because of its
brevity and trenchant insight. Really liked it - don't know why I
haven't come across it earlier.

Anustup.

Aside: one of the fringe benefits of running the Minstrels is that we
get to discover lots of lovely poems (like today's little gem) which we
haven't read before. Come to think of it, that's not a fringe benefit,
that's one of the main reasons we keep the show running. That, and the
fact that it's fun to do :-)

thomas.
(And I'm sure I speak for Martin too).

[Minstrels Links]

Belloc has indeed been covered in some detail on the Minstrels; some
previous poems of his to have featured include

'October', poem #226
'Tarantella', poem #294
'The Hippopotamus', poem #124

Another Aside: You should all listen to Little Feat's song 'Juliette',
on their classic 1973 album, 'Dixie Chicken'.

Tarantella -- Hilaire Belloc

       
(Poem #294) Tarantella
Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
And the tedding and the spreading
Of the straw for a bedding,
And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,
And the wine that tasted of the tar?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
(Under the vine of the dark verandah)?
Do you remember an Inn, Miranda,
Do you remember an Inn?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteeers
Who hadn't got a penny,
And who weren't paying any,
And the hammer at the doors and the Din?
And the Hip! Hop! Hap!
Of the clap
Of the hands to the twirl and the swirl
Of the girl gone chancing,
Glancing,
Dancing,
Backing and advancing,
Snapping of a clapper to the spin
Out and in ---
And the Ting, Tong, Tang, of the Guitar.
Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?

    Never more;
    Miranda,
    Never more.
    Only the high peaks hoar:
    And Aragon a torrent at the door.
    No sound
    In the walls of the Halls where falls
    The tread
    Of the feet of the dead to the ground
    No sound:
    But the boom
    Of the far Waterfall like Doom.
-- Hilaire Belloc
Nice interplay of form and content here - insistent rhythms, strong assonances,
multiple rhymes (internal as well as line-ending), rising and falling cadences -
all these combine to evoke the dance form of the title. At the same time, the
words themselves paint a vivid (if slightly touristy, imho) picture of the
Mediterranean countryside. As Martin mentioned in a previous post about the
poet, Belloc does indeed have the ability to take a perfectly ordinary event or
emotion and craft an original and memorable work of art from it - and if that's
not genius, what is?

thomas.

PS. 'Tarantella' : a lively folk dance of southern Italy in 6/8 time. (Italian,
from Taranto, Italy.)

PPS. The opening line - 'Do you remember an Inn, Miranda?' - has been the
starting point for any number of parodies and pastiches. It _does_ have a
certain something about it, don't you think?

[Bio]

Though Belloc lived most of his life in Britain, where he wrote works of prose
and verse in tribute to his adoptive Sussex, he was born in the French town of
La Celle St. Cloud, near Paris. His father, a French lawyer, died when he was
just two years old. Shortly afterwards his English mother, Bessie Parkes, moved
the family to London.

Hilaire was enrolled at the Oratory School where he studied under the legendary
Cardinal Newman. He also met Cardinal Manning, the combative English convert,
who had a lasting influence on his brand of Catholic apologetics. Manning's
social teachings became especially evident in Belloc's later economic writings.

At school, the young Belloc delighted in such classical authors as Homer, Virgil
and Horace and took away most of the student prizes. Unsure of his future
vocation, he spent a brief stint at the French Naval "Stanislas College," but
despite his love of sailing, he quit after just a few weeks.

In 1890 Hilaire met his future wife, Elodie Hogan, an American who was visiting
Europe with her mother. The following year he booked passage to New York from
whence he tramped his way across the continent to Napa Valley, California, in
order to make his proposal to Miss Hogan. Belloc returned to France in 1891 to
spend a year as a soldier in the horse artillery, after which he went to Balliol
College at Oxford. He graduated with top honors in History but due to his
outspoken Catholic views was denied a fellowship.

1896 marked Belloc's marriage to Elodie and the successful publication of The
Bad Child's Book of Beasts a collection of whimsical cautionary tales. This was
soon followed by biographies of the French revolutionaries, Danton and
Robespierre. In 1902 Belloc wrote The Path to Rome describing his one man
pilgrimage to the Holy City; a remarkable travelogue which remains his most
popular work.

Belloc served as a member of parliament from 1906-1910. During a campaign speech
he made his famous defense of the Faith before a largely Protestant audience:

    "I am a Catholic. As far as possible I go to Mass every day. This [taking a
rosary out of his pocket] is a rosary. As far as possible, I kneel down and tell
these beads every day. If you reject me on account of my religion, I shall thank
God that He has spared me the indignity of being your representative!"

After a shocked silence there was a roar of applause, and Belloc won the
election.

Over the next thirty years, Belloc was to churn out dozens of titles on varied
subjects including poetry, fiction, social commentary, and military science.
Belloc is particularly noted for his spirited attack on the then predominant
Whig or classical liberal view of European history. Europe and the Faith (1920),
Characters of the Reformation (1936), and The Crisis of Our Civilization (1937)
are typical of his insightful approach. Belloc also wrote a number of
biographies, including Marie Antoinette (1909), James the Second (1928),
Richlieu (1930), Oliver Cromwell (1934), and Milton (1935) which are still
admired for their lucid and engaging style.

