~ … by all things
merry, musical, and meet .. ~
That fragment (from a humorous and forgettable early poem, “The
Plea of the Simla Dancers”, by Rudyard Kipling) here appears, merely because we
are reminded, by a slight, defensive, apologetic piece that appeared this morning at the
tail-end of the (now much diminished) New York Times Book Review,
that Kipling, when he is recalled at all,
is obnoxious to pot-shots from the politicocorrectati.
that Kipling, when he is recalled at all,
is obnoxious to pot-shots from the politicocorrectati.
As it happens, I
am no particular fan of Kipling, one way or the other. The title of his children’s-book, Just-So
Stories, is immortal, at least among the community of science-philosophers
(in particular, as regards Darwinism);
the contents of those charming tales (which I imbibed at my mother’s
knee, from the very volume which she had preserved from her nursery) are now less
well-known; and if known, generally not
credited. -- True, the reason that
fragment is in my mind, is that I’ve been dipping into a volume on my
night-table: Rudyard Kipling:
The Complete Verse.
Yet thát, for
no special literary (let alone ideological) reason, but simply because (a) a
copy turned up for a couple of dollars, at the neighborhood outlet for
remaindered books, and (b) the poems mostly tell stories, and are fun, and are
a good antidote to the rhymeless pointless drivel that has infected The New
Yorker and the little-magazines, lo now for many decades.
~
Borne on merely
by the inertia of this, I read the
very next poem in the collection (“As
the Bell Clinks” -- again, funny
and forgettable), and notice an odd rhyme-scheme. Long lines composed of hemistichs,
chiming thus:
A A
A B
C C
D B
(repeat
final line with variation, but retaining the rhyme-word, “tonga-bar”)
E E
E B
F F
G B
(repeat
final line with variation, but retaining the rhyme-word, “bar”)
H H
H B
I I
J B
(repeat
final line with variation, but retaining the rhyme-word, “tonga-bar”)
and so forth.
The poem goes on
for quite a while; to show the
lengths to which the poet must go, to observe the
X X
X B
motif, consider
this couplet:
Yet
a further stage my goal on -- we were whirling down to Solon,
With
a double lurch and roll on, best foot foremost, ganz und gar--
(and no, it
doesn’t make much more sense in context.
-- That final phrase is German;
passe encore, only, it is
merely metri causâ, and doesn’t
otherwise especially fit.)
The point I’m
sort of getting at, is: What an
incredibly impoverished literary experience would be that of anyone who
approached Kipling simply with a
clip-board of Correctness Check-list Infractions (check all that apply).
~
To keep it in
perspective -- Upon that night-table
lies one other book of verse: the Library of America edition, American
Poetry: The Twentieth Century.
I purchased this some years ago, but became bogged-down in Volume One --
stuck in the mire of Ezra Pound.
Such muck as this:
Aquinas
head down in a vacuum,
Aristotle which way in a vacuum?
Sacrum,
sacrum, inluminatio coitu.
Lo
Sordels si fo di Mantovana
of a castle named Goito.
“Five
castles!
“Five
castles!”
(king giv’ him five castles)
“And
what the hell do I know about dye-works?!”
Now, Pound (it
is said) was a fascist; but that
is not why I disrelish his verse. Kipling, it may be, “was an Imperialist”
(in the words of the unthinking thoughtless), or: dwelt at some depth, upon the upswing of History into
which he was willy-nilly born; but judge his
verse on its merits.
~
One thing I do
appreciate in Kipling (though it surfaces but rarely) is any echo of the old Scottish/English border ballads, with
their “incremental repetition” (basic to my blood) --
Long was the
morn of slaughter,
Long was the list of slain,
Five score heads were taken,
Five score heads and twain;
Long was the list of slain,
Five score heads were taken,
Five score heads and twain;
(compare “We hadna sailed a league, a league, A league but
only three”).
.
[To Be Continued, as time permits.]
