Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)

Subject: LYR.ADD.: I've Been Dreamin'
From: Charley Noble
Date: 19 Feb 07 - 11:18 AM

The intent of this thread is to spotlight some of the sailor-poets who achieved some measure of recognition for their nautical verse in the pre-World War 2 years of the 20th century. "Sailor-Poets" were those who actually worked aboard the commercial tall-ships in the last years of the glorious age of sail or in the navy, and composed poetry. Cicely Fox Smith, while composing well-crafted nautical verse, by this definition was not a sailor-poet. Three relatively unknown American sailor-poets who come to mind are Harry Kemp, Burt Franklin Jenness, and Bill Adams. There are undoubtedly more but my plan is to begin with these three.

Harry Kemp was introduced by Q in this thread with his poem "The Chantey of the Cook": Harry Kemp

Burt Franklin Jenness surfaced on Mudcat, thanks to Gazza2, more recently with his poem "The Sea Dog": Burt Franklin Jenness

Bill Adams's nautical poetry, as far as I can find, has not surfaced on Mudcat but here is a good example:

By Bill Adams, from FENCELESS MEADOWS: Tales of the Sea , edited by Bill Adams, published by Frederick A. Stokes & Co., © 1921, pp. 134-136. Republished in SONGS OF THE SEA AND SAILORS' CHANTEYS, edited by Robert Frothingham, published by Houghton Mifflin Co., Cambridge, US, © 1924, pp. 13-15.

I've Been Dreamin'

I've been dreamin',
Of a randy, dandy clipper with her tops'ls set,
Pitchin' heavy down the westin' with the leeches wet.
Bill Newland, the old skipper, from his high bridge head,
Shoutin' to us packet rats – an' these the words he said:
"Hop along, now! Loose them 'gallants! Skip aloft, now! Jump along!"

Oh, them packet rats were swearin' an' a-breakin' into song!
Packet rats a-roarin', "Ranzo," rats a-singin' "Roll an' Go,"
Haulin' on them 'gallant braces, cryin', "Blow, boys blow!"

    Let her blow for Frisco city!
    Let the dandy clipper race!
    For them swingin' feet an' pretty
    Of the gals at Tony's place.

    Soon we'll see old Tony smilin',
    Hear his girls begin to sing,
    Hear old Billy Dick beguilin'
    Music from a fiddle-string!

    Oh, there's drowned an' perished clippers
    An' there's rats that died –
    But there's gals wi' flowered slippers
    An' their skirts flung wide!

Did you say there are no clippers? Did you say them days is done?
Days of packet rats an' packets, an' stars an' moon an' sun?
O' lights upon the water, a-shinin' on the sea?
My God, but I'm a packet rat!
What will become of me?

I've got to see tall clippers, I've got to sing an' shout
When the 'gallants are mastheaded and the jibs are runnin' out.
I've got to roar "Ranzo" an' "Blow, my bullies, blow!"
When the ice-cakes heap a-cracklin', an' the Horn is lost in snow.
I wants them lights by Frisco, an' lights by Salem too,
An' dandy skippers swearin' at the signin' of the crew.
Red Jacket's gone? And Dancing Wave? Guidin' Star as well?
Then what of Golden Era? . . . God help me! This is hell!

Good-by, farewell, kedge anchor! The shoals lie deep about;
The packet rats are singin', an' their chorus dyin' out.
The clippers lie a-wastin' where the westin' sun burns red,
An' the packet rats are restin' in the havens of the dead.

Good-be to Dame Romancing an' her dainty feathered frock!
Good-by to all the laughter at the swingin' of the lock!
Good-by to capstan payments, good-by to ships at sea –
If the packets rest a-westin' – ah – westin's right for me!

So far I haven't been able to find much biographical information on Bill Adams other than he was a tall-ship sailor who retired to California and published several books of the sea including:

FENCELESS MEADOWS: Tales of the Sea (p. 1921)
WIND IN THE TOPSAILS (p. 1931)

Note that WIND IN THE TOPSAILS includes most of the poems that are used to introduce stories in FENCELESS MEADOWS.

I also haven't been able to find any reference to "Tony's" or "Dame Romancing" in my books about San Francisco's sailortown known as the Barbary Coast.

I would welcome in this thread more information about these sailor-poets, and more of their poems (with references of where you found them). I would expect that at least some of their work could be adapted for singing.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

This is an edited PermaThread®. This thread will be edited by Charley Noble. Feel free to post to this thread, but remember that all messages posted here are subject to editing or deletion.
-Joe Offer-

Subject: LYR.ADD.: Stowaway
From: Charley Noble
Date: 19 Feb 07 - 03:20 PM

Here's another poem by Bill Adams:

From FENCELESS MEADOWS: Tales of the Sea , edited by Bill Adams, published by Frederick A. Stokes & Co., © 1921, pp. 102-103. Republished in SONGS OF THE SEA AND SAILORS' CHANTEYS, edited by Robert Frothingham, published by Houghton Mifflin Co., Cambridge, US, © 1924, pp. 2-4. Also republished in WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams, published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, pp. 141-142.

Stowaway

I crossed the gangway in the winter's raining,
Late in the night, when it was dreary dark;
The only sounds the rain's hiss, and the complaining
Of mooring hawsers holding that lean barque.

She sailed before the dawn, the evening found me
A sea-sick nipper hidden in spare sails.
I feared they'd drag me out and maybe drown me, –
The barque was trembling, dipping both her rails.

Soon I crept forth. Her long, lee rail was sweeping.
A homing ship drove by with hurrying feet,
A school of porpoises all 'round her leaping,
While stars dipped low, her dizzied spars to greet.

"Three cheers!" they cried, and I could hear their voices,
And the sharp beating of her clanged iron bells;
Her music faded, merged in the sea noises,
And she was gone, loud cheering down the swells.

And in me then a something seemed to waken,
And I was 'mazed. It was as though the sea,
Or the big topsails by the night-wind shaken,
Had cast a sort of magic over me.

The mast-heads reeled. In the bright north the Dipper
Hung dazzling diamonds 'round her sails, ghost white.
The seas were dim, and the deep-breathing clipper
Quivered her feet, and shook with sheer delight.

It's long ago, my first night on the sea,
And I've grown old, and sailing days are sped.
And I am waiting, waiting patiently,
Till other topsails gleam above my head.

There'll be a wharf, I know, where I am going,
There'll be a gangway for the likes o' me;
There'll be some lofty packet seaward going, –
They'll be fine ships on that eternal sea!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: lYR.ADD.: Johnnie Chantey-man
From: Charley Noble
Date: 19 Feb 07 - 03:40 PM

And another lament from Bill Adams:

First published in SONGS OF THE SEA AND SAILORS' CHANTEYS, edited by Robert Frothingham, published by Houghton Mifflin Co., Cambridge, US, © 1924, pp. 57-59. Republished in WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams, published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, pp. 17-18.

