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Patriotism -- Sir Walter Scott

Guest poem submitted by Amulya Gopalakrishnan:
(Poem #1690) Patriotism
 Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
 Who never to himself hath said,
    "This is my own, my native land!"
 Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd
 As home his footsteps he hath turn'd
    From wandering on a foreign strand?
 If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
 For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
 High though his titles, proud his name,
 Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
 Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
 The wretch, concentred all in self,
 Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
 And, doubly dying, shall go down
 To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
 Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.
-- Sir Walter Scott
        From "The Lay of the Last Minstrel", Canto VI.

Here's a poem I memorized out of sheer love. Somehow, when I was seven or
eight, I couldn't get enough of swelling patrotic sentiment. This one, and
"Rule, Brittania!" were particular favourites (I wasn't discriminating about
which country)... Though it sounds very different now, I still instinctively
resist notions of a post-national world: there's a dire voice in my head
that goes, "unwept, unhonoured and unsung". :)

Amu.

When in Disgrace with Fortune and Men's Eyes (Sonnet XXIX) -- William Shakespeare

Guest poem sent in by Aseem

Continuing the theme of poems worth memorising:
(Poem #1689) When in Disgrace with Fortune and Men's Eyes (Sonnet XXIX)
 When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
 I all alone beweep my outcast state,
 And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
 And look upon myself and curse my fate.
 Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
 Featur'd like him, like him with friends possessed,
 Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
 With what I most enjoy contented least,
 Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
 Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
 (Like to the Lark at break of day arising)
 From sullen earth sings hymns at Heaven's gate,
 For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
 That then I scorn to change my state with Kings.
-- William Shakespeare
It's not so much that this sonnet moves me to memorise it, it's more that
(like much of Shakespeare) the language in it rings so true that having read
it once it's impossible to get it out of my head.

In many ways, Sonnet XXIX has always struck me as the perfect sonnet.  It's
not just that it's a brilliant demonstration of Shakespeare's incredible
command over the language. It's also the flawless marriage of that language
with form and content. Notice how the first eight lines form a sort of
prison of despair - a prison in which the lines pace restlessly back and
forth - and then the sextet that follows is a soaring escape from this
feeling, five lines of such incredible beauty that just reading them you can
hear your heart soar like a bird released. And Shakespeare doesn't just give
you the image to go with the feeling, he gives you a 12th line that seems to
follow from both the 10th and the 11th, making an otherwise tired metaphor
come breathlessly alive.

Plus of course there's the rhythm of the whole thing, the way every line
seems to trip so lightly onto your tongue, that it's almost impossible to
see how the thing could have been said any differently.  This is the
Shakespeare of the great monologues - a man whose gift for speech writing
has few equals. The wording is precise (and rich with little nuggets of wit
such as "what I most enjoy, contented least" or "change my state with
Kings") yet amazingly natural, even four centuries after the sonnet was
written. And there's something about lines 10-12 - a sort of singing
exultation - that make them truly unforgettable. The only thing I can think
of that can bring me such instant joy is the opening movement of Beethoven's
6th Symphony.

W.H. Auden described poetry as "a way of happening, a mouth". (In Memory of
W. B. Yeats [Poem #50] - another poem I remember every word of). Nowhere is
that as true as it is in Shakespeare - this is not simply a poem I remember,
it's a poem that is a part of how I think, a voice in my head.  Every time I
find myself envying someone in office, I can hear that voice mutter
"Desiring this man's art and that man's scope"; every time I try to get a
document through some government bureacracy I find myself repeating "Trouble
deaf heaven with my bootless cries"; every time I step out of my building
with a hangover and it's a beautiful, sunlit morning and the sky is a
brilliant blue the words in my head are "Like to a lark at break of day
arising / From sullen earth sings hymns at Heaven's gate".

Aseem

P.S. I can't believe you don't already have this on Minstrels!

The Bread-Knife Ballad -- Robert Service

Carrying on with the theme, here's a guest poem from Michelle Marie
WHITEHEAD
(Poem #1688) The Bread-Knife Ballad
 A little child was sitting upon her mother's knee
 and down her cheeks the bitter tears did flow;
 and as I sadly listened, I heard this tender plea,
 'twas uttered in a voice so soft and low...

     Please, Mother, don't stab Father with the bread-knife.
     Remember 'twas a gift when you were wed.
     But if you must stab Father with the bread-knife,
     Please, Mother, use another for the bread.

 "Not guilty!" said the Jury, and the Judge said, "Set her free,
 but remember this must not occur again.
 Next time, you must listen to your little daughter's plea."
 Then all the Court did join in this refrain...

     Please, Mother, don't stab Father with the bread-knife.
     Remember 'twas a gift when you were wed.
     But if you must stab Father with the bread-knife,
     Please, Mother, use another for the bread.
-- Robert Service
Martin has requested poems which we have been moved to memorise. The nursery
rhyme, "Curly Locks" which he posted is a particular favourite of mine...
along with:

  There was a little girl
  who had a little curl
  right in the middle of her forehead,
  and when she was good
  she was very very good...
  and when she was bad
  she was horrid.

I could go on quoting nursery rhymes all evening - I have memorised hundreds
:) not because I have children... I just love them for their fun and
quotability in any situation.

