Griblet wrote:Animist wrote:I notice - for the first time ever - that it is historically inaccurate: the Romans were here before the English, not after!
It's by no means one of the world's great poems - just a bit of fun - and I suspect GKC knew that full well. Should he have written, "..the Neolithic hunter-gatherers who re-populated these islands as the glaciers retreated, first trod those pathways which were later to become the rolling English road."?
well quite, I suppose it is poetic licence! Maybe we should look for more poetic howlers like this one. Anyway, here is another jazz poem, this time by Christopher Logue:
ON MY MOUSE
Cats are full of death.
All horses
And even very small dogs
Frighten me.
I fear I am not very English.
Be that as it may,
Lately,
A mouse has moved in and
At thirty-two...almost thirty-three...
A man who lives alone
And breaks his teeth while eating jam
Is...is he not?...
Rather ridiculous.
So I am grateful.
I eat at home more often,
Compose with certain ease,
And yesterday
I bought a book on mice.
Mark you, he's fortunate.
Though poor, I have expensive tastes.
My mouse has camembert and brie in piece
Whereas some mice
Run most fantastic risks
For sweaty yellow Cheddar.
He's not very intelligent.
The first time I saw him
Walk round and round the room
Tail in the air
Like the tooth of a big brown comb
I thought he was brave.
Now I know
He had lost his hole.
Later, I discovered
He was blind in one eye, and,
Chances are,
Joan will not like him.
But there...what can you do?
We must bear in mind
That the mouse has moved in,
And Joan hasn't.