# Absolutely badass old poems **URL:** \ **Category:** Cafe Society\ **Created:** [June 22, 2014, 7:31pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/absolutely-badass-old-poems/691382 "2014-06-22T19:31:38Z")\ **Posts on this page:** 12\ **Page:** 7
**Author:** ![Enuma\_Elish](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/e/5e9695/32.png) [@Enuma\_Elish](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Enuma_Elish)\ **Post date:** [June 19, 2017, 5:11am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/absolutely-badass-old-poems/691382/121 "2017-06-19T05:11:56Z")
I am reasonably certain that this is old enough to not be copyrighted. If this is not so, please delete it, Mods. Eating Poetry by Mark Strand … ---
**Author:** ![movingfinger](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/m/7ab992/32.png) [@movingfinger](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/movingfinger)\ **Post date:** [June 20, 2017, 6:26am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/absolutely-badass-old-poems/691382/122 "2017-06-20T06:26:20Z")
Like one, who on a lonesome road, doth walk in fear and dread, and having looked back once, walks on, and no more turns his head; for well he knows a fearful fiend doth close behind him tread. Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner ---
**Author:** ![Chronos](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/chronos/32/134_2.png) [@Chronos](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Chronos)\ **Post date:** [June 20, 2017, 1:52pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/absolutely-badass-old-poems/691382/123 "2017-06-20T13:52:11Z")
**Enuma Elish** , I couldn’t find exactly how old that poem was, but Mark Strand himself wasn’t born until 1934, so anything he wrote is surely recent enough to still be copyrighted. ---
**Author:** ![Enuma\_Elish](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/e/5e9695/32.png) [@Enuma\_Elish](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Enuma_Elish)\ **Post date:** [June 21, 2017, 11:40pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/absolutely-badass-old-poems/691382/124 "2017-06-21T23:40:52Z")
I couldn’t find anything about the poem’s current copywrite status, so I took a shot , with proviso, of course. Of course, part of me wants to believe you just removed it because it was too surreal/scaaaary! ;-D ---
**Author:** ![The\_Stainless\_Steel\_Rat](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/the_stainless_steel_rat/32/5727_2.png) [@The\_Stainless\_Steel\_Rat](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/The_Stainless_Steel_Rat)\ **Post date:** [June 22, 2017, 1:17am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/absolutely-badass-old-poems/691382/125 "2017-06-22T01:17:08Z")
Kipling again (can’t we just make him the permanent ‘bad-ass poet laureate?’) The Mine-Sweepers DAWN off the Foreland—the young flood making Jumbled and short and steep— Black in the hollows and bright where it’s breaking— Awkward water to sweep. “Mines reported in the fairway, Warn all traffic and detain. Sent up _Unity, Claribel, Assyrian, Stormcock_, and _Golden Gain._” Noon off the Foreland—the first ebb making Lumpy and strong in the bight. Boom after boom, and the golf-hut shaking And the jackdaws wild with fright. “Mines located in the fairway, Boats now working up the chain, Sweepers—_Unity, Claribel, Assyrian, Stormcock_, and _Golden Gain._”” Dusk off the Foreland—the last light going And the traffic crowding through, And five damned trawlers with their syreens blowing Heading the whole review! “Sweep completed in the fairway. No more mines remain. Sent back _Unity, Claribel, Assyrian, Stormcock_, and _Golden Gain._” ---
**Author:** ![Daylate](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/d/9dc877/32.png) [@Daylate](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Daylate)\ **Post date:** [June 22, 2017, 2:33am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/absolutely-badass-old-poems/691382/126 "2017-06-22T02:33:29Z")
> [@](#): > > Oh, better that her shattered hulk > Should sink beneath the wave; > Her thunders shook the mighty deep, > And there should be her grave; > Nail to the mast her holy flag, > Set every threadbare sail, > And give her to the god of storms, > The lightning and the gale This bit of poetry is possibly unique in the effect it had on events of the time. The Navy Department was insisting, despite quite a few protests, that the frigate “Constitution”, aka “Old Ironsides”, be decommissioned and then scrapped as it would be far to expensive to repair her. There was quite a bit of opposition to this, but it had been ineffective in changing the Navy’s mind until Oliver Wendell Holmes let fly with his poem “Old Ironsides”, which was rapidly printed in practically every newspaper in the country. The firestorm this immediately caused throughout the US proved to be irresistible, and the Navy Department decided that just maybe they could find the funds for repairing/rebuilding her. And we have, at least most of us, seen the results. ---
**Author:** ![Ukulele\_Ike](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/u/df788c/32.png) [@Ukulele\_Ike](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Ukulele_Ike)\ **Post date:** [June 22, 2017, 3:09am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/absolutely-badass-old-poems/691382/127 "2017-06-22T03:09:24Z")
> [@Enuma\_Elish](#): > > I couldn’t find anything about the poem’s current copywrite status, so I took a shot , with proviso, of course. Of course, part of me wants to believe you just removed it because it was too surreal/scaaaary! ;-D That is one kick-ass poem. Thank you. > **[Eating Poetry](https://poets.org/poem/eating-poetry)** > > Ink runs from the corners of my mouth ---
**Author:** ![blindboyard](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/blindboyard/32/2833_2.png) [@blindboyard](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/blindboyard)\ **Post date:** [June 22, 2017, 5:45pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/absolutely-badass-old-poems/691382/128 "2017-06-22T17:45:15Z")
The Mask of Anarchy, Shelley: > [@](#): > > `And these words shall then become > Like Oppression’s thundered doom > Ringing through each heart and brain, > Heard again – again – again– > > `Rise like Lions after slumber > In unvanquishable number– > Shake your chains to earth like dew > Which in sleep had fallen on you– > Ye are many – they are few.’ The Battle of Maldon: > [@](#): > > Brythwold spoke, grasped his buckler, > He was an old comrade, urged the men, > He full boldly cheered his soldiers, > “Thought must be the harder, heart the keener > Spirit shall be more - as our might lessens. > There lies our chief all cut down, > Good man on the ground; for ever may he grieve > Who now from this war-play thinketh to go. > I am old in years - hence I will not, > But by the side of mine own lord, > By my chief so loved, I think to lie.” No man is an island, John Donne: > [@](#): > > No man is an island entire of itself; every man > is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; > if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe > is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as > well as any manner of thy friends or of thine > own were; any man’s death diminishes me, > because I am involved in mankind. > And therefore never send to know for whom > the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. Vitae Lampeda, Sir Henry Newholt: > [@](#): > > There’s a breathless hush in the Close to-night— > Ten to make and the match to win— > A bumping pitch and a blinding light, > An hour to play and the last man in. > And it’s not for the sake of a ribboned coat, > Or the selfish hope of a season’s fame, > But his captain’s hand on his shoulder smote > 'Play up! play up! and play the game! ’ > > The sand of the desert is sodden red,— > Red with the wreck of a square that broke; — > The Gatling’s jammed and the Colonel dead, > And the regiment blind with dust and smoke. > The river of death has brimmed his banks, > And England’s far, and Honour a name, > But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks: > 'Play up! play up! and play the game! ’ ---
**Author:** ![kaylasdad99](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/kaylasdad99/32/3398_2.png) [@kaylasdad99](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/kaylasdad99)\ **Post date:** [June 22, 2017, 6:17pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/absolutely-badass-old-poems/691382/129 "2017-06-22T18:17:29Z")
There once was a man from Nantuc–_OW!_ All right, I’m going, _I’m GOING_! ---
**Author:** ![silenus](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/silenus/32/166_2.png) [@silenus](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/silenus)\ **Post date:** [June 22, 2017, 7:30pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/absolutely-badass-old-poems/691382/130 "2017-06-22T19:30:43Z")
For a badder definition of badass: “Soldier an’ Sailor Too” - Kipling, verse 5 _To take your chance in the thick of a rush, with firing all about, Is nothing so bad when you’ve cover to ‘and, an’ leave an’ likin’ to shout; But to stand an’ be still to the Birken’ead drill is a damn tough bullet to chew, An’ they done it, the Jollies – ‘Er Majesty’s Jollies – soldier an’ sailor too! Their work was done when it ‘adn’t begun; they was younger nor me an’ you; Their choice it was plain between drownin’ in ‘eaps an’ bein’ mopped by the screw, So they stood an’ was still to the Birken’ead drill, soldier an’ sailor too_ ---
**Author:** ![scruffycat](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/scruffycat/32/200_2.png) [@scruffycat](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/scruffycat)\ **Post date:** [June 22, 2017, 8:08pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/absolutely-badass-old-poems/691382/131 "2017-06-22T20:08:51Z")
The Battle of Brunanburgh In this year King Aethelstan, Lord of warriors, ring-giver to men, and his brother also, Prince Eadmund, won eternal glory in battle with sword edges around Brunanburh. They split the shield-wall, they hewed battle shields with the remnants of hammers. The sons of Eadweard, it was only befitting their noble descent from their ancestors that they should often defend their land in battle against each hostile people, horde and home. The enemy perished, Scots men and seamen, fated they fell. The field flowed with blood of warriors, from sun up in the morning, when the glorious star glided over the earth, God’s bright candle, eternal lord, till that noble creation sank to its seat. There lay many a warrior by spears destroyed; Northern men shot over shield, likewise Scottish as well, weary, war sated. The West-Saxons pushed onward all day; in troops they pursued the hostile people. They hewed the fugitive grievously from behind with swords sharp from the grinding. The Mercians did not refuse hard hand-play to any warrior who came with Anlaf over the sea-surge in the bosom of a ship, those who sought land, fated to fight. Five lay dead on the battle-field, young kings, put to sleep by swords, likewise also seven of Anlaf’s earls, countless of the army, sailors and Scots. There the North-men’s chief was put to flight, by need constrained to the prow of a ship with little company: he pressed the ship afloat, the king went out on the dusky flood-tide, he saved his life. Likewise, there also the old campaigner through flight came to his own region in the north–Constantine– hoary warrior. He had no reason to exult the great meeting; he was of his kinsmen bereft, friends fell on the battle-field, killed at strife: even his son, young in battle, he left in the place of slaughter, ground to pieces with wounds. That grizzle-haired warrior had no reason to boast of sword-slaughter, old deceitful one, no more did Anlaf; with their remnant of an army they had no reason to laugh that they were better in deed of war in battle-field–collision of banners, encounter of spears, encounter of men, trading of blows–when they played against the sons of Eadweard on the battle field. Departed then the Northmen in nailed ships. The dejected survivors of the battle, sought Dublin over the deep water, leaving Dinges mere to return to Ireland, ashamed in spirit. Likewise the brothers, both together, King and Prince, sought their home, West-Saxon land, exultant from battle. They left behind them, to enjoy the corpses, the dark coated one, the dark horny-beaked raven and the dusky-coated one, the eagle white from behind, to partake of carrion, greedy war-hawk, and that gray animal the wolf in the forest. Never was there more slaughter on this island, never yet as many people killed before this with sword’s edge: never according to those who tell us from books, old wisemen, since from the east Angles and Saxons came up over the broad sea. Britain they sought, Proud war-smiths who overcame the Welsh, glorious warriors they took hold of the land. ---
**Author:** ![Enuma\_Elish](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/e/5e9695/32.png) [@Enuma\_Elish](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Enuma_Elish)\ **Post date:** [June 24, 2017, 7:28am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/absolutely-badass-old-poems/691382/132 "2017-06-24T07:28:53Z")
> [@Ukulele\_Ike](#): > > That is one kick-ass poem. Thank you. > > [Eating Poetry by Mark Strand - Poems | Academy of American Poets](https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/eating-poetry) You are welcome. As someone who grew up loving libraries as a place of calmness and peace, I was absolutely horrified the first time I read this. (In a library, surrounded by peaceful studious people… who didn’t see…) [Previous page](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/absolutely-badass-old-poems/691382.md?page=6)