However, the poem I would like to offer for the minstrels archive is not a
nursery rhyme, although it shares a similar structure. It is:

Chorus from 'The Bread-Knife Ballad'
by Robert William Service

  Please, Mother, don't stab Father with the bread-knife.
  Remember 'twas a gift when you were wed.
  But if you must stab Father with the bread-knife,
  Please, Mother, use another for the bread.

That is all I ever knew of this poem, and I think it stands brilliantly on
its own. Having been started on the path, I soon found the rest of the poem.
While it has nowhere near the strength of the chorus for memorability, I
have included it for the sake of completeness.

Michelle

[Martin adds]

Michelle's poem and commentary reminded me of Thackeray's "Sorrows of Werther"
[Poem #183], which, coincidentally, I'd originally read and memorised only the
last verse of. I agree with her that the chorus of today's poem stands on its
own very well, and is far more memorable than the poem-as-a-whole.

Why so Pale and Wan? -- John Suckling

Guest poem submitted by Nisha Susan:
(Poem #1687) Why so Pale and Wan?
 Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
        Prithee, why so pale?
 Will, when looking well can't move her,
        Looking ill prevail?
        Prithee, why so pale?

 Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
        Prithee, why so mute?
 Will, when speaking well can't win her,
        Saying nothing do 't?
        Prithee, why so mute?

 Quit, quit for shame! This will not move;
        This cannot take her.
 If of herself she will not love,
        Nothing can make her:
        The devil take her!
-- John Suckling
I thought I would add my bit to the poems-one-has-been-moved-to-memorize
theme. Great theme by the way.

This poem is great fun and just terribly useful which is not something one
can say about many poems. This poem is as good as a spanner in the house. If
it cannot make a friend in the romantic doldrums laugh, the friend is
currently beyond redemption.

Suckling is one  of the Cavalier poets, the poets of the court of Charles I.
His writing is marked for its witty but ultra-casual style. This lyric poem
is from his play Aglaura which had two endings (one tragic and one happy)
but didn't quite make it in the box office. There has been much speculation
about whether Suckling was someone who wrote in semi-serious vein to hide
his sharp, social insights and rejection of ritual or someone who was never
serious about the craft of writing.

More about the good man:
  http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/suckling/

Nisha.

Curly-locks -- Traditional

This week's theme: poems you've been moved to memorise
(Poem #1686) Curly-locks
 Curly-locks, Curly-locks, wilt thou be mine?
 Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet feed the swine,
 But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,
 And dine upon strawberries, sugar, and cream!
-- Traditional
Minstrels member Bronson Stocker suggested a great idea for a theme - "Must
memorise poems". I decided to alter that slightly, to poems that people have
been actually moved to memorise themselves - surely the sincerest indication
that a poem is worth memorising! However, my enthusiasm soon ran into a
small snag - I've already *run* all the poems I felt compelled to memorise,
most of them in the first fine careless rapture of starting Minstrels, and I
daresay Thomas has done the same.

Happily, I remembered that I've been meaning to run another nursery rhyme
for a while now, and nursery rhymes are surely the canonical example of
poems that people have memorised. They're also wonderful examples of
memorable poetry, with strong rhythms, perfect rhymes (the wonders of an
oral tradition) and (unlike a lot of children's poetry) a vocabulary that
does not condescend to the reader.

Indeed, I've learnt a fair amount from nursery rhymes - what a dapple horse
was, and a tuffet, and comfits, the names of a good many historic churches
in London (taking what I mentally called the "Oranges and Lemons tour as a
college student was a wonderful combination of discovery and nostalgia),
that Thirty Days had September, and a lot of other things that seeped in by
osmosis when I was simply enjoying the sounds and shapes of the words.

And why this particular nursery rhyme? Simply because to this day I cannot
eat a strawberry without having the beautifully rhythmic phrase "and dine
upon strawberries, sugar and cream" running through my mind. Some poems
simply work their way into your brain with no effort on your part.

martin

[Folk Process]

Another, and, I speculate, later version runs:

    Bonny lass! bonny lass! will you be mine?
    Thou shalt neither wash dishes, nor serve the wine;
    But sit on a cushion, and sew up a seam,
    And dine upon strawberries, sugar and cream.

(I suspect the "later" because the specific "curly-locks" has been replaced
by the more generic "bonny lass", and "feed the swine" to the more genteel
"serve the wine". I could well be wrong, though.)

In the nursery rhyme, I've seen the word 'dine' in the last line replaced by
"feed", "sup" and "feast" variously; I've chosen to run the version I learnt
as a kid. Line 2 is sometimes "Thou shalt not wash *the* dishes",
suggesting that the first foot changes from "thou SHALT" to "thou shalt
NOT", arguably a more sensible stressing, but the two unstressed syllables
in the start break out of the poem's rhythm. I've also seen "nor feed the
swine", which matches the "Bonny lass" version above, but doesn't scan as
satisfyingly as "nor yet feed the swine"

[Links]

Two pages speculating on the poem's origins:
  [broken link] http://nurseryrhymes.allinfoabout.com/curly_locks.html
  http://www.rhymes.org.uk/a20-curly-locks.htm

[Theme]

To reiterate, we're running a theme on poems you've been moved to memorise -
do send your favourites in!

martin