Along with his friend and literary companion G. K. Chesterton, Belloc helped to
found the economic theory of Distributism. Rooted in Leo XIII's landmark
encyclical Rerum Novarum, Distributism was, and is, a meaningful alternative to
the materialism of both laissez-faire capitalism and socialism. According to
Belloc, Europe had seen the decline of slavery and the rise of an independent
property holding yeomanry in the Middle Ages only to have this balanced economic
arrangement upset by the Lutheran revolt of the 16th century. Acquisitive
aristocrats—ostensibly promoting religious reformation, but mostly bent on
filling their own pockets—brought about a polarization of classes and the
emergence of a rootless proletariat which has continued to this day. Ironically,
while Belloc is denounced by liberals for his Catholic "triumphalism" his social
analysis of the Reformation has been largely vindicated by recent scholarship.
The ideas of Distributism were enunciated in The Servile State (1912), The
Restoration of Property (1936) and in the pages of G.K.'s Weekly.

Belloc's contributions to poetry, collected in Sonnets and Verse (1938), are
still acclaimed by literary critics. According to Michael Markel, he "was a
first rate craftsman in the classical tradition of A. E. Housman." Belloc also
tried his hand at novel writing, producing satirical works like The Postmaster
General (1932), as well as light fiction including The Green Overcoat (1912) and
Belinda (1928). What is perhaps his best and most unusual novel, The Four Men
(1911), was later made into a BBC play and has since been reprinted by Oxford
Press with an introduction by A.N. Wilson. The Four Men describes a ramble
through the Sussex countryside by Sailor, Grizzlebeard, Poet and Myself— aspects
of Belloc's own personality. The book's timeless appeal lies in its expression
of the fact that though a man's "loves are human, and therefore changeable, yet
in proportion as he attaches them to things unchangeable, so they mature and
broaden."

Despite his outward exuberance as a writer and individual, Belloc faced a number
of personal losses —the death of his wife Elodie in 1914, his sons Louis, in
World War I, and Peter, in World War II. Belloc weathered these storms with that
sort of hard-headed faith he once ascribed to St. Thomas More, who had "nothing
to uphold him except resolve." In 1942, however, he suffered a stroke which put
an end to his literary work though he continued to live in quiet retirement for
another eleven years. This redoubtable Catholic genius died in his beloved
Sussex on July 16, 1953. The BBC interrupted all its programmes to announce the
passing away of one of England's greatest literary figures.

    -- from the Web, [broken link] http://www.angelfire.com/va/belloc/

[Minstrels Links]

Belloc is most famous for his children's verse, especially the many poems about
beasts like the hippopotamus: poem #124

Of a more serious bent are the poems tinged by religious thought, such as 'Is
there any reward?', at poem #176

For sheer imagery, 'October' is hard to beat: poem #226

while 'The Pelagian Drinking Song' is as funny as they get: poem #78

October -- Hilaire Belloc

'tis indeed October, and a cold, rainy October at that.
(Poem #226) October
  Look, how those steep woods on the mountain's face
  Burn, burn against the sunset; now the cold
  Invades our very noon: the year's grown old,
  Mornings are dark, and evenings come apace.
  The vines below have lost their purple grace,
  And in Forreze the white wrack backward rolled,
  Hangs to the hills tempestuous, fold on fold,
  And moaning gusts make desolate all the place.

  Mine host the month, at thy good hostelry,
  Tired limbs I'll stretch and steaming beast I'll tether;
  Pile on great logs with Gascon hand and free,
  And pour the Gascon stuff that laughs at weather;
  Swell your tough lungs, north wind, no whit care we,
  Singing old songs and drinking wine together.
-- Hilaire Belloc
The most striking thing about today's poem is the wonderful vividness of its
imagery. The wild, rough beauty of the French Pyrenees is brought to life
with images of wooded slopes burning against the sunset, rolling fog and
'sons of the soil', all imbued with that slightly larger-than-life, romantic
atmosphere that a more sheltered, civilized perspective lends to 'untamed
nature'.

m.

Biography et al. at poem #124

For another poem along the same lines, see poem #117

Is there any reward? -- Hilaire Belloc

       
(Poem #176) Is there any reward?
  Is there any reward?
  I'm beginning to doubt it.
  I am broken and bored,
  Is there any reward
  Reassure me, Good Lord,
  And inform me about it.
  Is there any reward?
  I'm beginning to doubt it.
-- Hilaire Belloc
While I had mentioned, in passing, that Belloc had written more than the
children's verse he is famous for, I was surprised to discover the sheer
quantity and versatility of his work.

Today's poem is a beautiful example. Like most of Belloc's work, it shows a
strong Christian influence, and is vaguely reminiscent of some of the
metaphysical poets (particularly Herbert), but lacking the heaviness that so
many of them possess, and injecting, instead, a refreshingly ironical tone.