Johnnie Chanteyman

Johnnie Parrot, Johnnie Parrot, I'll not hear again
That old voice of yours a-ringin' down the windy rain,
When the ocean morning's clearin' an' the gale is past,
An' we're all a-"yo-heave-ho-in'" by the big main mast.

Johnnie Parrot, Johnnie Parrot, I can see 'em now –
Southeast trade wind seas a-breakin' high about the bow.
I can see the yellow oilskins of a shoutin' crew,
And the "Roll the cotton, bullies, roll her," led by you.

I can see the skipper leanin' on the bridge's rail;
Hear him holler to the chief mate, "Crowd her – set all sail!"
I can feel the clipper leapin', as a colt untried,
Free to roam the rollin' pastures o' the open tide.

I see the China steward, the nigger cookie's face;
There's a skysail ship to loo'ard, an' we're goin' to race;
But a black squall comes a-hidin' all the sea an' sky,
An' white horses run a-ridin' with their manes blown high.

I can feel the packet tremble as she lifts her feet,
An' her dainty bows go dancin' down the sea's wide street;
I hear Johnnie Parrot singin', singin', "Roll an' Go!"
An' the sons o' forty seaports roarin', "Yo-heave-ho!"

There are girls in forty seaports, an' they wait for you –
Wait for Johnnie Chantyman an' all his singin' crew;
But they better deck their tresses with bright ribbons gay,
An' forget those sailors singin' down the sea's cold way.

For the hungry seas are breakin' with an angry roar,
An' there's black squalls blowin' pipin' past a coral shore.
There's a clipper lyin' broken like a lily fair –
Lady, take some other token for your lovely hair!

'Tain't no use to love a sailor nor to wait the day
For your Johnnie's chanteys cheery ringin' down the bay!
'Tain't no use to listen, lady, for your seaman's love –
Johnnie's drowned, lyin' drownded, in a mermaid's cove.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: LYR.ADD.: Fo'c'sle Comradeship
From: Charley Noble
Date: 20 Feb 07 - 07:56 PM

Here's another poem by Harry Kemp:

From CHANTEYS AND BALLADS, by Harry Kemp, published by Brentano's, New York, US, © 1920, p. 14.

Fo'c'sle Comradeship

There's not much in the fo'c'sle of a ship
But old sea boots and chests that stand in rows
While up above a smoky lantern glows,
And hanging from a peg the oilskins drip,
Sometimes in storms the water rushes in;
Sometimes we stifle for a breath of air;
Yet somehow comradeship gets being there
And common hardship makes the stranger kin . . .
Blood-brothers we become, but not in peace, –
Still ready to exchange the lie and blow;
Just like the sea our quarrels rise and cease:
We've never a dull moment down below . . .
But set upon us in a tavern brawl
You'll find that you will have to fight us all.

Charley Noble

Subject: LYR.ADD.: Clipper Days
From: Charley Noble
Date: 20 Feb 07 - 07:58 PM

And another nice one from Kemp:

From CHANTEYS AND BALLADS, by Harry Kemp, published by Brentano's, New York, US, © 1920, pp. 38-39.

Clipper Days (a song from Snug Harbor)

I am eighty years old and somewhat,
But I give to God the praise
That they made a sailor of me
In the good old Clipper Days

When men loved ships like women,
And going to sea was more
Than signing on as a deckhand
And scrubbing a cabin floor,

Or chipping rust from iron
And painting . . . and chipping again . . .
In the days of Clipper Sailing
The sea was the place for men:

You could spy our great ships running
White-clouded, tier on tier;
You could hear their trampling thunder
As they leaned to, racing near;

And it was "heigh and ho, my lad,"
And "we are outward bound," –
And we sang full many a chantey
As we walked the capstan round,

And we sang full many a chantey
As we drove through wind and wet
To the music of Five Oceans
Ringing in my memory yet . . .

Go drive your dirty freighters
That fill the sky with reek, –
But we – we took in sky-sails
High as mountain peaks;

Go, fire your sweaty engines
And watch your pistons run, –
We had the wind to serve us,
The living wind, my son,

And we didn't need propellers
That kicked a mess about,
But we hauled away with chanteys
Or we let the great sails out . . .

And I'm eighty year old and somewhat –
And I give to God the praise
That they made a sailor of me
In the good old Clipper Days!

This poem is prefaced:

"An Old Sailor to A Young One"

Adapted for singing by Dave Robinson from Swansea, UK.

Charley Noble

Subject: LYR.ADD.: Shanghaied
From: Charley Noble
Date: 21 Feb 07 - 08:49 AM

Here's another one from Kemp which has been adapted for singing:

From CHANTEYS AND BALLADS, by Harry Kemp, published by Brentano's, New York, US, © 1920, p. 49.

Shanghaied

Shanghaied! . . . I swore I'd stay ashore
And sail the wide, wide seas no more! . . .
Shanghaied! Shanghaied!
Shanghaied – with pals I've never known,
And my heart's as heavy as a stone . . .
Shanghaied! . . . Shanghaied!

Yes, here's the wide, grey sea again
And the work that takes the souls from men,
Shanghaied! . . . Shanghaied!
Yes, yon's the mist they call the shore,
And here's the ropes I must haul once more –
Shanghaied! . . . Shanghaied!

Shanghaied – and on a ship I hate,
With a cur for a captain, a brute for a mate . . .
Shanghaied! . . . Shanghaied!
Oh, when I set my foot ashore
I'll drink no more . . . and I'll sail no more!
Shanghaied! . . . Shanghaied!

Adapted for singing by Dave Robinson from Swansea, UK.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: LYR.ADD.: A Shining Ship
From: Charley Noble
Date: 21 Feb 07 - 12:26 PM

Here's a more romantic one from Kemp:

From CHANTEYS AND BALLADS, by Harry Kemp, published by Brentano's, New York, US, © 1920, pp. 20-21

A Shining Ship

Have you ever seen a shining ship
Riding the broad-backed wave,
While the sailors pull the ropes and sing
The chantey's lusty stave?

Have you ever gazed from the headland's reach
Far out, into the blue,
To glimpse, at first a flashing mote
That to a tall ship grew,

A full-sailed ship on the great, broad sea
Heel-down and bearing home
All the romance from Homer's days
To now, across the foam?

For, purple-white in rippling dusks,
Or edged with sunset's fire, –
Behold, each ship is a phantom ship
That bears the World's Desire! . . .

O merchant, merchant seeking wares
That tip full-laden beams,
The Living God has made your fleets
His argosies for dreams,

Far-riding argosies that go
With bearded men and strong
To the world's ends for merchandise
And come back – bearing Song!

