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TSE  June 2011

TSE June 2011

Subject:

Re: TS Eliot vis-a-vis Naturalism

From:

Carrol Cox <[log in to unmask]>

Reply-To:

T. S. Eliot Discussion forum.

Date:

Wed, 1 Jun 2011 22:01:08 -0500

Content-Type:

text/plain

Parts/Attachments:

Parts/Attachments

text/plain (354 lines)

My reference to Burns was so unspecific because I couldn't rememer where 
I had read some of his bawdy; but it may have been in the text from 
which I also got the 40 acre bit. Just browsing in the stacks and came 
across several such texts, many decades ago.

Carrol

On 6/1/2011 8:11 PM, Nancy Gish wrote:
> There is a long Scottish tradiion of Bothy Ballads. This is a well-known
> one. They long precede Eliot, but since he visited in the Highlands
> several times, he may have heard them--but that was much later. (To my
> knowledge, his first trip was in 1933.)
> What I find so different is that this vulgarity is actually joyous, not
> nasty-minded and sneering. The first way I heard the lines was "If ye
> cannae get fucked on a Saturday night, / Ye cannae get fucked at a'.
> I'm not recommending this either, but the tone is very different: they
> all seem to be having fun.
> And I assume you mean the un-bowdlerized Burns, not the published?
> Nancy
> P. S. In Northeast Scotland, "wh" is "f," so "fa" is "who." A Bothy is a
> farm servant's hut.
>
>
>
> THE BALL OF KERRIEMUIR (BALLYNORE)
> 'Twas on the first of August the party, it began.
> Now, never shall I forget, me lads, the gatherin' of the clans
>
> Singing, ``Who hae ye, lassie, (last nicht)
> Who hae ye noo?
> The ane that hae ye last time (The mon wha hae ye last nicht)
> He canna hae ye noo.''
>
> 'Twas the gatherin' o' the clans, mon, and everyone was there
> A-playin' wi' the lassies an' twinin' curly hair
>
> John McGowan, the father, was very surprised to see
> Four and twenty maidenheads a hanging from the tree.
>
> There was dancin' in the meadows, there was dancin' in the ricks,
> Ye could nae hear the bagpipes for the swishing o' the pricks.
>
> The bride was in the parlor explainin' to the groom
> The vagina, not the rectum, is the entrance to the womb.
>
> The queen was in the parlor, eatin' bread and honey
> The king was in the parlor maid, and she was in the money.
>
> The parson's daughter, she was there a sittin' way down front
> A wreath of roses in her hair and a carrot up her cunt.
>
> The parson's wife, she was there her arse against the wall,
> Shoutin' to the laddie boys, ``I'll take ye one an' all.''
>
> It's the first lady forward, and the second lady back
> And the third lady's finger in the fourth lady's crack.
>
> It's a' the ladies back, wi' yer arses tae the wall
> If ye can't get fucked at Keriemuir, ye'll never get fucked at all!
>
> The village priest, he was there and on the floor he sat
> Amusing himself by abusing himself and catching it on his hat.
> The undertaker, he went there dressed in a lime black shroud
> Swinging on the chandelier and pissing on the crowd.
>
> There was fuckin' i' the stable, there was fuckin' i' the ricks
> An' ye couldna' hear the music for the swishin' o' the pricks.
>
> The mayor's daughter, she was there and kept the crowd in fits
> By jumpin' off the mantle piece and landin' on her tits.
>
> There was screwing on the banister, screwing on the stairs
> Ye couldna' see the carpet for the mess o' curly hairs.
>
> The village idiot, he was there, he was a perfect fool.
> He sat beneath the oak tree and whittled off his tool.
>
> The village postman, he was there. the puir mon had the pox
> He could nae fuck the lassies, so he fucked the letter box.
>
> The chimney sweep, he was there, but soon he got the boot,
> For every time he farted, he filled the room with soot.
>
> The groom by now was excited an' racin' through the halls
> He was pullin' on his pecker an' showin off his balls.
>
> Big John, the farmer, swore an oath, an' then he cursed an' grat
> For his forty acre corn field was completely fuckit flat.
