Poems:
|
|
SOMETHING ELSE AGAIN
By
FRANKLIN P. ADAMS
June 30th, 1919
- NOTABLY fond of music, I dote on a
- clearer tone
- Than ever was blared by a bugle or zoomed
- by a saxophone;
- And the sound that opens the gates for me of
- a Paradise revealed
- Is something akin to the note revered by the
- blesséd Eugene Field,
- Who sang in pellucid phrasing that I perfectly
- will recall
- Of the clink of the ice in the pitcher that the
- boy brings up the hall.
- But sweeter to me than the sparrow's song or
- the goose's autumn honks
- Is the sound of the ice in the shaker as the
- barkeeper mixes a Bronx.
- Between the dark and the daylight, when I'm
- worried about The Tower,
- Comes a pause in the day's tribulations that
- is known as the cocktail hour;
- And my soul is sad and jaded, and my heart
- is a thing forlorn,
- And I view the things I have written with a
- sickening, scathing scorn.
- Oh, it's then I fare with some other slave who
- is hired for the things he writes
- To a Den of Sin where they mingle gin--such
- as Lipton's, Mouquin's or Whyte's,
- And my spirit thrills to a music sweeter than
- Sullivan or Puccini--
- The swash of the ice in the shaker as he mixes
- a Dry martini.
- The drys will assert that metallic sound is the
- selfsame canon made
- By the ice in a shaker that holds a drink
- like orange or lemonade;
- But on the word of a traveled man and a
- bard who has been around,
- The sound of tin on ice and gin is a snappier,
- happier sound.
- And I mean to hymn, as soon as I have a
- moment of leisure time,
- The chill susurrus of cocktail ice in an adequae
- piece of rhyme.
- But I've just had an invitation to hark, at a
- beckoning bar,
- To the sound of the ice in the shaker as the
- barkeeper mixes a Star.
- JENNY kissed me in a dream;
- So did Elsie, Lucy, Cora,
- Bessie, Gwendolyn, Eupheme,
- Alice, Adelaide, and Dora.
- Say of honour I'm devoid,
- Say mongamy has miss'd me,
- But don't say to Dr. Freud
- Jenny kiss'd me.
- THEY brought to me his mangled corpse
- And I feared lest I should swing.
- "O tell me, tell me,--and make it brief--
- Why hast thou done this thing?
- "Had this man robbed the starving poor
- Or lived a gunman's life,
- Had he set fire to cottages,
- Or run off with thy wife?"
- "He hath not robbed the starving poor
- Or lived a gunman's life;
- He hath set fire to no cottage,
- Nor run off with my wife.
- "Ye ask me such a question that
- It now my lips unlocks:
- I learned he was the man who planned
- The second balcony box."
- The jury pondered never an hour,
- They thought not even a little,
- But handed in unanimously
- A verdict of acquittal.
- ALL stark and cold the merchant lay,
- All cold and stark lay he.
- And who hath killed the fair merchant?
- Now tell the truth to me.
- Oh, I have killed this fair merchant
- Will never again draw breath;
- Oh, I have made this fair merchant
- To come unto his death.
- Oh, why hast thou killed this fair merchant
- Whose corpse I now behold?
- And why hast caused this man to lie
- In death all stark and cold?
- Oh, I have killed this fair merchant
- Whose kith and kin make moan,
- For that he hath stolen my precious time
- When he useth the telephone.
- The telephone bell rang full and clear;
- The receiver did I seize.
- "Hello!" quoth I, and quoth a girl,
- "Hello! . . . One moment, please."
- I waited moments ane and twa,
- And moments three and four,
- And then I sought the fair merchant
- And spilled his selfish gore.
- That business man who scorneth to waste
- His moments sae rich and fine
- In calling a man to the telephone
- Shall never again waste mine!
- And every time a henchwoman
- Shall cause me a moment's loss,
- I'll forthwith fare to that office
- And stab to death her boss.
- Rise up! Rise up! thou blesséd knight!
- And off thy bended knees!
- Go forth and slay all folk who make
- Us wait "One moment, please."
- I
- IN summer when the days are hot
- The subway is delayed a lot;
- In winter, quite the selfsame thing;
- In autumn also, and in spring.
- And does it not seem strange to you
- That transportation is askew
- In this--I pray, restrain your mirth!--
- In this, the Greatest Town on Earth?
- II
- All night long and every night
- The neighbors dance for my delight;
- I hear the people dance and sing
- Like practically anything.
- Women and men and girls and boys,
- All making curious kinds of noise
- And dancing in so weird a way,
- I never saw the like by day.
- So loud a show was never heard
- As that which yesternight occurred:
- They danced and sang, as I have said,
- As I lay wakeful in my bed.
- They shout and cry and yell and laugh
- And play upon the phonograph;
- And endlessly I count the sheep,
- Endeavouring to fall asleep.
- III
- It is very nice to think
- This town is full of meat and drink;
- That is, I'd think it very nice
- If my pappa but had the price.
- IV
- This town is so full of a number of folks,
- I'm sure there will always be matter for jokes.
- AS neat as wax, as good as new,
- As true as steel, as truth is true,
- Good as a sermon, keen as hate,
- Full as a tick, and fixed as fate--
- Brief as a dream, long as the day,
- Sweet as the rosy morn in May,
- Chaste as the moon, as snow is white,
- Broad as barn doors, and new as sight--
- Useful as daylight, firm as stone,
- Wet as a fish, dry as a bone,
- Heavy as lead, light as a breeze--
- Frank Wilstach's book of similies.
INSPIRED BY READING MR. KIPLING'S POEMS AS
PRINTED IN THE NEW YORK PAPERS
- THOUGH earnest and industrious,
- I still am unillustrious;
- No papers empty purses
- Printing verses
- Such as mine.
- No lack of fame is chronicker
- Than that about my monicker;
- My verse is never cabled
- At a fabled
- Rate per line.
- Still though the Halls
- Of Literature are closed
- To me a bard obscure I
- Have a consolation The
- Copyreaders crude and rough
- Can't monkey with my
- Humble stuff and change MY
- Punctuation.
- UP goes the price of our bread--
- Up goes the cost of our caking!
- People must ever be fed;
- Bakers must ever be baking.
- So, though our nerves may be quaking,
- Dumbly, in arrant despair,
- Pay we the crowd that is taking
- All that the traffic will bear.
- Costly to sleep in a bed!
- Costlier yet to be waking!
- Costly for one who is wed!
- Ruinous for one who is raking!
- Tradespeople, ducking and draking,
- Charge you as much as they dare,
- Asking, without any faking,
- All that the traffic will bear.
- Roof that goes over our head,
- Thirst so expensive for slaking,
- Paper, apparel, and lead--
- Why are their prices at breaking?
- Yet, though our purses be aching,
- Little the traffickers care;
- Getting, for chopping and steaking,
- All that the traffic will bear.
- L'ENVOI
- Take thou my verses, I pray, King,
- Letting my guerdon* be fair. [reward]
- Even a bard must be making
- All that the traffic will bear.
- WILLIAM, it was, I think, three years ago--
- As I recall, one cool October morning--
- (You have The Tribune files; I think they'll show
- I gave you warning).
- I said, in well-selected words and terse,
- In phrases balanced, yet replete with power,
- That I should cease to pen the prose and verse
- Known as The Tower
- That I should stop this Labyrinth of Light--
- Though stopping make the planet leaden-hearted--
- Unless you stop the well-known Schrecklichkeit
- Your nation started.
- I printed it in type that you could read;
- My paragraphs were thewed, my rhymes were sinewed.
- You paid, I judge from what ensued, no heed . . .
- The war continued.
- And though my lines with fortitude were fraught,
- Although my words were strong, and stripped of stuffing,
- You, William, thought--oh, yes, you did--you thought
- That I was bluffing.
- You thought that I would fail to see it through!
- You thought that, at the crux of things, I'd cower!
- How little, how imperfectly you knew
- The Conning Tower!
- You'll miss the column at the break of day.
- I have no fear that I shall be forgotten.
- You'll miss the daily privilege to say:
- "That stuff is rotten!"
- Or else--as sometimes has occured--when I
- Have chanced upon a lucky line to blunder,
- You'll miss the precious privilege to cry:
- "That bird's a wonder!"
- Well, William, when your people cease to strafe,
- When you have put an end to all this war stuff,
- When all the world is reasonably safe,
- I'll write some more stuff.
- And when you miss the quip and wanton wile,
- And learn you can't endure the Towerless season,
- O William, I shall not be petty . . . I'll
- Listen to reason.
- WELL William, since I wrote you long ago--
- As I recall, one cool October morning--
- (I have The Tribune files. They clearly show
- I gave you warning).