Legends and songs of Happy Isles
And fairy realms a-far
Beyond the windless gates of dawn
And the white morning star!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 21 Feb 07 - 01:15 PM

I've now got a couple of Burt Franklin Jenness's poetry books:

SEA LANES (p. 1921)
OCEAN HAUNTS (P. 1934)

And there's still another one out at sea: MAN O'WAR RHYMES (p. 1918).

Here's a nice one:

Poem by Burt Franklin Jenness
From OCEAN HAUNTS, edited by Burt Franklin Jenness,
Empire Publishing Co., New York, US, © 1934, P. 73.

Mid-Watches

Will you ever forget the mid-watches at sea?
How you tumbled out sleepy and dazed,
And though you maneuvered as still as could be,
Remember the chorus you raised
As you bumped into hammocks, or stepped on a mate
Who was caulking it off on the deck?
Then you hustled up forward for fear you'd be late,
Your pea-coat pulled snug 'round your neck,
And you climbed the old bridge and looked into the night,
And the wind and the spray stung your face;
While the stars overhead were all dancing and bright,
And the ship plunged away into space;
Can you ever forget the long tricks at the wheel;
All your thoughts and your plans and your fears?
The things you'd imagine – the dangers you'd feel,
As the creaks and the groans of the gears
Would make you snap out of some dream of the shore?
Or a comber would loom like a ship
Dead ahead, or you'd start at the crash and the roar,
As a beam-sea would hit her on a clip?
And didn't those hours seem lonelier, too,
When the moon and stars went to bed,
And it seemed like sometimes there was no one but you
Sailing into that black hole ahead?

Notes:

Here the poet is clearly remembering his experience aboard a World War 1 naval ship with his references to hammocks, pea-coat, and going forward to the bridge.

"Caulking it off" is old sailor slang for sleeping on deck. For inspections sailors would traditionally line up parallel to the caulked deck boards, and evidently when they were napping on deck they would do the same.

Here's a link to my website if you'd like to see how I've adapted this one for singing with a MP3 sample: Click here and search for lyrics!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 22 Feb 07 - 08:34 AM

Here's another Burt Franklin Jenness poem, one which might be sung to the old forebitter "We'll Rant and We'll Roar":

Poem by Burt Franklin Jenness
From SEA LANES, edited by Burt Franklin Jenness,
The Churchill Publishing Co., Boston, US, © 1921, p. 48.

The Old Scuttle-Butt

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my cruises,
When fond recollection presents them to view.
Not one of those dreams of the fo'c's'le loses
The charm of each spot that my rookie days knew.
The sound of the bugle at reveille routing
The crew from the hammocks which hung neck an' neck;
The din of the mess-gear; the laughing and shouting
Around the old scuttle-butt, there on the deck.
         The old wooden scuttle-butt;
          Iron bound scuttle-butt;
Cool, dripping scuttle-butt, on the gun deck.

The songs that the gang used to sing in the twilight,
Their pipes all a-glowin' with yellow and red,
Just layin' on deck till the last bit o' sky light
Had gone, where the sun was hull-down and abed.
The faces which peered above every tin dipper;
The laughter that rang as we leaned at the brink;
The hails that were cheery, the jokes that were chipper,
The fellowship there, which we quaffed with each drink
         The old wooden scuttle-butt;
          Iron bound scuttle-butt;
Cool, dripping scuttle-butt, on the gun deck.

Notes:

"Scuttle-butt" was originally nautical slang for a butt or cask with a large hole in it, used to contain the fresh water for daily use in a ship.

The Maine-based group Schooner Fare composed and recorded a different song by this title a few years ago as I recall.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Amos
Date: 22 Feb 07 - 08:37 AM

Charlie:

That one looks like a direct derivative of the 19th century schmaltz tune "The Old Oaken Bucket" and could use that tune, which fits it even better.


A

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 22 Feb 07 - 07:44 PM

Amos-

You're right. "The Old Oaken Bucket" fits the poem like a bucket!

I'm not sure if I could bear to sing it to that tune, though.

What makes Jenness of interest to me is his poems about life aboard the U.S. Navy ships of the World War 1 period. We have very few good songs from that period and his poems may prove useful in filling the gap.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 23 Feb 07 - 08:29 PM

Here's another haunting one from Harry Kemp, one of his memories of "ships passing" around Cape Horn:

From TRAMP POET, edited by Mary Swenson, American Life Histories: Manuscripts from the Federal Writer's Project 1936-1940, Interview 1938, pp. 13-14.

Ship's Glamour

When there wakes any wind to shake this place,
This wave-hemmed atom of land on which I dwell,
My fancy conquers time, condition, space,--
A trivial sound begets a miracle!
Last night there walked a wind, and, through chink,
It made one pan upon another clink
Where each hung close together on a nail -
Then fantasy put forth her fullest sail;
A dawn that never dies came back to me:
I heard two ship's bells echoing far at sea!
As perfect as a poet dreams a star
It was a full-rigged ship bore down the wind,
Piled upward with white-crowding spar on spar:
The wonder of it never leaves my mind.
We passed her moving proudly far at sea;
Night was not quite yet gone, nor day begun;
She stood, a phantom of sheer loveliness,
Against the first flush of an ocean dawn;
Then at the elevation of the sun,
Her ship's bell faintly sounded the event,
While ours with a responding tinkle went.
The beauty life evokes, outlasting men,
It fills my world from sea to sky again;
It opens on me like a shining scroll--
The ghost of God that ever haunts the soul!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Amos
Date: 23 Feb 07 - 09:33 PM

This is rich and wunnerful heritage, Charley, and I am grateful to you for sharing these poems I never would have seen ordinarily.

A

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 24 Feb 07 - 09:57 AM

Amos-

That's what it's all about! Some of these poems will take some "processing" to make them singable, and the poets may not have been thinking of their poems as songs. C. Fox Smith's verses, in contrast, are often easy to adapt for singing; I'm convinced that she often had specific tunes in her head when composing.

What makes these poems worth working with is that they were composed by people with real deep-sea experience, reflecting a reality that is difficult if not impossible for the armchair nautical poet to achieve.

My other old favorite poet Hamish Maclaren (UK), best known for composing "The Yangtse River Shanty," is from the same time period as these poets and I may add some of his other poems to this thread as well.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: LYR.ADD.: Chanteys
From: Charley Noble
Date: 24 Feb 07 - 12:00 PM

Here's one from Kemp which comments on chanteying:

From CHANTEYS AND BALLADS, by Harry Kemp, published by Brentano's, New York, US, © 1920, p. 13.

Chanteys

These are the songs that we sing with crowding feet,
Heaving up the anchor chain,
Or walking down the deck in the wind and sleet
And in the drizzle and rain.

These are the songs that we sing beneath the sun,
Or under the stars of night,
And they help us through with the work to be done
When the moon climbs into sight.