Belloc has, IMO, that quality that distinguishes a good poet - the ability
to take a timeworn theme and write a poem that in no way sounds cliched or
stale. Note the intriguing conflict of moods in today's piece - the
underlying seriousness, the overlay of irony ('Reassure me, Good Lord...')
and the almost nursery-rhyme effect, with a tinge of despair, created by the
short lines (2 feet), simple rhymes and repetition. All intended, no doubt,
as a commentary on Man's relationship with God; our old friends form and
content engaged in their usual interplay.

Biography etc:

See the previous poem, poem #124

And for a nice collection of Belloc's poems, see
<http://rcatholic-l.freeservers.com/belloc.html>

m.

The Hippopotamus -- Hilaire Belloc

       
(Poem #124) The Hippopotamus
I shoot the Hippopotamus
  With bullets made of platinum,
Because if I use leaden ones
  His hide is sure to flatten 'em.
-- Hilaire Belloc
Belloc has written serious poetry. I might even run some of it sometime. He
has also written a lot of light verse - see poem #78. But he is
certainly best known for his series of children's poems, collected in 'The
Bad Child's Book of Beasts', 'More Beasts for Worse Children' and
'Cautionary Tales'. It was pretty hard choosing among the various poems,
though - I freely admit that you're being subjected to this one merely for
the rhyme :)

m.

Biographical Notes and Assessment:

Belloc, (Joseph-Pierre) Hilaire

 b. July 27, 1870, La Celle-Saint-Cloud, Fr.
 d. July 16, 1953, Guildford, Surrey, Eng.

  French-born poet, historian, and essayist who was among the most versatile
  English writers of the first quarter of the 20th century. He is most
  remembered for his light verse, particularly for children, and for the
  lucidity and easy grace of his essays, which could be delightfully about
  nothing or decisively about some of the key controversies of the Edwardian
  era.

  Verses and Sonnets (1895) and The Bad Child's Book of Beasts (1896)
  launched Belloc on his literary career. Cautionary Tales, another book of
  humorous verse for children, which parodied some Victorian pomposities,
  appeared in 1907. His Danton (1899) and Robespierre (1901) proved his
  lively historical sense and powerful prose style. Lambkin's Remains (1900)
  and Mr. Burden (1904) showed his mastery of satire and irony. In The Path
  to Rome (1902) he interspersed his account of a pilgrimage on foot from
  Toul to Rome with comments on the nature and history of Europe. Born and
  brought up a Roman Catholic, he showed in almost everything he wrote an
  ardent profession of his faith. This coloured with occasional inaccuracy
  and overemphasis most of his historical writing, which includes Europe and
  the Faith (1920), History of England, 4 vol. (1925-31), and a series of
  biographies ranging in period from James II (1928) to Wolsey (1930). But
  he had the power of bringing history to life.

        -- EB

The Pelagian Drinking Song -- Hilaire Belloc

Guest poem from Ashwin Mahalingam

Lest the rest of the known world think I am dead, I have decided to make
my presence felt. Random musings led to this poem by Hilaire Belloc
which seemed extremely entertaining and amusing. So, I'd like you to put
it up on minstrels if you deem it fit:-)
(Poem #78) The Pelagian Drinking Song
Pelagius lived at Kardanoel
And taught a doctrine there
How, whether you went to heaven or to hell
It was your own affair.
It had nothing to do with the Church, my boy,
But was your own affair.

No, he didn't believe
In Adam and Eve
He put no faith therein!
His doubts began
With the Fall of Man
And he laughed at Original Sin.
With my row-ti-tow
Ti-oodly-ow
He laughed at original sin.

Then came the bishop of old Auxerre
Germanus was his name
He tore great handfuls out of his hair
And he called Pelagius shame.
And with his stout Episcopal staff
So thoroughly whacked and banged
The heretics all, both short and tall --
They rather had been hanged.

Oh he whacked them hard, and he banged them long
Upon each and all occasions
Till they bellowed in chorus, loud and strong
Their orthodox persuasions.
With my row-ti-tow
Ti-oodly-ow
Their orthodox persuasions.

Now the faith is old and the Devil bold
Exceedingly bold indeed.
And the masses of doubt that are floating about
Would smother a mortal creed.
But we that sit in a sturdy youth
And still can drink strong ale
Let us put it away to infallible truth
That always shall prevail.

And thank the Lord
For the temporal sword
And howling heretics too.
And all good things
Our Christendom brings
But especially barley brew!
With my row-ti-tow
Ti-oodly-ow
Especially barley brew!
-- Hilaire Belloc
My comments: The first time I read it, I nearly fell out of my chair
laughing. I especially like the row-ti-tow Ti-oodly-ow's appearing at the
end of every alternate stanza. Somehow, however, there does seem to be some
meaning in this poem especially in the lines

        Let us put it away to infallible truth
        That always shall prevail.

which is probably why the piece cannot be classified completely as a
nonsense poem. In the end analysis, the metre and the theme make this a very
enjoyable poem, and I leave it to the reader to draw whatever inferences
he/she may.

Mash