Poetry Corner

[Fox]

Not Waving But Drowning
Stevie Smith

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

[MissAnomaly]

The Cinnamon Peeler

If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
and leave the yellow bark dust
on your pillow.

Your breasts and shoulders would reek
you could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe
under the rain gutters, monsoon.

Here on the upper thigh
at this smooth pasture
neighbour to your hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle.
You will be known among strangers
as the cinnamon peeler's wife.

I could hardly glance at you
before marriage
never touch you
- your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.
I buried my hands
in saffron, disguised them
over smoking tar,
helped the honey gatherers...

When we swam once
I touched you in the water
and our bodies remained free,
you could hold me and be blind of smell.
You climbed the bank and said

this is how you touch other women
the grass cutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.
And you searched your arms
for the missing perfume

and knew

what good is it
to be the lime burner's daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in the act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of a scar.

You touched
your belly to my hands
in the dry air and said
I am the cinnamon
peeler's wife. Smell me.

-- Michael Ondaatje

I've adored this one for almost ten years.

[Jaboney]

I posted this before, elsewhere, but it's a favorite.

When I was young and had no sense
In far-off Mandalay
I lost my heart to a Burmese girl
As lovely as the day.

Her skin was gold, her hair was jet,
Her teeth were ivory;
I said, "for twenty silver pieces,
Maiden, sleep with me".

She looked at me, so pure, so sad,
The loveliest thing alive,
And in her lisping, virgin voice,
Stood out for twenty-five.
--George Orwell

[Bubba 2 Guns]

Let Me Die a Youngman's Death - Roger McGough

Let me die a youngman's death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death

When I'm 73
and in constant good tumour
may I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports car
on my way home
from an allnight party

Or when I'm 91
with silver hair
and sitting in a barber's chair
may rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
and give me a short back and insides

Or when I'm 104
and banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
and fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
and throw away every piece but one

Let me die a youngman's death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax and waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
'what a nice way to go' death

Yeah Baby---Take me down to the water and toss me in. Love this poem.

[Bubba 2 Guns]

I recommend the Louvin brother's 1956 version of this song, creepy song with them harmonizing and a few cool mandolin

solos. Reads poetic.


BTW
( I'll be in the shed sharpening some garden tools, best you ignore any strange sounds you may hear.)

The Knoxville Girl

The Knoxville Girl

I met a little girl in Knoxville
A town we all know well
And every Sunday evening
Out in her home I'd dwell
We went to take an evening walk
About a mile from town
I picked a stick up off the ground
And knocked that fair girl down;

She fell down on her bended knees
For mercy she did cry
Oh, Willie dear, don't kill me here
I'm unprepared to die
She never spoke another word
I only beat her more
Until the ground around me
Within her blood did flow.

I took her by her golden curls
And I drug her 'round and 'round
Throwing her into the river
That flows through Knoxville town
Go down, go down, you Knoxville girl
With the dark and roving eyes
Go down, go down, you Knoxville girl
You can never be my bride.

I started back to Knoxville
Got there about midnight
My mother she was worried
And woke up in a fright
Saying, ""Dear son, what have you done
To bloody your clothes so?""
I told my anxious mother
I was bleeding at my nose.

I called for me a candle
To light myself to bed
I called for me a handkerchief
To bind my aching head
Rolled and tumbled the whole night through
As troubles was for me
Like flames of hell around my bed
And in my eyes could see.

They carried me down to Knoxville
And put me in a cell
My friends all tried to get me out
But none could go my bail
I'm here to waste my life away
Down in this dirty old jail
Because I murdered that Knoxville girl
The girl I loved so well.

Note. Based on the old English Ballad of the Wexford Girl
Recorded by The Louvin Brothers - Traditional

[Doctor Evil]

I recommend the Louvin brother's 1956 version of this song, creepy song with them harmonizing and a few cool mandolin

Thanks. Reminds me of Doc Watson's version of Omie Wise

Oh, listen to my story, I'll tell you no lies,
How John Lewis did murder poor little Omie Wise.

He told her to meet him at Adams's Springs.
He promised her money and other fine things.

So, fool-like she met him at Adams's Springs.
No money he brought her nor other fine things.

"Go with me, little Omie, and away we will go.
We'll go and get married and no one will know."

She climbed up behind him and away they did go,
But off to the river where deep waters flow.

"John Lewis, John Lewis, will you tell me your mind?
Do you intend to marry me or leave me behind?"