These are the songs that tell our inmost hopes
While we pull and haul a-main,
The bo'sun booming as we lean with the ropes,
And we, bringing in the refrain.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: LYR.ADD.: Bumboats
From: Charley Noble
Date: 24 Feb 07 - 03:38 PM

Here's another one fresh off the boat from Jenness:

Poem by Burt Franklin Jenness
From SEA LANES, edited by Burt Franklin Jenness,
The Churchill Publishing Co., Boston, US, © 1921, pp. 53-55.

Bumboats

I've had a whirl at games of chance
    From Bombay 'round to Cork,
I've sensed the ways of high finance
    In little old New York;
I know the way a bargain's made
    In Continental marts,
When crafty merchants vie for trade
    And practice cunning arts;
But when I call them back to mind,
    I make a solemn vow --
There's only one of all their kind
    Could sell me something now;
There's only one that ever can
    Bring pleasant thoughts to me --
And that's the little bumboatman,
    Who paddles out to sea:
With his: "Gotta nice ripa banan,
    You buy da beeg orange? He sweet!
Gotta cirgarette; lika da fan?
    You lika da fine parakeet?"

O, how we watched them coming out,
    At first they looked like specks,
Just creeping down the bay, and 'bout
    The time we'd scrubbed down decks,
They'd be a-hovering 'round like gulls --
    Just waiting for "mess gear,"
The band would play, and in the lulls
    We'd call the bumboats near,
And on the wonders in each boat
    We'd feast our hungry eyes,
And as the little craft would float,
    We'd bargain for a prize;
Coral, shells, and blow-fish, dried,
    And fruit, and Guava jell,
And nuts, and gum, and dried snake hide,
    And lace, and tortoise shell –-
Then 'twas "Gotta nice ripa banan,
    You buy da beeg orange? He sweet!
Gotta cirgarette; lika da fan?
    You lika da fine parakeet?"

No, you may have your gilded shops,
    Their tinsel and their glare;
The scent of sandalwood, and hops,
    And incense burning there;
Your money-changers, lottery sharks,
    And sleek rug merchant's guise;
Your hounding guides around the parks
    And curb stock broker's lies --
The bumboatmen are not the breed
    That squat in Europe's mart,
They barter for their daily need --
    Deceit is not their art.
If there's reward for toil and strife,
    When comes the final summing,
In cheering up a sailor's life --
    Bumboaters have it coming;
With their: "Gotta nice ripa banan,
    You buy da beeg orange? He sweet!
Gotta cirgarette; lika da fan?
    You lika da fine parakeet?"

Notes:

Here's a link to this poem posted to the Oldpoetry website which permits header-graphics; I've picked a nice one by Gordon Grant appropriately titled "Bumboats": Click here!

Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Shantyfreak
Date: 24 Feb 07 - 04:18 PM

You have shown a fine group of writers here, Charlie, and though we may differ in the medium for a few of them (you singing and me saying) I have to agree with you that these need saving and bringing before a wider audience.

I look forward to more visits to this thread and hope I will be able to find suitable candidates. Meanwhile please keep up the good work.

Jim

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 25 Feb 07 - 11:45 AM

Jim-

Thanks for posting on this thread. Jim (Shantyfreak) by the way is my C. Fox Smith partner on the Oldpoetry website and he's posted hundreds of her poems there as well with excellent notes.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 26 Feb 07 - 09:56 AM

Here's a nice one by Bill Adams focused on the "dog-watch" festivities aboard ship:

From FENCELESS MEADOWS, edited by Bill Adams, published by Frederick A. Stokes & Co., © 1921, pp. 166-167. Republished in SONGS OF THE SEA AND SAILORS' CHANTEYS, edited by Robert Frothingham, published by Houghton Mifflin Co., Cambridge, US, © 1924, pp. 83-84. Republished in WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams, published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, pp. 139-140.

Billy Peg-Leg's Fiddle

I've a pal called Billy Peg-leg, with one leg a wood leg,
And Billy' he's a ship's cook and lives upon the sea;
And hanging by his griddle
Old Billy keeps a fiddle
For fiddling in the dog-watch
When the moon is on the sea.

We takes our luck wi' tough ships, wi' fast ships, wi' free ships,
We takes our luck wi' any ships to slip away to sea,
We takes our trick wi' the best o' them
An' sings our song wi' the rest of them
When the bell strikes for the dog-watch
An' the moon is on the sea.

You'd ought to see the tops'ls, the stuns'ls, the stays'ls,
When the moon's a-shinin' on them along a liftin' sea;
Hear the dandy bo's'n say:
"Peg-leg make that fiddle play
An' we'll dance away the dog-watch
While the moon is on the sea."

Then it's fun to watch them dancin', them bowlegged sailors dancin',
To the tune o' Peg-leg's fiddle, a-fiddlin' fast an' free,
It's fun to watch old Peg-leg
A-waltzin' wi' his wood leg
When bo's'n takes the fiddle
So Peg can dance wi' me.

The moon is on the water, the dark, moon-glimmered water,
The night wind pipin' plaintively along a liftin' sea,
There ain't no female wimmen,
No big beer-glasses brimmin',
There's just the great sea's glory
An' Billy Peg an' me.

We takes our luck wi' the tough ship, the tall ship, the fast ship,
We takes our luck wi' any ship to sign away for sea,
We takes our trick wi' the best o' them,
An' sings our song wi' the rest o' them,
When the bell strikes for the dog-watch
An' the moon is on the sea.

Notes:

"Dog-watches" were two-hour watches in the evening, shorter than the regular four-hour watches, and were generally a time when shipboard activities were more relaxed for the crew.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 05:47 PM

Here's a link to another thread with an inquiry about a Harry Kemp poem that was cited by Stan Hugel in SHANTIES OF THE SEVEN SEAS: Click here!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 06:05 PM

When you have chance, take a look at the works of John Masefield....many of his poems have been put to tunes and sung in Folk Clubs in the UK.

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Joybell
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 06:09 PM

Thank you for sharing these Charley.
Cheers, Joy

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 27 Feb 07 - 07:57 PM

Georgiansilver-

John Masefield? For sure, and here's a link to his page on Oldpoetry where I've been posting some of his poems: Click here for website!

I've set his poem "Hell's Pavement" to music as well. Stan Hugill used that poem to preface his book SAILORTOWN. I've also set "Pier-Head Chorus" and "A Ballad of John Silver" to music.

John Masefield should certainly be considered a "sailor-poet" but he's much better known than the three I'm featuring in this thread.

Joy-

Thanks for the encouragement!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: LYR.ADD.: A Seaman's Confession Of Faith
From: Charley Noble
Date: 28 Feb 07 - 11:55 AM

Here's a spiritual poem by Harry Kemp:

From CHANTEYS AND BALLADS, by Harry Kemp, published by Brentano's, New York, US, © 1920, p. 15.

