I mentioned a few Fridays ago that I might share with you Chesterton's famous poem on the making of the English road - the windy, careless and carefree road of countryside and imagination. But in fact, there are three of these poems, all offering different views, and you will have them all over the next month or so; they are the Poems of the Car Club from The Flying Inn. Here is the first of them, G K Chesterton's The Rolling English Road, sung emotionally by Dorian Wimpole, the poet who has been almost hijacked by the good guys in the book, and has gone over to them with a vengeance. Do read The Flying Inn, it's hilarious and thoughtful, and there's lots of poetry like this (by the way, if you don't know the geography, worry not - just assume that the directions are ludicrously wrong headed):
- Before the Roman came to Rye or out to Severn strode,
- The rolling English drunkard made the rolling English road.
- A reeling road, a rolling road, that rambles round the shire,
- And after him the parson ran, the sexton and the squire;
- A merry road, a mazy road, and such as we did tread
- The night we went to Birmingham by way of Beachy Head.
- The rolling English drunkard made the rolling English road.
- I knew no harm of Bonaparte and plenty of the Squire,
- And for to fight the Frenchman I did not much desire;
- But I did bash their baggonets because they came arrayed
- To straighten out the crooked road an English drunkard made,
- Where you and I went down the lane with ale-mugs in our hands,
- The night we went to Glastonbury by way of Goodwin Sands.
- And for to fight the Frenchman I did not much desire;
- His sins they were forgiven him; or why do flowers run
- Behind him; and the hedges all strengthening in the sun?
- The wild thing went from left to right and knew not which was which,
- But the wild rose was above him when they found him in the ditch.
- God pardon us, nor harden us; we did not see so clear
- The night we went to Bannockburn by way of Brighton Pier.
- Behind him; and the hedges all strengthening in the sun?
- My friends, we will not go again or ape an ancient rage,
- Or stretch the folly of our youth to be the shame of age,
- But walk with clearer eyes and ears this path that wandereth,
- And see undrugged in evening light the decent inn of death;
- For there is good news yet to hear and fine things to be seen,
- Before we go to Paradise by way of Kensal Green.
- Or stretch the folly of our youth to be the shame of age,
I just recently found out about this wonderful poem. I didn't know it was G.K. Chesterton.
The poem was the last words of a great film, starring Alec Guiness in 1962, called "The Horse's Mouth". If you can, you'll probably put it right up there in your top ten, all time bests.
... "and great things to be seen". It's really inspiring.
Posted by: Paul Willis | Saturday, 20 November 2010 at 10:48 AM
I think he may have been digging into the old Anglo-Saxon soul and reveling in the poetry of it, as contrasted with the "straight-road" ways of the Normans. The rolling road is preferred to the straight road. One way of experiencing this poem may be to sort of put your "eyes" out of focus and feel the impressions of his references, but to know more about the references and combine them with feeling the poem would most likely be the best experience. I am reminded of Vaughan Williams' "Fantasy on a Theme of Thomas Tallis". I can feel the whole history of Merrie Old England distilled and concentrated into that one piece. My experience of this poem is similar to that.
Posted by: Stephen Maxam | Tuesday, 09 March 2010 at 04:54 AM
I love it. To read it makes me proud of this strange country I am very proud to live in.
I only found this poem after going to a restaurant/bar/club in the Kensal area called Paradise by way of Kensal Green. My curiosity into why it was called that brought me to finding this poem.
Posted by: Oli Smith | Wednesday, 13 August 2008 at 07:19 PM
I can tell you nothing about it as I hardly understand it. From the little I can understand, the whole sounds cynical to me but that's certainly not a definitive and trustworthy opinion.
The two last stanzas are particularly difficult to understand, I guess there must be symbols or references in them (wild thing? wild rose? inn of death?). And who is the "him"? Is it the English drunkard that Chesterton mentioned before?
All I can tell for sure is that I remember having already read the two first stanzas on your blog last year, it was probably in one of your posts about your London walks.
Posted by: glo | Tuesday, 03 June 2008 at 11:28 PM