"Little Omie, little Omie, I'll tell you my mind.
My mind is to drown you and leave you behind."

"Have mercy on my baby and spare me my life,
I'll go home as a beggar and never be your wife."

He kissed her and hugged her and turned her around,
Then pushed her in deep waters where he knew that she would drown.

He got on his pony and away he did ride,
As the screams of little Omie went down by his side.

T'was on a Thursday morning, the rain was pouring down,
When the people searched for Omie but she could not be found.

Two boys went a-fishin' one fine summer day,
And saw little Omie's body go floating away.

They threw their net around her and drew her to the bank.
Her clothes all wet and muddy, they laid her on a plank.

Then sent for John Lewis to come to that place --
And brought her out before him so that he might see her face.

He made no confession but they carried him to jail,
No friends or relations would go on his bail.

http://www.geocities.com/Nashville/3448/omie.html

My favorite version is by Pentangle off the Reflection album.

http://www.cduniverse.com/search/xx/mus ... ection.htm

[sandman]

Spooky, Bubba. I was listening to the Dillards singing that song this morning.

[MissAnomaly]

Hmm, won't be long until folks start posting from Nick Cave's Murder Ballads...disturbing, but you get pulled in despite it.

[MissAnomaly]

The Willow Garden

Down in the willow garden, me and my love did meet
And as we sat a-courting, my love fell off to sleep
I had a bottle of burgundy wine; my love, she did not know
And so I poisoned that dear little girl along the banks below
Along the banks below


I drew my saber through her; it was a bloody night
I threw her in the river, which was a dreadful sight
My father often told me that money would set me free
And so I murdered that dear little girl whose name was Rose Connelly
Whose name was Rose Connelly


My father sits at his cabin door wiping his tear-dimmed eyes
His only son soon should walk to yonder scaffold high
My race is run beneath the sun; the scaffold now waits for me
For I did murder that dear little girl whose name was Rose Connelly
Whose name was Rose Connelly
Whose name was Rose Connelly.

The previous song inspired Cave to write this one:

Where The Wild Roses Grow

CHORUS:
They call me The Wild Rose
But my name was Elisa Day
Why they call me it I do not know
For my name was Elisa Day

From the first day I saw her I knew she was the one
As she stared in my eyes and smiled
For her lips were the colour of the roses
They grew down the river, all bloody and wild

When he knocked on my door and entered the room
My trembling subsided in his sure embrace
He would be my first man, and with a careful hand
He wiped the tears that ran down my face

CHORUS

On the second day I brought her a flower
She was more beautiful than any woman I'd seen
I said, 'Do you know where the wild roses grow
So sweet and scarlet and free?'

On the second day he came with a single rose
Said: 'Will you give me your loss and your sorrow?'
I nodded my head, as I lay on the bed
He said, 'If I show you the roses will you follow?'

CHORUS

On the third day he took me to the river
He showed me the roses and we kissed
And the last thing I heard was a muttered word
As he stood smiling above me with a rock in his fist

On the last day I took her where the wild roses grow
And she lay on the bank, the wind light as a thief
As I kissed her goodbye, I said, 'All beauty must die'
And knelt down and planted a rose 'tween her teeth

CHORUS

[Bubba 2 Guns]

While we are on the subject of death, murder and tragedy another catchy tune to teach the kids that is sweet, sad and poetic:

Louvin Brothers and Johnny Cash covered this.

Mary of the wild moor

'Twas on one cold winty night
And the wind blew across the wild moor
As poor Mary came wandering home with her child
She stopped at her own father's door
Oh, father, dear father, she cried
Come down and open the door
Or the child in my arms will perish and die
From the winds that blow across the wild moor
But the father was deaf to her cry
Not a sound of her voice did he hear
Though the watch dogs did howl and the village bells tolled
And the winds blew across the wild moor
Oh, how the old man must have felt
When the came to the door the next morn
And found Mary dead, but the child still alive
Closely clasped in it's dead mother's arms
In anguish he tore his gray hair
And the tears down his cheeks they did pour
When he saw how that night she had perished and died
From the winds that blew across the wild moor
The old man with grief pined away
And the child to it's mother went soon
And no one they say has lived there to this day
And the cottage to ruin has gone
But the villagers point out the spot
Where the willows droop over the door
Saying there mary died once a gay village bride
From the winds that blew across the wild moor


The Louvin Brothers .

Were they hillbilly Cain and Abel?