The Rattle Bag: The C poems

Penelope · Fri Apr 29, 2011 7:32 am

71. The Cable Ship - Harry Edmund Martinson
72. Call for the Robin Redbreast and the Wren - John Webster
73. The Cap and Bells - W B Yeats
74. Carentan O Carentan - Louis Simpson
75. Carry her over the water - W H Auden
76. Channel Firing - Thomas Hardy
77. A Charm - anon
78. The Child Dying - Edwin Muir
79. A Child's Pet - W H Davies
80. Child's Song - Robert Lowell
81. The Chimney Sweeper - William Blake
82. The Clod and the Pebble - William Blake
83. Cocaine Lil and Morphine Sue - anon
84. Cock-Crow - Edward Thomas
85. The Cold Heaven - W B Yeats
86. The Collarbone of a Hare - W B Yeats
87. The Combe - Edward Thomas
88. The Compassionate Fool - Norman Cameron
89. Cotton - Harry Edmund Martinson
90. Could mortal lip divine - Emily Dickinson
91. The Cow - Ogden Nash
92. Cowper's Tame Hare - Norman Nicholson
93. A Crocodile - Thomas Lovell Beddoes
94. Crossing the Alps - William Wordsworth
95. Crossing the Water - Sylvia Plath
96. Crystals Like Blood - Hugh MacDiarmid
97. The Cuckoo - anon
98. Cut Grass - Philip Larkin

giselle · Mon Jul 11, 2011 8:36 pm

Looks like its time to start the C's, so here is the first one:

The Cable Ship

We fished up the Atlantic Cable one day between the Barbados
and the Tortugas,
held up our lanterns
and put some rubber over the wound in its back,
latitude 15 degrees north, longtitude 61 degrees west.
When we laid our ear down to the gnawed place
we could hear something humming inside the cable.

'It's some millionaires in Montreal and St John
talking over the price of Cuban sugar, and ways to
reduce our wages,' one of us said.

For a long time we stood there thinking, in a circle of lanterns,
we're all patient cable fishermen,
then we let the coated cable fall back
to its place in the sea.

Harry Edmund Martinson
From the Swedish (trans. Robert Bly)

Interesting story, struggle of social class and wealth. I liked the line 'we're all patient cable fisherman', and funny that the millionaires are Canadians!

Saffron · Tue Jul 12, 2011 9:01 pm


	giselle wrote: Looks like its time to start the C's, so here is the first one: The Cable Ship Harry Edmund Martinson From the Swedish (trans. Robert Bly) Interesting story, struggle of social class and wealth. I liked the line 'we're all patient cable fisherman', and funny that the millionaires are Canadians!

What a weird little poem. I too like the line 'we're all patient cable fisherman' and agree - Canadian millionaires?! :lol:

No doubt, they must exist.

realiz · Wed Jul 13, 2011 1:37 pm

Canadian millionaires?! No doubt, they must exist.
Well, once upon a time there was Conrad Black, but I'm sure Canada is happy now that he chose Britain instead.

DWill · Wed Jul 13, 2011 6:23 pm


	realiz wrote: Canadian millionaires?! No doubt, they must exist. Well, once upon a time there was Conrad Black, but I'm sure Canada is happy now that he chose Britain instead.

"Consultants Cap Gemini Ernst & Young estimated there were 315,000 millionaires in Canada at the start of 2001. In that survey, "millionaire" meant $1 million in investable assets, excluding real estate. The consulting firm forecast that the number of Canadian millionaires would grow to 900,000 by the year 2010."

http://www.cbc.ca/news/background/wealth/

They're doing okay in the Great White North, eh?

giselle · Wed Jul 13, 2011 10:09 pm

LOL. Oh yeah, things are pretty good in the Great White North. Nearly a million millionaires, eh? Well, that's not chump change. Canada had 59 billionaires as of 2010 as well. Canadians are traditionally known as haulers of water and hewers of wood. Guess this shows if you haul enough water and hew enough wood you can make a buck! Still, I'm not sure why our Swedish poet, writing about an event in the Carribean, chose to ignore American coastal cities that are much closer? And America has the rep for being rich. As for Conrad Black, well he can breath a sigh of relief, because now another media baron is in big trouble - Rupert Murdoch - so the media will leave Black alone and hound Murdoch. I wonder if the media are hacking into Murdoch's cell phone? Actually, I think Black might miss the limelight.

