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
…
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
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.
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
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.”
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.
That is one kick-ass poem. Thank you.
The Mask of Anarchy, Shelley:
The Battle of Maldon:
No man is an island, John Donne:
Vitae Lampeda, Sir Henry Newholt:
There once was a man from Nantuc–OW!
All right, I’m going, I’m GOING!
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
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.
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…)