A Seaman's Confession Of Faith

As long as I go forth on ships that sail
The mighty seas, my faith, O Lord, won't fail;
And while the stars march onward mightily
In white, great hosts, I shall remember Thee;
I have seen men one moment all alive,
The next, gone out with none to bless or shrive
Into the unseen place where all must go, --
So, Lord, thy mercy and thy gifts I know . . .
They think me Godless, maybe, but indeed
They do not see how I have read thy creed
In flowing tides and waves that heave and run
Beyond the endless west where sinks the sun;
In the long, long night-watches I have thought
On things that neither can be sold nor bought,
Rare, priceless things; nor have I scorned nor scoffed
At thy sure might, when lost in storms aloft:
The prayer and faith of seamen will not fail
O God, my God, as long as ships do sail.

Cheerily,
Charles Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: GUEST,Tunesmith
Date: 28 Feb 07 - 01:01 PM

William Bolton ( born 1854), who supplied a number of songs which were included in the Penguin Book of English Folksongs, was a sailor in the 19th century, and wrote a lot of poetry; some of which, were published in various periodicals.

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 28 Feb 07 - 10:48 PM

Tunesmith-

Do you have a favorite example?

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Snuffy
Date: 01 Mar 07 - 09:20 AM

Is Newbolt regarded as a sailor poet? Plenty of his stuff is well-known, and some have already been set to music - Drake's Drum, The Old Superb

Some of his poems are available at Project Gutenberg

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 01 Mar 07 - 08:21 PM

Snuffy-

I've got my hands full just keeping up with the three I've featured but I welcome further suggestions such as yours. I wouldn't object if someone else answered your question, however.

Actually, I've gonna have a busy weekend reading my latest used book, WIND IN THE TOPSAILS by Bill Adams. What makes it all fun for me is I can see that he's tried to cover every aspect of the sea experience, and at lest some of the poems have a novel focus.

I've also acquired through intre-library loan Bill Adams's autobiography, SHIPS AND WOMEN (1937), which should be a good weekend read.

I should have more to post on Monday.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 03 Mar 07 - 12:34 PM

Here's a really nice one by Bill Adams that I'll adapt for singing:

From WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams, published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, pp. 76-77.

Bound Away

A three-skysail yarder with her hatches battened down,
And the grey sky up above her, and the Mersey's muddy brown
A-rippling at her forefoot. The red stack tug's ahead,
And the chanteyman is singing in a voice to wake the dead.
The windlass pawls are clanking. The mate shouts "Heave away!
Heave a pawl there! Rouse and lift her" Out beyond the bar the spray,
The wheeling gulls, and the cold green water
Are waiting for the coming of the sea's tall daughter.
We've lowered away Blue Peter, and the anchor's off the mud,
And there's cheering, and there's laughter, and the tide is at the flood.
"Heave away there! Loose those tops'ls! Stamp and run!"
Bawls the chief mate. Comes a glimmer from the sun,
And her lofty spars are shining through the smoke a-blowing past,
While a little sea apprentice chap is running up each mast.
Now he's out along the footrope, now he's casting loose her sail,
And the pilot shakes the skipper's hand and clambers o'er the rail.
Now we're hauling in the hawser, for her six big tops'ls draw,
And her white wake trails behind her. Ho, we're running from the shore!
A three-skysail yarder with her holds jammed full,
And a cheer from the pierhead for the pride o' Liverpool!


Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 05 Mar 07 - 09:34 AM

I've now adapted Bill Adams's "Bound Away" for singing and initiated a new thread for that song with a link back to this thread. It's probably better to do that in terms of focusing attention on these old sailor-poets, than to post adaptations here.

Here's a link back to this adaptation: click here for thread!

And here's a MP3 sample of how it sounds: click and go to MP3 sample

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Keith A of Hertford
Date: 05 Mar 07 - 09:44 AM

Thanks for these.
All read and enjoyed.
Cheered,
Keith.

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 05 Mar 07 - 09:13 PM

Keith-

You're more than welcome, and feel free to comment on any of your favorites.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Keith A of Hertford
Date: 06 Mar 07 - 05:19 AM

I love shanties, so I was inspired by Chanties, where the sailor man tells what they mean to him. (I once asked Stan Hugill about that), and also Chanty Man.
The Seaman's Confession of Faith is very moving, but I enjoyed them all.
An' the moon is on the sea,
Keith.

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 06 Mar 07 - 05:58 PM

I've just received an inexpensive paperback reprint from Kessinger Publishing of MAN-O'-WAR RHYMES by Burt Franklin Jenness, originally published by The Cornhill Publishing Co., Boston, US, © 1918, pp. 84-85.

The Rookie

When you are a rookie, an' most o' the crew
Are natcherly makin' a goat out o' you;
The ship is unsteady – an' you are too sick
To turn to an' swing up your bloomin' hammick –
Jest break out a blanket an' roll up on deck –
Don't mind if some lubber does step on your neck –
You've joined the outfit, so show 'em your grit;
Buck up an' be happy – you're doin' your bit.

When letters from home are all trembly an' blue,
An' matters back there are discouraging you;
When the pages are blurred, for the tears in the way,
Jest up with your neck'ch'f an' brush 'em away,
Then roll up th' makin's – forget what has been –
An' mosey up for'ard where th' gang is, an' grin.
You're only a rookie, but shoulder your kit;
Buck up an' be happy – you're doin' your bit.

If your ship is torpedoed an' sinks like a lead,
An' half the crew's wounded – the other half dead –
You're all shot to pieces, an' somewhere in France
You're laid up in bed, an' your life is all chance,
Why, think of the glory of jest bein' there!
Your shattered old leg it will do for a pair –
– An' you were in range, or you wouldn't a' got hit –
So, buck up an' be happy – you're doin' your bit.

Notes:

Jenness captures the gallows humor of the younger navy crew members during the World War 1 period.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: LYr Add: Fire-Room Crew (Burt Franklin Jenness)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 07 Mar 07 - 08:50 AM

Here's another one from Jenness, an unusual poem dedicated to the man-o' war's crew who work below:

Poem by Burt Franklin Jenness
From MAN-O'-WAR RHYMES, edited by Burt Franklin Jenness,
The Cornhill Publishing Co., Boston, US, © 1918, pp. 5-6

The Fire-Room Crew

They are fighters, but they're not the hero kind;
They are just a gang of grimy sailormen.
They're the knights of crank and lever,
They're the stoker, and the heaver;
In their little hell-hot, iron furnace den.

There's no glamour of brave deeds for them, on deck;
They are not the men who serve us at the guns.
They're the tender, and the oiler,
They're the watchman, and the toiler;
They're the nation's grubbing, sweating, plodding ones.