- Since when I penned that consequential ode,
- The world has seen a vast amount of slaughter,
- And under many a Gallic bridge has flowed
- A lot of water.
- I said when your people ceased to strafe,
- That when you'd put an end to all this war stuff,
- And all the world was reasonably safe
- I'd write some more stuff.
- That when you missed the quip and wanton wile
- And learned you couldn't bear a Towerless season,
- I quote, "O, I shall not be petty. . . . I'll
- Listen to reason."
- Labuntur anni*, not to say Eheu [alas, the fleeting years go on]
- Fugaces!
William, by my shoulders glistening!
- I have the final laugh, for it was you
- Who did the listening.
- January 13, 1919
- I
- I DO not hold with him who thinks
- The world is jonahed by a jinx;
- That everything is sad and sour,
- And life a withered hothouse flower.
- II
- I hate the Polyanna pest
- Who says that All Is for the Best,
- And hold in high, unhidden scorn
- Who sees the Rose, nor feels the Thorn.
- III
- I do not like extremists who
- Are like the pair in (I) and (II);
- But how I hate the wabbly gink,
- Like me, who knows not what to think!
- I USED to think that this enviro-
- Ment talk was all a lot of guff;
- Place mattered not with Keats and Byron
- Stuff.
- If I have thoughts that need disclosing,
- Bright be the day or hung with gloom,
- I'll write in Heaven or the composing-
- Room.
- Times are when with my nerves a-tingle,
- Joyous and bright the songs I sing;
- Though, gay, I can't dope out a single
- Thing.
- And yet, by way of illustration,
- The gods my graying head annoint . . .
- I wrote this piece at Inspiration
- point.
- I SAW him lying cold and dead
- Who yesterday was whole.
- "Why," I inquired, "hath he expired?
- And why hath fled his soul?
- "but yesterday," his comrade said,
- "All health was his, and strength;
- And this is why he came to die--
- If I may speak at length.
- "But yesternight at dinnertime
- At a not unknown café,
- He had a frugal meal as you
- Might purchase any day.
- "The check for his so simple fare
- Was only eighty cents,
- And a dollar bill with a right good will
- Came from his opulence.
- "The waiter brought him twenty cents.
- 'Twas only yesternight
- That he softly said who now is dead
- 'Oh, keep it. 'Ats a' right.'
- "And the waiter plainly uttered 'Thanks,'
- With no hint of scorn or pride;
- And my comrade's heart gave a sudden start
- And my comrade up and died."
- Now waiters overthwart this land,
- In tearooms and in dives,
- Mute be your lips whatever the tips,
- And save your customers' lives.
- WHENEVER the penner of this pome
- Regards a lovely country home,
- He sighs, in words not insincere,
- "I think I'd like to live out here."
- And when the builder of this ditty
- Returns to this pulsating city,
- The perpetrator of this pome
- Yearns for a lovely country home.
- WHEN first I doffed my olive drab,
- I thought, delightfully though mutely,
- "Henceforth I shall have pleasure ab-
- Solutely."
- Dull with the drudgery of war,
- Sick of the name of fighting,
- I yearned, I thought, for something more
- Exciting.
- The rainbow be my guide, quoth I;
- My suit shall be a brave and proud one
- Gay-hued my socks; and oh, my tie
- A loud one.
- For me the theater and the dance;
- Primrose the path I would be wending;
- For me the roses of romance
- Unending.
- Those were my inner thoughts that day
- (And those of many another million)
- When once again I should be a
- Civilian.
- I would not miss the o.d.;
- (Monotony I didn't much like)
- I would not miss the reveille,
- And such the like.
- I don't . . . And do I now enjoy
- My walks along the primrose way so?
- Is civil life the life? Oh, boy,
- I'll say so.
- MAN hath harnessed the lightning;
- Man hath soared to the skies;
- Mountain and hill are clay to his will;
- Skillful he is, and wise.
- Sea to sea hath he wedded,
- Canceled the chasm of space,
- Given defeat to cold and heat;
- Splendour is his, and grace.
- His are the topless turrets;
- His are the plumbless pits;
- Earth is slave to his architrave,
- Heaven is thrall to his wits.
- And so in the golden future,
- He who hath dulled the storm
- (As said above) may make a glove
- That'll keep my fingers warm.
On to the next poem.
|