>
> The minister's wife was there as weel a' buckled to the front
> Wi' a wreath o' roses roun' her arse an' thrissels roun' her cunt.
>
> The minister's dochter tae was there an' she gat roarin' fu'
> Sae they doubled her ower the midden wa' an' bulled her like a coo.
>
> And when the ball was over, the opinion was expressed:
> Although they liked the music, the screwin' was the best.
>
> Alternate chorus (braider Scots than most):
>
> Wi' a fa'll dae it this time
> Fa'll dae it noo?
> The yin that did it last time
> Canna dae it noo.
>
>
> Note: Written in the 1880's to celebrate the comings and goings
> of a supposed actual social event in the Kirriemuir district of
> Scotland.RG
>
> @Scottish @bawdy
> filename[ KERIMUIR
> TUNE FILE: KERIMUIR
> CLICK TO PLAY
> BR, RG , ARB
>
>
>
>
> Lyrics&  Knowledge Search [Advanced]
> DT Forum
> Sort (Forum) by:relevance date
>
>
> DT Lyrics:  ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ#All
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>   Digitrad: Related Songs GATHERING OF THE CLANS (continued) Related
> Threads Four an' twenty virgins Lyr Add: The Ball of Ballynore Lyr Req:
> The Ball of Kerriemuir / ...Ballynore
>
>
>
>    
>>>> Carrol Cox 06/01/11 8:12 PM>>>
>>>>          
> Get hold of a copy (British edition) of a book entitled _The Common
> Muse_. It will give you a glimpse of what really _good_ dirty verse is
> like. There are several other such collections. There was one I leafed
> through about 50 years ago that had a fascinating poem about what
> happened at a barn dance with quite a bit of grain dust on the floor. I
> think the last line is (not quite accurately remembered) "His 40 acre
> cornfield was nearly fuckit flat." Eliot simply didn't have the talent
> for good dirty verse. Those poems are plain boring.
>
> The Common Muse has one wonderful bit I can rougjhly remember:
>
> They're digging up Grandpa's grave to build a sewer;
> He never was a quitter and he ain't no quitter now
> He'll wrap up in a sheet, and he'll haunt that shithouse seat
> For the desecrating of a British worker's grave.
>
> And of course there's Robert Burns. One on the equality of royalty and
> commoner in certain contexts.
>
> Carrol
>
> On 5/28/2011 3:15 PM, Tom Colket wrote:
>    
>> CR wrote:
>>
>> CR>  Shocking the reader into an awareness of certain harsh
>> CR>  physical/psychic realities:
>> CR>  . . . And with all your presumptions of a high moral ground,
>> CR>  reader, if you accuse the poet of certain obscenities/madnesses
>> CR>  -- be it "The Triumph of Bullshit", "Ballade pour la grosse Lulu",
>>      
>    
>> CR>  "Fragments: There was a jolly tinker" or "Columbo and Bolo verses"
>>      
>    
>> CR>  -- he will only stand aside with an indifferent smile, or get back
>>      
>    
>> CR>  to you à la Baudelaire and quip:
>> CR>  'You! hypocrite lecteur!*mon semblable,*mon frère!'
>>
>> You have some rather bizarre examples of TSE "shocking the reader into
>>      
> an awareness of certain harsh physical/psychic realities". The Columbo
> and Bolo verses were dirty jokes meant to be shared only among TSE's
> friends; he never intended those jokes to be published. In "Inventions
> of the March Hare", editor Christopher Ricks quotes Dr. Gallup on the
> notebook containing the Columbo/Bolo verses:
>    
>> "In 1922, when Eliot sold to John Quinn (for $140) a notebook
>>      
> containing manuscript copies of all his early poems, published and
> unpublished, he took the precaution of excising those leaves containing
> parts of the Bolo series. He seems to have given them, along with scraps
> of other versions (probably laid into the same notebook) to Pound".
> [page XVI].
>    
>> =========================
>>
>> When TSE writes that poetry "[leaves] one still with the intolerable
>>      
> wrestle/With words and meanings" and that the poet is concerned "only
> with finding the right words or, anyhow, the least wrong words", do you
> really think he had _this_ type of verse in mind?? --