Ok, so here is the second C poem:

'Call for the Robin Redbreast and the Wren'

Call for the Robin Redbreast and the Wren,
Since o'er shadie groves they hover,
And with leaves and flowres doe cover
The friendlesse bodies of unburied men.
Call unto his funerall Dole
The Ante, the field-mouse, and the mole
To reare him hillockes, that shall keepe him warme,
And (when gay tombes are robb'd) sustaine no harme,
But keepe the wolfe far thence, that's foe to men,
For with his nailes he'll dig them up agen.

John Webster

A little background:
John Webster lived from 1578-1632 and was a late contemporary of Shakespeare. He has become recognized as one of the greatest writers of the Jacobean era. He was a playwright and his two great tragedies are The White Devil and the Duchess of Malfi. Also, this poem has a different title than in the Rattle Bag - "The Dirge".

DWill · Fri Jul 15, 2011 8:05 am

Webster's poem is the ending of Cornelia's dirge in The White Devil. It's easy to picture this as a speech within a dramatic scene. I like it very much. And this was also in Harmon's Top 500 as I recall, well down the list, probably. Harmon says T. S. Eliot used it in The Waste Land.

giselle · Fri Jul 15, 2011 2:51 pm

I'm going to post two poems since I can copy and paste both of them. I really enjoyed this Yeats poem, truly romantic. I love the last line.

The Cap and Bells

The jester walked in the garden:
The garden had fallen still;
He bade his soul rise upward
And stand on her window-sill.

It rose in a straight blue garment,
When owls began to call:
It had grown wise-tongued by thinking
Of a quiet and light footfall;

But the young queen would not listen;
She rose in her pale night-gown;
She drew in the heavy casement
And pushed the latches down.

He bade his heart go to her,
When the owls called out no more;
In a red and quivering garment
It sang to her through the door.

It had grown sweet-tongued by dreaming
Of a flutter of flower-like hair;
But she took up her fan from the table
And waved it off on the air.

'I have cap and bells,' he pondered,
'I will send them to her and die';
And when the morning whitened
He left them where she went by.

She laid them upon her bosom,
Under a cloud of her hair,
And her red lips sang them a love-song
Till stars grew out of the air.

She opened her door and her window,
And the heart and the soul came through,
To her right hand came the red one,
To her left hand came the blue.

They set up a noise like crickets,
A chattering wise and sweet,
And her hair was a folded flower
And the quiet of love in her feet.

W.B. Yeats

giselle · Fri Jul 15, 2011 2:54 pm

And the second poem for today, with some background below on the poet and the event he describes:

Carentan O Carentan

Trees in the old days used to stand
And shape a shady lane
Where lovers wandered hand in hand
Who came from Carentan.

This was the shining green canal
Where we came two by two
Walking at combat-interval.
Such trees we never knew.

The day was early June, the ground
Was soft and bright with dew.
Far away the guns did sound,
But here the sky was blue.

The sky was blue, but there a smoke
Hung still above the sea
Where the ships together spoke
To towns we could not see.

Could you have seen us through a glass
You would have said a walk
Of farmers out to turn the grass,
Each with his own hay-fork.

The watchers in their leopard suits
Waited till it was time,
And aimed between the belt and boot
And let the barrel climb.

I must lie down at once, there is
A hammer at my knee.
And call it death or cowardice,
Don't count again on me.

Everything's all right, Mother,
Everyone gets the same
At one time or another.
It's all in the game.

I never strolled, nor ever shall,
Down such a leafy lane.
I never drank in a canal,
Nor ever shall again.

There is a whistling in the leaves
And it is not the wind,
The twigs are falling from the knives
That cut men to the ground.

Tell me, Master-Sergeant,
The way to turn and shoot.
But the Sergeant's silent
That taught me how to do it.

O Captain, show us quickly
Our place upon the map.
But the Captain's sickly
And taking a long nap.

Lieutenant, what's my duty,
My place in the platoon?
He too's a sleeping beauty,
Charmed by that strange tune.

Carentan O Carentan
Before we met with you
We never yet had lost a man
Or known what death could do.

Louis Simpson

Louis Simpson served in the US military in WWII, 101st Airborne division.

Wikipedia describes the Battle of Carentan as follows:

The Battle of Carentan was an engagement in World War II between airborne forces of the United States Army and the German Wehrmacht during the Battle of Normandy. The battle took place between 10 and 15 June 1944, on the approaches to and within the city of Carentan, France.[1]

The objective of the attacking American forces was consolidation of the U.S. beachheads (Utah Beach and Omaha Beach) and establishment of a continuous defensive line against expected German counterattacks. The defending German force attempted to hold the city long enough to allow reinforcements en route from the south to arrive, prevent or delay the merging of the lodgments, and keep the U.S. First Army from launching an attack towards Lessay-Périers that would cut off the Cotentin Peninsula.
Carentan was defended by the 6th Parachute Regiment, two Ost battalions and remnants of other German forces. The 17th SS Panzergrenadier Division, ordered to reinforce Carentan, was delayed by transport shortages and attacks by Allied aircraft.