They're the sinew, and the brawn of fighting craft;
They are everything that goes to make up men.
But in the stoke-holes of our cruisers,
They are generally the losers,
When the hero stuff is dripping from the pen.

Not a patch of daylight cheers their realm below;
Not a ray of sunshine ever filters through;
By the furnaces, agleam,
Toil these master men of steam
To the music of the racing, throbbing screw.

They are not the men to choose how they shall die;
They're the servants of the throttle, and the gauge;
Twenty feet below the hatches,
They are not the kind that matches
In a throw with death, to see who pays the wage.

So while the guns of war are thundering fore and aft,
And you're shouting praise of men who fight for you,
Think of those who do their bit
In a seething furnace pit –
They're the heroes in the fire-room crew!

I'm hearing a tune for this in my head, some varient of "I Was Born Ten Thousand Years Ago." I bet Cyrill Tawny would have loved this one!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: Lyr Add.: THE FLARE-BACK (Burt Franklin Jennes)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 08 Mar 07 - 09:45 AM

Here's one from Jenness that focuses on the naval big-gun accident described as a "flare-back" and not to be read by the squeamish:

THE FLARE-BACK

(Poem by Burt Franklin Jenness
From MAN-O'-WAR RHYMES, edited by Burt Franklin Jenness,
The Cornhill Publishing Co., Boston, US, © 1918, pp. 43-46)

So they won't ship me over today, eh?
Too old, did you say, an' too lame?
It's a hard knock, Cap'n, t' go 'way
An' know ye're clean out o' th' game.
That scar? Aye, Sir, it's a bad un;
Kind o' cripples th' leg some, I know.
Duty? Aye, Sir, 'twas a mad gun,
Back in 'ninety. Wal, Cap't, I'll go.

The story? Wal, now, Sir, ye're kind.
Set here, ye say? Thank ye, I will.
Seems good t'us old uns ter find
A "striper" who's kind t' us still.
Wal, Sir, you'll remember, I reckon,
When th' Ranger put in with her dead,
Night after her quarter-deck gun,
(Twelve-inch) ran amuck in th' head.

You don't? Wal, Sir, may God spare you
Sich a sight as I saw that day,
And th' hell that I lived through there too,
That night in Pensacola Bay.
The Ranger wuz out fer a record
At target manoeuvres that spring.
She wuz hittin', Sir, too, an' I 'spect 'u'd
'A' won it clean – but fer one thing.

Our pride wuz th' quarter-deck turret;
I wuz pointin' fer gun number four.
"Black Baby," we called her, an', Sir, it
Seemed like she knew it – an' more.
Wal, 't was long about dusk uv a Friday,
We'd only a run more t' go.
An', Sir, I've seen gun crews in my day;
I've seen 'em that's fast, an' that's slow.

But, Gad! Sir, them lads wuz a-heavin'
Five hundred pound shell t' th' breech,
S' fast that th' lock wuz nigh seethin'
– An', God! How th' Baby 'u'd screech!
Wal, we steamed on th' range fer th' last run,
S' dark I c'u'd skeerce see th' raft.
"More speed on th' starb'd aft gun,"
Wuz th' word that th' Cap'n sent aft.

An', my God! Not a man there c'u'd answer,
(Ye'll 'scuse my expressin' things so)
But th' crew wuz struck dumb to a man, Sir,
'S if death sent th' message below.
The place wuz s' plumb-full o' silence
Ye c'u'd cut th' air, Sir, with a knife,
An' somethin' gripped us like a sentence,
When th' Judge is condemin' a life.

Wal, they loaded, then gazed at each other,
An' stood there, froze stark at th' gun;
Er fingered their throats like they'd smother,
– Then the siren blew twice fer th' run,
An' th' bugle blast sounded fer firin'.
Wal, that crew, Sir, wuz off like a shot;
Black as a stoker perspirin',
Rammin' her home when she's hot.

Receivin', an' shovin', an' primin',
(Stripped t' th' waist they wuz, stark.)
Lockin' th' breech, an' no timin',
"Steady, now," "Ready." An' "Mark."
We'd found th' spot, too, Sir, wuz makin'
A string that 'ud do th' craft proud.
Faster, th' breech-lock wuz breakin'
An' closin' – no heed o' the cloud

O' th' blasphemous stuff from th' muzzle,
Chokin', but shovin' her down,
Makin' th' "Black Betty" guzzle
Th' lead, an' th' smokeless "brown."
God knows, Sir, how long we wuz steamin',
But we'd made nigh a half o' th' run,
When o' sudden, I thought I wuz dreamin',
An' sailin' straight into th' sun.

A million stars seemed t' be flashin',
An' then: O my God, what a roar!
Like shriekin worlds fallin' an' crashin'
– Then I didn't know nuthin' more
Till a lantern gleam 'woke me, an' turnin' –
(It couldn't beworse, Sir, in hell)
There, a mass o' charred flesh, an' still burnin',
Wuz our crew, in a heap, where they fell.

Ye can talk o' th' sights in the trenches,
But th' hauntin' o' dead in that hole,
The shrieks o' the dyin'; th' stenches;
They stab, Sir, ter yer very soul.
Stripped, like a derelick hulk; dead,
Th' Lieutenant lay, shy o' both legs,
I wuz jammed agin th' after bulkhead,
With th' rammer shaft piled on my pegs.

Kind o' felt so, at first, they wuz missin',
But a couple there looked like my own,
In th' rags, though, I saw somethin' glisten,
– 'Twas part o' my own shin bone.
Wal, that's 'bout th' heft o' th' tale, Sir,
'Cept I'm all that was left o' th' crew.
Gad! But you look a bit pale, Sir,
Don't mind what I've said – an' I'm through.

Ye're better now, Sir, I'll be goin';
I'll git along somehow, I 'spect.
A waiver, ye say? That's a-showin' –
What! Fer me, Sir, my age an' defect?
Ye'll 'scuse me 'f I seem a bit soft, Sir;
I'll jes wipe these old eyes s' I can
See your face: Oh, I know ye're an off'cer,
But, By God! Sir, ye're more – ye're a man!

The last verse certainly chokes one up, if you survived that far, navigating through the lower deck dialect and the carnage. This poem has to be based on a story from a messmate of Jenness.

Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Teribus
Date: 08 Mar 07 - 12:51 PM

Fantastic Charlie, thanks for the heads up on it.

Subject: Lyr Add.: A BALLAD OF THE OLD NAVY (B F Jenness)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 09 Mar 07 - 09:43 AM

Teribus-

Here's an "inspirational" ditty from a different collection by Jenness that might appeal to you:

A BALLAD OF THE OLD NAVY

(Poem by Burt Franklin Jenness
From SEA LANES, edited by Burt Franklin Jenness,
The Cornhill Publishing Co., Boston, US, © 1921, pp. 79-80)

The sea's a place for sailormen in fair or stormy weather;
'Round the world and back again they're all good mates together.