>    
>> "The queen she took an oyster fork
>> And pricked Columbo's navel.
>> Columbo hoisted up his ass
>> And shat upon the table."
>>
>> Come on, CR, let TSE have his "down time" and tell his dirty jokes in
>>      
> private to his friends, but let's not elevate this to the status of
> great poetry, filled with lofty goals such as "shocking the reader into
> an awareness of certain harsh physical/psychic realities".
>    
>> Actually, these verses remind me of an old joke once told to me by a
>>      
> woman friend:
>    
>> Question: What's the difference between men and savings bonds?
>> Answer: Savings bonds mature.
>>
>> - Tom -
>>
>>
>>
>>
>> Date: Sat, 28 May 2011 05:18:22 -0700
>> From: [log in to unmask]
>> Subject: Re: TS Eliot vis-a-vis Naturalism
>> To: [log in to unmask]
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>> Shocking the reader into an awareness of certain harsh
>>      
> physical/psychic realities:
>    
>> "Imaginations / Masturbations" -- "Imagination's / Defecations" --
>>      
> "The withered leaves / Of our sensations"
>    
>>
>> And when the dawn at length had realized itself
>> And turned with a sense of nausea, to see what it had stirred:
>> The eyes and feet of men --
>> I fumbled to the window to experience the world
>> And to hear my madness singing, sitting on the kerbstone
>>
>> This withered root of knots of hair
>> Slitted below and gashed with eyes,
>> This oval O cropped out with teeth:
>> The sickle motion from the thighs
>>
>> (The lengthened shadow of a man
>> Is history, said Emerson
>> Who had not seen the silhouette
>> Of Sweeney straddled in the sun.)
>>
>> And with all your presumptions of a high moral ground, reader, if you
>>      
> accuse the poet of certain obscenities/madnesses -- be it "The Triumph
> of Bullshit", "Ballade pour la grosse Lulu", "Fragments: There was a
> jolly tinker" or "Columbo and Bolo verses" -- he will only stand aside
> with an indifferent smile, or get back to you à la Baudelaire and quip:
>    
>> 'You! hypocrite lecteur!*mon semblable,*mon frère!'
>>
>> Cheers,
>> CR
>>
>> --- On Fri, 5/27/11, Chokh Raj wrote:
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>> Do I dare
>> Disturb the universe?
>>
>> Mais alors, vieux lubrique, à cet âge*
>> “Monsieur, le fait est dur.
>>
>> Excite the membrane, when the sense has cooled,
>> With pungent sauces, multiply variety
>> In a wilderness of mirrors. What will the spider do,
>> Suspend its operations, will the weevil
>> Delay?
>>
>> But at my back from time to time I hear
>> The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring
>> Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
>> O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
>> And on her daughter
>> They wash their feet in soda water
>>
>> On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
>> Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
>> I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
>> Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest*
>>
>> Cheers,
>> CR
>>
>>
>> --- On Fri, 5/27/11, Chokh Raj wrote:
>>
>> TS Eliot vis-a-vis Naturalism
>>
>> To assert the inescapable physical reality and the seamy side of human
>>      
> nature -- an aspect of Naturalism -- formed the basis of Eliot's poetry.
> It accounts for so much of his self-deprecating irony. It's evident in
> his assault on the gentility and hypocrisy of New England Puritans. I
> think of "The Hippopotamus", "Mr. Apollinax", the Bolo verses. It is
> writ large in "The Waste Land".
>    
>> That is not to say Eliot subscribed to Naturalism. Far from it. He
>>      
> found it too myopic. All the same, he was always acutely conscious of
> the naturalistic dimension of life. IMHO, it formed the ground&  basis of
> his spiritual struggle.
>    
>> Well, an impression based on my reading of Eliot's poetry only. I'd
>>      
> love to elaborate on it vis-a-vis the poetry.
>    
>> CR
>>
>>
>>      
>    

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