The attacking 101st Airborne Division, landed by parachute on 6 June as part of the American airborne landings in Normandy, was ordered to seize Carentan.
In the ensuing battle, the 101st forced passage across the causeway into Carentan on 10 June and 11 June. A lack of ammunition forced the German forces to withdraw on 12 June. The 17th SS PzG Division counter-attacked the 101st Airborne on 13 June. Initially successful, its attack was thrown back by Combat Command A (CCA) of the U.S. 2nd Armored Division.

Saffron · Sat Jul 16, 2011 2:09 pm

DWill wrote:


	realiz wrote: Canadian millionaires?! No doubt, they must exist. Well, once upon a time there was Conrad Black, but I'm sure Canada is happy now that he chose Britain instead.

"Consultants Cap Gemini Ernst & Young estimated there were 315,000 millionaires in Canada at the start of 2001. In that survey, "millionaire" meant $1 million in investable assets, excluding real estate. The consulting firm forecast that the number of Canadian millionaires would grow to 900,000 by the year 2010."

http://www.cbc.ca/news/background/wealth/

They're doing okay in the Great White North, eh?

Ya, I guess they are. I wonder how hard it is to become a Canadian.

Penelope · Sun Jul 17, 2011 1:13 pm

I've really read the last two properly.....and I want to get the email prompts, so I must post something.

So please forgive me.....I am paying attention....but I can't think of anything to say.....

It is mid-summer....raining persistently and heavily....I am a bit fed-up. Brain a bit numb....but I am still with you. :boohoo:

giselle · Mon Jul 18, 2011 2:56 pm

Hope you get some sunshine Penny!


	Code: Carry her over the water, And set her down under the tree, Where the culvers white all day and all night. And the winds from every quarter, Sing agreeably, agreeably, agreeably of love. Put a gold ring on her finger, And press her close to your heart, While the fish in the lake their snapshots take, And the frog, that sanguine singer, Sings agreeably, agreeably, agreeably of love. The streets shall all flock to your marriage, The houses turn around to look, The tables and chairs say suitable prayers, And the horses drawing your carriage Sing agreeably, agreeably, agreeably of love. WH Auden

Penelope · Mon Jul 18, 2011 3:14 pm

The tables and chairs say suitable prayers,
And the horses drawing your carriage
Sing agreeably, agreeably, agreeably of love.

I love this, especially the picture of the tables and chairs saying prayers. What would be unsuitable prayers I wonder?

It's still raining here!
Everywhere is really soggy!!

realiz · Mon Jul 18, 2011 5:29 pm

I like all the last three C poems. I think I like this last one the best, 2nd the Yeats one, and 3rd, the Simpson.

'And press her close to your heart,
While the fish in the lake their snapshots take,
And the frog, that sanguine singer,
Sings agreeably, agreeably, agreeably of love.'

I like this...the whole world in agreement with this love, sealed with a gold ring. The Yeats love poem sounds more like a doomed love.

giselle · Tue Jul 19, 2011 5:06 pm

Channel Firing

That night your great guns, unawares,
Shook all our coffins as we lay,
And broke the chancel window-squares,
We thought it was the Judgment-day

And sat upright. While drearisome
Arose the howl of wakened hounds:
The mouse let fall the altar-crumb,
The worms drew back into the mounds,

The glebe1 cow drooled. Till God called, “No;
It’s gunnery practise out at sea
Just as before you went below;
The world is as it used to be:

“And all nations striving strong to make
Red war yet redder. Mad as hatters
They do no more for Christés sake
Than you who are helpless in such matters.

“That this is not the judgement-hour
For some of them’s a blessed thing,
For if it were they’d have to scour
Hell’s floor for so much threatening. . . .

“Ha, ha. It will be warmer when
I blow the trumpet (if indeed
I ever do; for you are men,
And rest eternal sorely need).”

So down we lay again. “I wonder,
Will the world ever saner be,”
Said one, ‘than when He sent us under
In our indifferent century!”

And many a skeleton shook his head.
“Instead of preaching forty year,”
My neighbour Parson Thirdly said,
“I wish I had stuck to pipes and beer.”

Again the guns disturbed the hour,
Roaring their readiness to avenge,
As far inland as Stourton Tower,
And Camelot, and starlit Stonehenge.

Thomas Hardy

Hmm, more war poetry. No really my favourite, but this one has some interesting twists.

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