Two light hearted poems by great masters this week. Cornflower suggested that I should have taken some RLS to Vanuatu with me; I didn't, so here's some now, the undemanding and lovely Pirate Song by Robert Louis Stevenson.
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And now a much fiercer pirate, in T S Eliot's Growltiger's Last Stand (from Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats), with a lovely dash of humour and romance as well!
Growltiger was a Bravo Cat, who travelled on a barge:
In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large.
From Gravesend up to Oxford he pursued his evil aims,
Rejoicing in his title of `The Terror of the Thames’.His manners and appearance did not calculate to please;
His coat was torn and seedy, he was baggy at the knees;
One ear was somewhat missing, no need to tell you why,
And he scowled upon a hostile world from one forbidding eye.The cottagers of Rotherhithe knew something of his fame;
At Hammersmith and Putney people shuddered at his name.
They would fortify the hen-house, lock up the silly goose,
When the rumour ran along the shore: Growltiger's on the loose!Woe to the weak canary, that fluttered from its cage;
Woe to the pampered Pekinese, that faced Growltiger’s rage;
Woe to the bristly Bandicoot, that lurks on foreign ships,
And woe to any Cat with whom Growltiger came to grips!But most to Cats of foreign race his hatred had been vowed;
To Cats of foreign name and race no quarter was allowed.
The Persian and the Siamese regarded him with fear -
Because it was a Siamese had mauled his missing ear.Now on a peaceful summer night, all nature seemed at play,
The tender moon was shining bright, the barge at Molesey lay.
All in the balmy moonlight it lay rocking on the tide -
And Growltiger was disposed to show his sentimental side.His bucko mate, Grumbuskin, long since had disappeared,
For to the Bell at Hampton he had gone to wet his beard;
And his bosun, Tumblebrutus, he too had stol’n away -
In the yard behind the Lion he was prowling for his prey.In the forepeak of the vessel Growltiger sate alone,
Concentrating his attention on the Lady Griddlebone.
And his raffish crew were sleeping in their barrels and their bunks -
As the Siamese came creeping in their sampans and their junks.Growltiger had no eye for aught but Griddlebone,
And the Lady seemed enraptured by his manly baritone,
Disposed to relaxation, and awaiting no surprise -
But the moonlight shone reflected from a hundred bright blue eyes.And closer still and closer the sampans circled round,
And yet from all the enemy there was not heard a sound.
The lovers sang their last duet, in danger of their lives -
For the foe was armed with toasting forks and cruel carving knives.Then Gilbert gave the signal to his fierce Mongolian horde;
With a frightful burst of fireworks the Chinks they swarmed aboard.
Abandoning their sampans, and their pullaways and junks,
They battened down the hatches on the crew within their bunks.Then Griddlebone she gave a screech, for she was badly skeered;
I am sorry to admit it, but she quickly disappeared.
She probably escaped with ease, I’m sure she was not drowned -
But a serried ring of flashing steel Growltiger did surround.The ruthless foe pressed forward, in stubborn rank on rank;
Growltiger to his vast surprise was forced to walk the plank.
He who a hundred victims had driven to that drop,
At the end of all his crimes was forced to go ker-flip, ker-flop.Oh there was joy in Wapping when the news flew through the land;
At Maidenhead and Henley there was dancing on the strand.
Rats were roasted whole at Brentford, and at Victoria Dock,
And a day of celebration was commanded in Bangkok.
I am paying you a second visit and I re read both poems, and they certainly deserve a second read (and much more).
I was trying to concentrate more on that lovely Pirat song this time. Children can be so creative when they play as they imagine something different from the reality that is before their eyes. Sadly, we adults forget that ability and become too down-to-earth, except maybe poets.
Giving it a second thought, I think the TS Eliot poem is nothing but a short story in a versified form - and what a tale.
I love so much that name Growltiger, it teels so much about the personality of the said cat, you immediately imagine a terrible and terrible-looking feline, someone who loves fight and quarrel.
On the other hand, Dark Puss is such a sweet name, like a whisper.
Posted by: glo | Monday, 27 October 2008 at 02:08 AM
Ooooooh! Come on Dark Puss!!!
Don't be jealous now but I do love this Terror of the Thames. Each cat features both an adventurous bad boy and a refined and well-behaved individual, depending on wether he is outdoor or indoor.
This is absolutely and unquestionably lovely and the names of the characters are priceless.
For more cat-related poetry, may I recommend to Dark Puss and Mr Bagshaw "The Kitten's Garden of Verses" by Oliver Herford? There are very nice pictures by Herford himself included.
Posted by: glo | Saturday, 25 October 2008 at 02:02 AM
Dark Puss is not sure he would have been a friend of Growltiger.
Posted by: Peter the flautist | Friday, 24 October 2008 at 08:35 PM
Interesting that you should have chosen the skull and crossbones theme. Being captured by pirates was one of the many fates I was concerned might befall you on your trip!
Posted by: Cornflower | Friday, 24 October 2008 at 02:11 PM