We went ashore on pay day night, Bill Dykes, the mate, and me;
We cruised about till we got tight an' then went on a spree.
We veered an' hauled an' tacked an' beat, an' shifted course some more,
Till we fetched up on Bleecher Street, an' steered for Jersy shore –
An' we wuz ridin' even keel, consid'rin where we'd been,
Till a pair of cops put up a deal an' tried t' run us in.
An' Bill, he sez: "'Turn To' has gone, I think I heard 'er blow,"
An' he winked at me, an' I wuz on, an' then he sez: "Les' go!"

So Bill, he took th' biggest one, an' 'course I took th' other,
An' s' help me, when th' job wuz done y' couldn't tell one from t'other.
Th' port side light o' one wuz green, an' th' starb'ard showin' red,
An' t'other wuz bleedin' in b'tween, an' I thought he wuz dead,
Fer I downed him cold in th' mornin' watch with his wood b'layin' pin;
An' th' top uv his head wuz an awful splotch an' his jaw wuz busted in.
'N then Bill, he sez: "Tis well b'low," an' he cast his weather eye
Aroun' the street, an' he sez: "Les' go, an' leave th' lubbers die."

Two sailors rolling down the dock, and making heavy weather,
A-hoisted in with tackle and block, and into the brig together.

Notes:

This poem is a vivid description of a spree in sailortown, replete with nautical jargon, and I think it might be appropriately sung to "Let's All Get Drunk Together." There's also some nice internal rhyming in this poem.

"Turn To" is the traditional call for ordering sailors to "get to work" aboard ship.

Charley Noble

Subject: LYR Add: Home Round the Horn
From: Charley Noble
Date: 12 Mar 07 - 08:10 AM

Here's another beauty from Bill Adams, one that could be readily adapted to the tune of the traditional sea song "Liverpool Judies," adding in a chorus:

From WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams, published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, p. 123.

HOME ROUND THE HORN

It's blowing up squally, it's piping like hell,
And the packet she rolls till she tinkles her bell;
Oh, I hope it may blow for a week at the least;
She's a Liverpool packet and bound to the East.

Her foresail is reefed, and it bellies out full
To the westerly roaring, like Barney's black bull;
Her six yellow topsails are straining and wet,
And high on the main a topgallantsail's set.

It's raining; it's hailing; and here comes the snow,
And her sea-booted skipper is up from below;
"Let her go as she is, sir," says he with a grin;
"Have all hands keep handy; let no one turn in."

It's summer off Stiff, and her lifelines are tight;
There's a flickering gleam from her binnacle light,
And her sidelights are winking toward Liverpool town,
As we sweat up her halliards to Blow the Man Down.

The chief mate looks into our half-deck; says he,
"The drift ice is clinking all over the sea."
And the youngest apprentice is shivering and white
As she rollicks and rambles for home through the night.

Oh, there's no time at sea like the time you're bound home,
When the decks are waist deep in the greeny-white foam;
When she leaps and she lifts to the best of the squall
In December off Stiff –- there's the best time of all.

Notes:

"Stiff" is sailor slang for Cape Horn.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Keith A of Hertford
Date: 12 Mar 07 - 05:00 PM

I think I know why they called it Stiff.
Home Round The Horn seems to be related to The Dreadnought, and could be sung to its tune, without the derry down refrain.
keith.

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 12 Mar 07 - 09:20 PM

Keith-

Thanks for commenting.

The nice things about the poems I've been posting here is that the sailor-poets (sailing tall ships in the last part of the 19th century or the early 20th century) were familiar with the traditional shanties and forebitters, and in some cases modeled their poems after them.

The poems do tend to be more "arty" than a well processed traditional sea song, which just means in my opinion that they need to be "processed" a little more. Of course, we're now able to trace some forebitters and shanties back to broadsides and minstrel songs, and they were considerably altered by the time someone collected them.

I've just finished reading the autobiography of Bill Adams, and it made fascinating reading. Adams was originally from England and served his 4-year apprenticeship in Silberhorn, one of the largest and fastest 4-masted barques. He rounded Cape Horn 6 times. Sadly, just as he was completing his final year and being invited to serve as 2nd mate on the return voyage he was invalided ashore with chronic asthma and heart problems. Eventually Adams settled in the San Francisco area and was a prolific writer of nautical short stories and poems. He never lost his youthful love of the sea.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Scrump
Date: 13 Mar 07 - 09:43 AM

Round the Horne used to be good. Especially Rambling Syd Rumpo.

...I'll get me coat.

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 13 Mar 07 - 04:18 PM

Scrump-

I assume the above post is a reference to your favorite BBC nautical & naughty program.

Hey, it's OK to express your appreciation for what's posted above. Of course, if you ramble too far I do have editing powers. :~)

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Scrump
Date: 13 Mar 07 - 04:24 PM

Cheers Charley - sorry to interrupt the flow of the thread with my rambling!

As you were, men! :-)

Subject: Lyr Add: REVEILLE (Burt Franklin Jenness)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 13 Mar 07 - 04:54 PM

Well, I was scheduled for the jury pool today and rather than count the tiles on the ceiling I brought along a copy of OCEAN HAUNTS by Burt Franklin Jenness. Actually I only got about 90 minutes of reading before the judge called us in and announced that all five trials were settled and that our services were no longer needed. I guess just the threat of us being there was sufficient to persuade the parties to settle the cases.

Here's one to wake you up:

REVEILLE

(Poem by Burt Franklin Jenness
From OCEAN HAUNTS, edited by Burt Franklin Jenness,
Empire Publishing Co., New York, US, © 1934, p. 58.)

When th' dawn is jest a-breakin',
An' th' runnin' lights are dim,
An' th' risin' sun is makin'
Streaks scross th' ocean's rim;
When th' mornin' light is shiftin'
From a kind of dusty gray,
An' th' ship is sorta driftin'
In a lazy kind of way,
An' a feller wakes up shakin'
With a sea breeze down his neck,
An' his knees s' cold they're achin'
Cause his blanket's half on deck;
An' th' sunshine comes a-peepin'
Through the gun-port from th' sea –
Then he knows there's no more sleepin',
For they're blowin' reveille.

Then th' gang is all a-stirrin',
An' th' whole berth deck's alive;
All a-buzzin' an' a-whirrin''
Like a capsized wild bee-hive;
Then it's roll your hammock snappy
An' jump into workin' white,
Though y' won't be feelin' happy
Till y' knows th' chow's in sight –
Then it's out on deck f' cleanin',
An' it's all hands on th' swabs –
An' it ain't no time f' spleenin',
Nor a-huntin' round f' jobs –
All y' hear is jest t' swashin'
Of th' water, an' th' gring
Of the holystones, an' sloshin'
Of the swabbers on behind.

