Subject: RE: SAM McGEE From: NEWFOUNDLANDER Date: 10 Mar 98 - 09:35 AM I've read the poem a dozen or so times the past few days and I was wondering if any of you folks could tell me where LAKE LABARGE is located. |
Subject: RE: SAM McGEE From: Art Thieme Date: 10 Mar 98 - 04:22 AM Sevice wrote wonderful fiction adventure books too!! Can't find 'em anywhere though. (Debbie McClatchey loves these books and has many of 'em.) The one I've got I bought at a garage sale (called a tag sale in New England) for .25 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Then there was Sam & Kirk McGee on the Granola Opry (more natural than the show in Tennessee)----but I never knew he was cremated???? (smile) Sam McGee was a fine finger picker. Check out his "Railroad Blues"!! Just great. On Arhoolie I believe on a later LP produced by Mike Seeger. (He had an amazing TONGUE!! He wagged it around worse than Michael Jordan!)TRUE |
Subject: RE: SAM McGEE From: dick greenhaus Date: 09 Mar 98 - 03:05 PM As I recall...
"Hark to the toot of the malemute that's known as Dan McGrew As well as: "Fighting their way 'cross the ice-floes Cursed by the cruel cold Blowing their noses like demons They ravish the Yukon's gold..." |
Subject: RE: SAM McGEE From: Moira Cameron Date: 08 Mar 98 - 12:54 PM Check out the recordings of the late David Parry (Canada). David love Service poems and put several of them to music. You can find out more about him by contacting the Borealis Recording Company: email: brc@interlog.com
website: www.interlog.com/~brc |
Subject: RE: SAM McGEE From: NEWFOUNDLANDER Date: 08 Mar 98 - 07:39 AM Thanks Guys.Great Poem and Great Site Joe.I didn't think it was such a long poem. We had to learn it in grade 6 and recite it without the sheet. My memory must have been better back then. |
Subject: RE: SAM McGEE From: Alan of Australia Date: 08 Mar 98 - 04:22 AM Joe, Thanks for that link, it's great. I'm led to believe that Robert Service worked in a bank and used the names of customers such as Sam McGee for his poems. Apparently the real Sam McGee confronted him in the bank after the poem became well known and emphatically expressed his displeasure at the use of his name. Some people need to lighten up a bit. Cheers, |
Subject: RE: SAM McGEE From: Joe Offer Date: 08 Mar 98 - 03:04 AM Newfoundlander, you might want to take a look at The Original Home Page of Robert W. Service. It's a great site itself, and there are links to lots of other Robert W. Service poems. -Joe Offer- |
Subject: Lyr Add: THE CREMATION OF SAM McGEE (R W Service) From: Sheye Date: 08 Mar 98 - 01:57 AM Anytime! Robert Service is an old favourite: THE CREMATION OF SAM McGEE by Robert W. Service There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was the night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee. Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows. Why he left his home down South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows. He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell; Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell." On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail. Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail. If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see; It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee. And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow, And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe, He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip I guess; And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request." Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan: "It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone. Yet 'tain't being dead-it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains; So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains." A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail; And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale. He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee; And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee. There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven, With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given; It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains, But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains." Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code. In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load. In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring, Howled out their woes to the homeless snows- O God! how I loathed the thing. And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow; And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low; The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in; And I'd often sing to that hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin. Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay; It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May." And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum; Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum." Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire; Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher; The flames just soared, and the furnace roared-such a blaze you seldom see; And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee. Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so; And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow. It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why; And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky. I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear; But the stars came out and danced about ere again I ventured near; I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside. I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked";...then the door I opened wide. And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar; And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door. It's fine in here but, I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm- Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I’ve been warm." There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was the night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee. |
Subject: SAM McGEE From: Newfoundlander Date: 08 Mar 98 - 01:05 AM This is not a song. I'm looking for the words of a poem I learned when I went to school in the 1970s., but after forgetting. The title was The Creamation Of Sam Mcgee. I would also like to know the authors name. |
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