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Showing posts with label Submitted by: Rupindar Millington. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Submitted by: Rupindar Millington. Show all posts

Mad Dogs and Englishmen -- Noel Coward

Guest poem suggested by Stefan Bartels, and submitted with commentary by Rupindar Millington , as part of our continuing theme on the heat of summer:
(Poem #1896) Mad Dogs and Englishmen
 In tropical climes there are certain times of day
 When all the citizens retire to tear their clothes off and perspire.
 It's one of the rules that the greatest fools obey,
 Because the sun is much too sultry
 And one must avoid its ultry-violet ray.
 The natives grieve when the white men leave their huts,
 Because they're obviously, definitely nuts!

 Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun,
 The Japanese don´t care to, the Chinese wouldn´t dare to,
 Hindus and Argentines sleep firmly from twelve to one
 But Englishmen detest-a siesta.
 In the Philippines they have lovely screens to protect you from the glare.
 In the Malay States, there are hats like plates which the Britishers won't wear.
 At twelve noon the natives swoon and no further work is done,
 But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.

 It's such a surprise for the Eastern eyes to see,
 That though the English are effete, they're quite impervious to heat,
 When the white man rides every native hides in glee,
 Because the simple creatures hope he will impale his solar topee on a tree.
 It seems such a shame when the English claim the earth,
 They give rise to such hilarity and mirth.
 Ha ha ha ha hoo hoo hoo hoo hee hee hee hee ......

 Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
 The toughest Burmese bandit can never understand it.
 In Rangoon the heat of noon is just what the natives shun,
 They put their Scotch or Rye down, and lie down.
 In a jungle town where the sun beats down to the rage of man and beast
 The English garb of the English sahib merely gets a bit more creased.
 In Bangkok at twelve o'clock they foam at the mouth and run,
 But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.

 Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
 The smallest Malay rabbit deplores this foolish habit.
 In Hong Kong they strike a gong and fire off a noonday gun,
 To reprimand each inmate who's in late.
 In the mangrove swamps where the python romps
 There is peace from twelve till two.
 Even caribous lie around and snooze, for there's nothing else to do.
 In Bengal to move at all is seldom ever done,
 But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
-- Noel Coward
This week's theme of Summer Heat made me recall this classic song.... very topical in my household.  I'm a BBI (British born Indian) or some might say a BBCD (British born confused Desi) married to an Englishman.  There has been a heatwave in the UK and I've been telling my son that "only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun" in a bid to stop him emulating the football world cup antics.  He thought it was an Indian saying so I retrieved the CD and played it to him :-).

I particularly like the lines...

    It's such a surprise for the Eastern eyes to see,
    That though the English are effete, they're quite impervious to heat,

...so untrue having witnessed my husband suffering from sunstroke many times!!

The song gives a quick snapshot of what the Bristish colonial masters were like.  It's a  tongue-n-cheek ditty of the British colonial mentality, written in 1932 by perhaps Britain's finest wit, composer Noel Coward.  You've got to hear the song to fully appreciate the era in which it was written.  I think Noel Coward spent some time in Malaysia; I suggest you find out more by visiting:  http://www.noelcoward.net/html/whoisnc.html

Enjoy!

Rupindar Millington.

All the World's a Stage -- William Shakespeare

Guest poem submitted by Rupindar Millington:
(Poem #1873) All the World's a Stage
 All the world's a stage,
 And all the men and women merely players:
 They have their exits and their entrances;
 And one man in his time plays many parts,
 His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
 Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
 And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
 And shining morning face, creeping like snail
 Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
 Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
 Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
 Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
 Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
 Seeking the bubble reputation
 Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
 In fair round belly with good capon lined,
 With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
 Full of wise saws and modern instances;
 And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
 Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
 With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
 His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
 For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
 Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
 And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
 That ends this strange eventful history,
 Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
 Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
-- William Shakespeare
A recent submission, "Childhood" by Frances Cornford (Poem #1872), reminded
me instantly of this great poem from Shakespeare's As You Like It, 1600.
The link between childhood and old age, the full circle of life in which at
the first and last stages we are helpless - back to square one:

        Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
        Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

Is our life marked out?  Do we merely go through the stages of our life
acting it out?  Are there really seven stages?  Are some of us better
actors/actresses than others?  Something to debate; no wonder I recall it so
well - it was part of my English Literature Syllabus :-)... or perhaps I'm
having a mid-life crisis!!

Enjoy!

Rupindar Millington