Then o' sudden comes th' clatter
Of th' mess gear far away,
An' th' smell o' fryin' batter,
An' th' coffee finds its way;
Then it's dry 'er down, an' rustle
All th' cleanin' gear an' hose,
An' it takes a wash an' hustle
In b'fore th' mess call goes;
O, there's somethin' that's worth tellin'
When y' tumble out at dawn,
With y' shipmates all a-yellin'
After reveille has gone;
An' I'll tell y' mates there's livin'
When th' gang gets up at sea,
An' sometime y'll feel like givin'
Half you own, for reveille.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 14 Mar 07 - 08:22 AM

I'm back to reviewing Harry Kemp's poems andhere's one that separates the sailor from the passengers:

From CHANTEYS AND BALLADS, by Harry Kemp, published by Brentano's, New York, US, © 1920, pp. 57-58.

Wind-Jammer's Song (1845 Clipper Days)

All hands on deck, below there!
The storm is coming soon,
The clouds tramp on in panic
Across the swirling moon.

The wind pipes in the halyards,
We lean with scanted sail;
Now, with a leap, we're riding
The first rush of the gale;

The lubbers in their cabins
Crouch close and pray for life:
The young man free and single,
The old man, by his wife;

And one would give his fortune,
And one, his love so fair,
For solid earth to stand on
If but a furlong square.

It's up the shrouds, my hearties,
And reef the gansells tight, –
The blow that we are having
May blow the world from sight . . .

Tomorrow, lads, the landsmen,
How they will strut and lie, –
And we – we'll squirt tobacco
And wink the other eye,

Saying, as we plunge onward
With tier on tier of sail –
"I've seen worse in my time, sir, –
Yet – 'twas a proper gale!"

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: Lyr Add: TO THE LUBBER POETS (Bill Adams)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 15 Mar 07 - 04:27 PM

In this poem old Bill Adams seems to be letting loose a broadside at the armchair nautical poets:

By Bill Adams
From WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams, published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, pp. 163-164.

TO THE LUBBER POETS

Scented soap and lily hands
A long farewell to you!
I'm away to foreign lands
With a hard-case crew.

Luck to you, my gemmy writers,
I've got Dago Joe,
And a crew of squarehead blighters
Roaring in the snow.

Do ye hear them, lily fingers?
Do ye catch their tune?
Do ye hear them fo'c'sle singers
Shouting to the moon?

"Squall to windward!" Bosun yelling,
"Up there! Up you go!"
Feel the southern ocean swelling
To the coming blow!

Oh, the sea is black and crying,
And the wind cries too,
And a swinging clipper's flying
For a singing crew.

Poetry to me is motion,
And the rolling thunder,
And the crashing black commotion
When the rail goes under.

Ho, I ain't no gemmy writer!
I'm a hard-case, see?
I'm a poor barefooted blighter,
But, thank God, I'm me!

I'm not sure how the slang term "gemmy" is being used here. It may be a sarcastic adjective, akin to calling someone "precious."

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: Lyr Add: All's Well (Bill Adams)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 18 Mar 07 - 11:24 AM

Here's another one by Bill Adams that he used to introduce this book of poetry:

All's Well

(From WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams, published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, p. 15.)

There's an ache in my heart, and I can't tell why,
Something to do with the sea and sky,
And maybe a star or so;
Maybe a whirl of wind and snow
And the easy lift of a sailing-ship
Gliding away from her landing-slip,
Heading at dawn for the misty west
In her little white royals and skysails dressed;
There's a lilting tune that I seem to hear,
A roving chorus, a quavered cheer;
The air is chill as there rumbled past
A berg as tall as her tall mainmast;
There's the creak of her gear on the stilly night,
With her braces and sheets and halliards tight;
Dear God! But I'd give my soul to go
To the open sea and the wind and snow,
To that all clear cry of the ocean night,
"All's well, sir, and all her lights are bright!"

Notes:

The poet under doctor's orders was prohibited from returning to sea after successfully completing a four-year apprenticeship aboard a four-masted bark; the diagnosis was chronic asthma.

Charley Noble

Subject: LYr Add: SPARKS (Burt Franklin Jenness)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 19 Mar 07 - 04:29 PM

Here's the only poem I've ever seen dedicated to the wireless/radio operator aboard ship, composed by Burt Franklin Jenness:

From OCEAN HAUNTS, edited by Burt Franklin Jenness,
Empire Publishing Co., New York, US, © 1934, p. 64.

SPARKS

Like a great magician staging
All his lightning tricks and ruses,
Where the seven seas are raging,
Works the wizard of our cruises;
In his tiny realm of wonder,
In a maze of coils and wire,
From which mimic tempests thunder
And the blue flames spit and fire;
With his ear attuned to crashes
Of the sound waves on the air;
In his world of dots and dashes,
You will find him sitting there
With his head gear strapped on tight,
And his hand upon the key –
Through the watches of the night
Toils this man of mystery.

While we keep the old craft steaming,
With our work-a-day routine,
We must be content with dreaming
Of some distant voice or scene;
But the great shore world is speaking
Day and night in old "Spark's" ear,
And the aerials are shrieking
Out its pathos and cheer.

How each heart bounds as it catches
Bits of news by wireless,
How we cherish little snatches,
As we quiz old "Sparks" at mess!
Ev'ry ship and port seems nearer,
To a lone sea-going gob,
Ev'ry human tie seems dearer,
When old "Sparks" is on his job.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: lYr Add: Beach Comber (Harry Kemp)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 20 Mar 07 - 12:34 PM

Here's another one from Harry Kemp, the story of a sailor who jumps ship in the Pacific Islands to become a beachcomber, only later to have some doubts. It's got a nice twist:

THE BEACH COMBER

(From CHANTEYS AND BALLADS, by Harry Kemp, published by Brentano's, New York, US, © 1920, p. 66.)

I'd like to return to the world again,
To the dutiful, work-a-day world of men, –
For I'm sick of the beach-comber's lot,
Of the one volcano flaming hot,
With the snow round its edge and the fire in its throat,
And the tropical island that seems a-float
Like a world set in space all alone in the sea . . .
How I wish that a ship, it would stop for me.
I'm sick of the brown girl that loves me, I'm sick
Of the cocoanut groves, – you can't take me too quick
From this place, though it's rich in all nature can give . . .
For I want to return where it's harder to live,
Where men struggle for life, where they work and find sweet
Their rest after toil, and the food that they eat . . .
What? A ship's in the offing? . . . dear God, let me hide, –
They're in need of a sailor, are waiting for the tide
To put off? . . . I will hide where the great cliff hangs sheer –
Give 'em mangoes and goats, and don't tell 'em I'm here!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble