Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 02 Mar 10 - 07:56 AM

Here's another poem by Master Mariner Angus Robertson:

By Angus Cameron Robertson (Mariner)
Born 1867 Skye, Scotland.
Published 1927 Dunedin. NZ

A Heavy Squall at Sea


Wild-frouded clouds fly 'neath a frowning heaven,
By roaring tempest toss'd and swiftly riven:
The lightning plays in awful blinding flashes:
Then quickly follow pealing thunder crashes.
The sea is roaring as 'twould roar its last,
And flying foam, in sheets, are upward cast.

Now heeling o'er till on beam ends we lay,
And yards are dipping in the angry fray:
The deaf'ning tumult roaring in the ear,
We cannot act, we cannot see or hear.
The sails are rent and up and down the stays,
The sparks are flying in a wildering blaze.

Now out to windward, on the weather side,
We dearly cling to life and there abide,
Expecting every moment in the gloom
To see our good ship plunging to her doom.
As helpless we await the final plunge!
Our fate seems balanced on a fragile hinge.

Our chance seems hopeless, yet suspense is keen,
Amid the tumult and the deaf'ning din.
The squall at last is o'er, its fury spent.
But leaves us wrecked, with sails and cordage rent --
But worse than that: five seamen and a boy --
The latter, too, his mother's hope and joy --
Are lost forever ere the dawn of day
Amid the fury and the blinding spray.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 01 Mar 10 - 09:53 AM

This nautical poem may be related to the lines posted above by "John the Ferret":

By Angus Cameron Robertson (Mariner)
Born 1867 Skye, Scotland.
Published 1927 Dunedin. NZ

THE OLD TEA-CLIPPER DAYS

I have sailed in old tea-clippers,
Full rigged clippers, lofty, trim;
Bounding o'er the laughing waters
With the wind abaft the beam,
And her lovely, snowy-white wings-
All a-pulling in the gale:
Now behold, she rolls to leeward,
Now she dips her weather rail.

I can see her slanting wet decks,
Green with slime amidships too:
I can hear old Bill, the bos'un
Cursing at our bully crew:
I can see each hairy visage
Laughing in the briny spray
Swinging on the topsail halliards,
Singing chanties wild and gay.

Oh! the rushing of the waters
As we haul and pull with glee,
Lashing, driving in our faces,
Filling seaboots to the knee,
With our soul and body lashings
Hauled full taut around the waist,
While the bos'un curse like thunder,
"Damn your eyes! Belay! Make Haste!"

We have split the hardy pantiles
With our sheath-knives thro' and thro;
And took out the crawling maggots
Ere we hashed them for the crew,
We have felt the pangs of hunger
As we made some cracker hash -
"Dandy-fank" and "spotted harry,"
Mixed with sugar brown, a dash.

We have tacked and ran before it,
In the roaring forties - well -
We have wallow'd in the Tropics
Where the sun's as hot as Hell!
In a stark and stinking blizzard,
We have weathered old Cape Horn;
And we passed the "Flying Dutchman"
With his topsails rent and torn.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 01 Mar 10 - 09:41 AM

There are a couple more old sailor-poets I've been working with recently:

William McFee, marine engineer
Edwin J. Brady, tally clerk on the Sydney docks

I'll post some of my adaptations of their nautical poems for singing soon.

Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: shipcmo
Date: 28 Feb 10 - 03:56 PM

Charlie,
Back in my performing days I found that a recitation was as good as a song. I particularly remember doing "The Nantucket Skipper" by James T. Fields.
Some of these posts would go over well. Generally it takes a Bass Voice.
I used to say, that sailor's voices had been ruined by rotgut whiskey and rotten tobacco, and that I had spared no expense to achieve that result.
Following Seas,
George

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 06 Mar 09 - 12:56 PM

Wayne-

I just got back from a two week revisit to Ethiopia where I had taught geography over 40 years ago. My wife kindly mentioned that you had posted to this thread.

It is really nice to be in contact with a family member. Please give a listen to the two poems by Bill Adams that I set to music, "Bound Away" and "Sea Cook" available on my website as MP3 samples.

My wife and I plan to be out in the Vancouver area in September, doing some music and looking at eagle nests. Maybe we could get together.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: GUEST,Re Bill Adams
Date: 21 Feb 09 - 05:28 PM

I'm a little late on picking up your thread on Bill Adams but my wife's grandfather was (Capt.)Lionel Dale Douglas and shipped on the Silberhorn as an apprentice seaman with Bill Adams. Douglas was aboard from 1897 to 1900 sailing from Liverpool and Antwerp on 3 return voyages to British Columbia, Oregon and California. I am not sure how many of those voyages Adams was also a part of. I have many letters from Adams to Douglas between 1932 and 1949 in which he recounts their experiences on the Silberhorn and his subsequent non-seafaring activities ashore. Douglas went on to a long career with Canadian Pacific Steamships sailing between Vancouver and the Orient... a career that Adams appeared envious of.

Wayne Dutcher
Parksville, British Columbia
Canada
[e-mail]

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 10 Jan 09 - 11:06 AM

Thanks, John!

I'm sure your "ship" will finally come in.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: GUEST,john the ferret moran aussie bush poet
Date: 10 Jan 09 - 06:16 AM

i still havent been able to track down that poem relating to "We braved the roaring forties as we came around the cape then the trade winds laid her over and she cut a boiling wake" Hope to see something soon keep up the good work charlie

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 16 Oct 08 - 09:05 PM

Claire-

The folk process at work!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: ClaireBear
Date: 16 Oct 08 - 01:07 PM

Three small differences between the way Tom sings it and the original poem:

1. omission of "a-" before sailing in last line of first verse

2. addition of the word "red" before "nets" in verse 2, line 6

3. repetition of the word "never" in 5th line of fourth verse.

Yeah, I guess that makes it an adaptation, alright...

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 16 Oct 08 - 12:40 PM

Thanks, Claire. You certainly nailed the poem although you probably meant Bob ZentZ adapted it for singing.

Alfred Noyes also composed a sequel to "The Old Grey Squirrel" titled "The Escape of the Old Grey Squirrel." Check out his poems at the Oldpoetry website: Click here for original poem!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: ClaireBear
Date: 16 Oct 08 - 12:29 PM

That's a line from the an Alfred Noyes, poem, The Old Grey Squirrel, which has been converted to a song by Bob Zents and sung by Tom Lewis. You can find full lyrics in the lyrics section of Tom's site, Tom Lewis.net.

Cheers,
Claire

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: GUEST
Date: 16 Oct 08 - 11:21 AM

trying to find an old sailors poem about "the sailors a dancing by the capstan that stood by the quay"

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: olddude
Date: 21 Sep 08 - 10:33 AM

Sea Fever - John Masefield
   

I MUST go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 21 Sep 08 - 10:28 AM

John-

The lines certainly are intriguing, and I'll give them a search.

I wouldn't at all be surprised if they were composed by one of your Australian poets, as is suggested by the reference to "the wide brown land."

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: GUEST,john 'the ferret'moran bush poet australia
Date: 20 Sep 08 - 08:20 PM

Hi Charley If you can recognise this poem from a couple of lines could you please include it on your web site, it is a really great site Charley

We braved the roaring forties as we came around the Cape
Then the trade wind laid her over and she cut a boiling wake
She scudded in the sunlight and beneath the evening star
And then the wide brown land was sighted as she cruised across the bar.

THANKS MATE

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 14 Jul 08 - 01:17 PM

It's been some time since I've added to this inventory. Here's another from Bill Adams:

By Bill Adams
From WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams, published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, pp. 89-90.

There Goes Thermopylae

I seen her once for just a jiff; it was a misty day,
Wi' sea birds mewin' i' the rain an' porpoises at play;
I was a-coilin' up a rope above the col' grey sea,
When loud I heard the boatswain shout, "There goes Thermopylae!"

The mate swung round, the skipper turned, an' everyone did gaze
To where a fleetin' shadow flew a-down the Biscay haze;
A low green hull, white swayin' masts, a cloud o' billowed sail,
I saw as o'er the Boscay sea I stared from by the rail.

The stately China clipper, tried an' proved by many a blow,
She ran along that tossin' sea as colts in pasture go!
You would ha' thought, a-watchin' her, that soul an' heart she knew,
She seemed to leap so eagerly as through the mists she flew!

You would ha' thought, a-watchin' her, that she had soul an' heart,
So swift, so proud, so queenly quite, she clove the waves apart!
I minded as she swept from view them things that poets write,
That beauty never can decay, must ever bring delight.

We never dreamed, we sailormen what wandered to an' fro,
That lovely ships would pass away an' from the waters go;
That ugly, smokin' kettle things, wi' smoke a-trailin' far,
Would come to take the trade away, would come the seas to mar,

Wi' throbbin' screws an' heavin' sides; o' nights there comes to me
The vision of a tea clipper on Biscay's hazy sea;
Again I hear the boatswain shout, "There goes Thermopylae!"

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 06 Apr 08 - 12:08 PM

I've been neglected this thread of late. Here's another interesting one from Burt Franklin Jenness:

Signal Bill

'Twas what ye'd call a nasty night,
An' 'twa''t no time to pick a fight,
Th' we struck th' zone;
Th' fog wuz settlin' purty thick –
Screws 'u'd race, an' buck, an' kick,
An' stays 'u'd creak an' groan.

A crew at every three-inch gun,
An' all han's keyed up fer th' run –
Wuz how we cruised that night;
I tuk th' wheel – I'd never had
A taste o' war – wuz jest a lad –
But I had shipped t' fight.

An' soon ol' quartermaster Bill
An' me made friends, as seamen will,
Without much else t' do,
An' Bill wuz on th' bridge that night,
T' kinda see that things went right,
An' sort o' visit too.

Sez Bill: "Ye know it ain't a fight
That's getting' on me nerves tonight,
But I guess ye'll agree
That I have kinda wronged me kid,
Fer when th' mother died, I did
Th' getaway t' sea."

"An' I h'ain't never heard," sez Bill, –
"An' I reckon now I never will –
As how th' brat come through,
Fer I've a feelin', lad, tonight,
An' ef I'm calculatin' right,
I want t' ask ef you

Will be a father – ef –" sez he,
"Ef – what I'm thinkin' of should be –
To that-there kid o' mine."
I promised Bill I'd do my best,
Then eased a point, Sou-west b' West,
T' fetch 'er in ter line,

When, "GOD!" Sez Bill; "LOOK! Port 'er quick!"
An' pointed where th' fog hung thick
Jest off th' starb'rd bow;
'Bout then th' lookout yelled; an' aft
"All hands" wuz sounded through th' craft;
An' then, someway – somehow

We lifted like a surf-borne skiff;
Then hung an' trembled; straightened stiff;
An' settled by th' stern;
I struck th' binnacle an' hung
Until a list t' starb'rd flung
Me with an awful turn,

An' I brought up ferninst a hatch –
'N' through th' fog I leaped, t' catch
A piece of deck-house frame;
I heard Bill yell, an' like a streak
Seen 'im shoot by – an' then th' creak
O' life-boat tackle came.

The Cap'n's voice by megaphone;
Th' siren's blasts; a shriek – a groan;
Th' hiss o' boiler steam;
Th' crash o' superstructure gear;
Th' gurgle o' water – near –
An' then, I 'spect, a dream –

Fer I don't recollect th' rest,
Till, half awake, across th' breast
O' "Signal Bill" I rolled;
An' there, aboard a life-raft, sprawled
Two men – like they'd washed up – er crawled
An' one wuz stark an' cold,

Notes:

From MAN-O'-WAR RHYMES, edited by Burt Franklin Jenness, originally published by The Cornhill Publishing Co., Boston, US, © 1918, pp. 17-19; available as a new paperback reprint from Kessinger Publishing.

Evidently this poem describes the sinking of a patrol craft such as a destroyer during World War 1 after striking a submerged ledge or other obstacle in the fog.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 16 Mar 08 - 05:58 PM

refresh

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 11 Jan 08 - 09:57 PM

I've just acquired the earliest book of poems by Burt Franklin Jenness titled SERVICE RHYMES, © 1917. Most of the poems can be found in a later book titled MAN-O-WAR RHYMES as suspected but there are an additional 14 poems. This one I find the most compelling and unusual, for its time:

From SERVICE RHYMES, by Burt Franklin Jenness, published by Press of El Paso Printing Co., El Paso, Texas, US, © 1917, pp. 48-55.

The Black Watch

Ever heard th' black watch story?
Ask th' boys o' our old crew;
There's sea yarns a sight more gory,
But there aint a tale more true.

An' if th' boys are skeerce, your way,
('Spect they're nigh all dead by now.)
Ye can wait toll Judgment Day,
An' ye'll hear it then, I 'low.

'Cause, no matter what th' color
Uv their sweatin', shinin' hide,
Er if they called 'em black, er yaller,
They wuz white men – when they died.

An' when th' black watch answers: "Here!"
To that last roll call, on high,
In th' good book there'll appear
Th' tale o' how they come t' die.

It wuz down off San Diego
In th' spring o' ninety-eight;
Th' news it struck us like a blow,
O' how th' Maine had met her fate.

Wal, there wa'n'y no peace o' livin'
On our packet after that;
An' th' fight our crew wuz givin'
O' them Spaniards! They wuz at

'Em hot, from reveille, an' fought
'Em clean up t' taps, at night –
In their minds – but you'd 'a' thought
Ye smelled th' powder, in their fight.

O' nights they'd swarm th' decks t' tell
Jest how they'd man th' turret guns,
An' how they'd face th' shot an' shell
'Mid their dead an' dyin' ones.

An' all th' time a-grinnin' 'round
The edge o' that 'ere braggin' crowd,
Th' stokers, gapin'', stood spell-bound,
An' silent as a trooper's shroud.

Th' boys they called 'em yaller coons –
One fire-room crew wuz all
We had o' blacks – no octoroons
Or half-breed niggers, what you'd call

A black watch, they wuz, through an' through;
Six o' 'em in number four;
An' skeerce their jeers had died, that crew
Wished they had as many more.

Wal, you've read it all in hist'ry,
How we fought th' wind an' tide,
Through th' Straits, an' burned th' sea
Steamin' up on t' other side.

Fer days we bucked a sou'east trade
That 'ud freeze yer marrow bones;
O' nights a chill crep' in, that made
Us chatter like our teeth wuz stones.

Th' damp o' dog-days, too, 'u'd come,
An' heat 'twould do fer hell, I reck's,
S' cussed hot 'twould melt th' gum
O' yer hip-boots, washin' decks.

An' all th' time th' Spanish ships
Wuz racin', too, ag'in th' tide,
P'inted straight t' where th' rips
O' Santiago's harbor ride.

Wal, we kep' her, night an' day,
Under forced draught, an' our men,
Deck an' stoke-hole, worked th' way
It's like they'll never work again.

Th' fireroom heat wuz well nigh hell;
Th' furnace mouths well nigh its fire;
Th' stokers, like th' damned t' dwell
Below, kep' heapin' fuel higher.

Through th' doldrums; Caribbean;
Steamin' nor'ard o'er th' brine;
Slavin', swinin' like a peon;
Nary a man there wuz t' whine.

Bearin's hot, an' packin's burnin';
Pistons spittin' tongues o' steam;
Racin' screws a-grumblin', churnin';
Cross-seas slappin' us abeam.

Days an' weeks we watched an' groveled,
Till th' weeks rolled 'round again;
While below, th' black watch shoveled,
Stoked an' sliced – like whiter men.

Battle strung, an' nigh exhausted,
O' nights, th' crew off watch would gibe,
Taunt an' jeer, aye, oft accosted
Shamefully, th' black skinned tribe.

Scored th' black watch, too, as cowards,
'Fraid t' fight, an' 'fraid t' die;
Bid 'em shift their course t' sou'ards,
T' th' land o' mammy's lullaby.

Then th' day hove 'round fer sightin'
O' th' top-masts of our fleet –
Soon we'd be in line fer fightin';
Soon we'd feel a salvo's heat.

Th' Cap'n whistled down fer speed,
Steam-gauge, then, wuz climbin' higher;
Our faces, scorched, seemed like t' bleed,
Still th' old chief bellered: "Fire!"

I wuz standin' boiler three,
At th' water-tender's post;
Our fire-room crew wuz white – an' we,
God help us – scored th' black watch most.

'Twas nearin' time fer us t' quit,
Our watch wuz makin' fourteen-ten;
Craft a-shakin' like a broken sprit;
Safety valve a-poppin' when –

My God! I heard a hiss o' steam,
An' then a shriekin', piercin' roar –
An' fightin' through a seethin' stream,
Our men wuz gropin' fer th' door.

I tried t' reach th' valves – but fell,
An' crawled, there in th' pit, fer air –
There may be tortures worse, in hell,
But I'd sooner take my chances there.

My guts wuz burnin' seemed, an' tight
Aroun' my neck a scaldin' line
Wuz chokin' – an' afore my sight,
Streaks o' red an' green 'u'd shine.

Then things kind o' eased, y' might say –
Didn't hear a sound, no more –
Felt all sort o' snug an' comfy –
Guess I wuz nearin' t'other shore.

An' then it seemed like somethin' druv me
Nigh clean up'ards through th' air,
'N' I saw a big, black face above me –
An', God! th' whole black watch wuz there!

I c'u'd see 'em, now, a-luggin'
Uv our white men to'ards th' door –
'N' then, at my throat, that cussed tuggin'
Come – 'n' I didn't see no more.

Till I come to, up in sick-bay,
In a row o' clean, white beds,
Where, silent, on their pill'rs lay
A dozen other bandaged heads.

I looked a spell, from face t' face,
Then shet my burnin' eyes up tight –
O' them poor devils in that place,
Six wuz black, an' six wuz white!

O God! th' nights o' pain that followed,
An' th' sleepless days, as well;
They begged, an' prayed, cursed an' hollered,
Fer rufuge from a livin' hell.

But th' good Lord soon relieved 'em –
One by one th' black watch died;
In their blankets, wrapped, they heaved 'em,
Lashed t' grate-bars, overside.

NOTES

In 1898 the United States and Spain declared war on one another, following an explosion that sank the battleship Maine in Havana Harbor. The battleship Oregon made a famous dash from the Pacific around Cape Horn to join the Caribbean fleet off Santiago Harbor.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 01 Jan 08 - 06:22 PM

About eight of these poems are now recorded on my new CD titled OLD SAILOR-POETS: Sea Songs. Here's a link to find more information about this CD: Click here for website!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 04 Dec 07 - 08:31 PM

And one more poem by Burt franklin Jenness:

From SPINDRIFT AND SAGEBRUSH, by Burt Franklin Jenness, published by The Naylor Company, San Antonia, Texas, © 1960, p. 17.

Harbor Tug

With saucy air and curtly hail;
With rakish stern and meager crew,
They bristle up beneath the rail,
And warp the giant liners through.

They fight the stubborn tides that swirl
Through drawbridge, channel, slip and reach;
And cheat the angry seas that hurl
The pounding craft on shoal and beach.

They pilot up the sleet-lashed bay
With gunnels mantled white with snow;
On icebound rivers crunch their way
With hawsers strained across their tow.

With fitful blasts and jets of steam
They weave the fretting channel rips,
And thread the traffic of the stream
Like pygmies in the world of ships.

A nice tribute to the tugboats of the world!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 04 Dec 07 - 09:28 AM

Leadfingers-

There really are some good poems to work with from these poets. They are not all keepers but some do a great job of "filling in the gaps" within the nautical repertoire. I also agree that the works of C. Fox Smith are a good standard to judge these poems by.

I've learned a bit more about Burt Franklin Jenness. He is evidently a stretch as an "old sailor-poet." Here's my biographical sketch:

Burt Franklin Jenness was born in New Hampshire in 1895. He prepared for his medical career at Dartmouth Medical College, the University of Southern California, Boston University, and the Naval Medical School, Washington, D.C. Dr. Jenness served as a medical officer in the U.S. Navy during World War 1, earning the retirement rank of Lieutenant Commander (Medical Corps) U. S. Navy. Creative writing was one of his major hobbies as is shown by his books of poetry – together with publications in magazines, newspapers and anthologies.

Dr. Jenness's major poetry books include:

SERVICE RHYMES (p. 1917)
MAN-O'-WAR RHYMES (p. 1918)
SEA LANES (p. 1921)
OCEAN HAUNTS (p. 1934)
SPINDRIFT AND SAGEBRUSH (p. 1960)

After retiring from the U. S. Navy, Dr. Jenness worked as Assistant Professor of Biological Sciences at Texas Western College, as an Official Instructor of First Aid for the American Red Cross and became Director Emeritus of Health Service for Texas Western College. He retired to El Paso, Texas, where he died in 1971.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Leadfingers
Date: 03 Dec 07 - 09:37 PM

And 100! Some good stuff in there, Charlie.

(Yes, but I do have the power to DELETE such posts! Charley Noble)

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Leadfingers
Date: 03 Dec 07 - 09:36 PM

Come Back Cecily Fox Smith , All is forgiven ! LOL

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 03 Dec 07 - 08:56 PM

Here's another one from Jenness with a little more meat:

From SPINDRIFT AND SAGEBRUSH, by Burt Franklin Jenness, published by The Naylor Company, San Antonia, Texas, © 1960, pp. 14-15.

The Bedford Nell

When the night winds blow in from the open sea,
And darkness sifts down in the busy street,
That's always the lonesomest time for me;
It's always the time when my stubborn old feet
Go hurrying down to the shipping docks,
And there I just linger and smoke and dream;
There's music to me in the creaking of blocks,
Or the grumble of winches and spitting of steam;
And the smell of the wet hemp that is paid away free,
Or the keen scent of spice from an open ship's hold,
Are like food and drink to a body like me,
For they warm up the heart when a sailorman's cold.

But that's not the reason I've haunted the piers,
And listened to yarns that the sailormen tell;
And strained my old eyes gazing seaward for years –
It's just for one look at the old Bedford Nell,
For none of the packets that I've ever seen
Could fetch my eye twice like this one that I knew;
She was just a pull-haul-y old brigantine
When we sailed out of Bedford in seventy-two,
But blast her sea-pitted old water-logged planks!
I'd know her the minute I heard her ship's bell,
And under full canvas she'd play up such pranks
I'd someway just feel 'twas the Bedford Nell;
Can I ever forget how I cursed the old shell,
With bad luck to the owners who shipped me as mate;
Those bitter nights under the Cross, and the hell
When famine-eyed seamen were raving with hate;
The days when the monsoons were scorching us sore,
And cholera was snuffing the lives of our crew;
When we hoisted the old yellow rag at the fore,
And crept into Shanghai with the watch two and two!
Yes, the ratty old hooker was logged full of grief;
She was patched with old shoring just aft the port bow
When she nigh laid her bones on the Barrier Reef,
And we limped into Sydney – Lord only knows how!
And she bears a memento of that hellish night
When a mutiny brewed in the fo'c's'le-head,
And the beggars rushed aft and began to show fight;
The bo'sun was down and the second mate dead
When we cut the dogs back, and we fought to the hatch
And we pitched 'em below, every man on his head –
And I know, to this day, there's a crimson patch
On her quarter-deck planks – for the scuppers ran red!

Oh, she leaked and she stank and her tales are too grim,
But before her sea-rotted old canvas is furled;
And before my old eyes get too watery and dim;
And before she goes down on the reefs of the world,
I must have one last look at the craft I like best,
And listen once more to the old watches' bell –
So I'm waiting each night, and I never shall rest
Till I sight my old packet – the Bedford Nell.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 03 Dec 07 - 01:28 PM

Here's another poem from Burt Franklin Jenness from a new book of his poetry that I've just acquired:

From SPINDRIFT AND SAGEBRUSH, by Burt Franklin Jenness, published by The Naylor Company, San Antonia, Texas, © 1960, p. 23.

Sea Art

There's not a resolution passed beneath the gavel's head;
There is no tale however true, no tribute, vote or plea;
There are no voices lifted up in which their praise is said,
That half do justice to the men who work the ships at sea.

No lens has caught the changing hues that tip the waves at dawn;
The grace of gulls on tilted wing has never yet been drawn;
No artist lives who wields a brush that can depict a-right
The fury of a typhoon trail or paint a "dirty" night.

No more can we, in printer's ink, find pathos on the seas,
Nor can we feel the biting spray or see the tempest rage;
The sharpest pen that draws the sea but mocks its tragedies,
For human woes and tempests cannot reach the printed page.

It seems odd that such a fine nautical poet should claim frustration at portraying "the men who work the ships at sea" but he probably was all too aware of what he was missing.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 17 Sep 07 - 05:45 PM

Dick-

Any time.

And at some point soon I'd love your permission to use your musical setting for a recording of "Sailortown." This will be a small run on the order of 250 copies, done in small batches from my home office. Would you please PM me your e-mail address.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: The Sandman
Date: 17 Sep 07 - 03:50 PM

Thankyou.

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 16 Sep 07 - 08:14 PM

Here's some more unabashed nauttical nostalgia from Burt Franklin Jenness:

From SEA LANES, edited by Burt Franklin Jenness,
The Cornhill Publishing Co., Boston, US, © 1921, pp. 77-78

The Old Ditty Box

Old and battered now, it rests
With the spinning wheel and chests,
In the solitude and gloom
Of the dusty attic room;
Tied around with cotton line;
Carved with names in odd design;
Hinges broken; lid askew;
Warped and cracked – but always new!
Dear to me despite its knocks –
Precious durned old ditty box.

When I steal away up stairs,
'Mong the beds and broken chairs,
And I loosen that old lid,
I'm a second Captain Kidd
Hunting for his buried gold –
But no hiding place could hold
Treasures like the ones I find,
And the thoughts they bring to mind;
Dreams of ships and ports and docks –
All from that old ditty box.

When I take the treasures out,
And begin to think about
Cruising days of long ago,
Memories crowd upon me so,
I just wish that every lad
Could have all the fun I've had,
And that they could have, like me,
Golden hours of memory,
When their thoughts, like sheep in flocks,
Would come from a ditty box.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 11 Sep 07 - 05:26 PM

Here's another one from Bill Adams focused on the grief of a flashgirl for a young sailor friend that she's just learned was lost at sea:

From WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams,
Published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, p. 24.

Sailor's Mourner

"Gawd!" said a gal o' the Barbary Coast —
She was dancin' wi' me —
"Is it true, lad, that Larry, young Larry, was lost
From his ship out at sea?"

An' I says to her, "Aye! 'Tis true sure enough
That poor Larry was drowned."
An' "Gawd," said the gal o' the Coast, "but it's tough!
An' the poor boy home-bound!"

The fiddles they played on the Barbary shore
An' the dancers' feet flew,
An' "Gawd," said the gal, the young Barbary whore
"'Tis too bad that it's true!"

She trembled her lip, an' she dropped a salt tear
On paint an' on powder;
An' the crimps they came round wi' the foam on the beer,
An' the laughter grew louder.

"There's a new dance is startin'," says I to her then;
"Will ye dance it wi' me?"
An' the fiddles tuned up, an' we danced once again,
An' forgot the cold sea.

Notes:

The "Barbary Coast" was the neighborhood adjacent to the harbor area in San Francisco which was filled with bars, dance halls, brothels and other things of interest to the sailor ashore.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

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

Another one from Bill Adams:

All Hands On Deck

"Rouse out, you sleepers! Come, now, rise and shine!"
How would you like to hear that cry again?
You rolled into your bunk at eight, and now it's nine!
You hear the wind, the lashing of the rain;
You thought they'd let you sleep until eight bells, till midnight came;
Your every limb is sore; you're aching weary; you feel vast swells
Surge under her deep keel. "Roose out there, dearie!
We're going to take the upper topsails in;
It's blowing up like hell; it's black as sin;
All hands on deck, my son!" And out you tumble
To grope for sodden sea-boots and your oilskin coat,
And wrap a towel round your throat to keep the water out,
You groan, you grumble; the one who calls you laughs, with mocking lips;
He's better used than you to the ways of ships;
He's been three years at sea, and you but one.
"We're going to furl the topsails! Ain't that fun!"
Your sopping bunk was luxury; it still is steaming
From your body's warmth while you lay there dreaming that you were back ashore;
Ah, happy days! You step out to the night, out to the sprays; you hear a sail
Crashing above you, lowered for the gale; a greyback roars aboard and knocks you down,
Before you gain your feet you almost drown!
"Where's that useless pup?" You hear the mate;
"All hands on deck, and that young lubber's late!"
Somehow you struggle up the deck's mad slope;
Somehow you find your place upon the rope;
The boatswain's bawling, "Yo-ho! Haul away! Hi-leeee!"
Who wouldn't sell a farm and go to sea?

Notes

From WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams, published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, pp. 117-118.

Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 27 Aug 07 - 09:26 PM

Here's another one from Bill Adams with the thought that when you lose a shipmate at sea, the memory lingers.

Poem by Bill Adams
From WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams,
Published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, pp. 54-55.

Man in the Sea

If ever you've heard it ringing, wild from the mast and clear,
If you've seen the watches running, their faces blanched with fear,
If you've heard the splash in the water, and the rush as the boat swings free,
Then you know the bit o' the feeling when a shipmate goes at sea.

And if you haven't heard it, if your way lies by the shore,
Far from the ways of sailormen, you'd best not shrink no more
When the night wind shakes your chimney and your window-pane
Rattles o' windy midnights to the beat o' the winter rain.

There's an empty bunk in the fo'c'sle; we've divvied up his duds;
Somewhere far astern of her, in the greeny white suds,
He's swinging to the rollers, swaying to and fro,
With the birds up above him and the fish down below.

Jimmie took his 'baccy, Joe his oilskin coat,
Neddie took the muffler that warmed his merry throat;
'Twas me that drew his sea-boots; my feet were warm and dry,
Would I had frozen, barefoot, with him yet smiling by.

For she's warping into moorings, and the voyage is past;
We've cut the cards and shuffled them; the lot is cast;
I've got to tell his woman … to tell his woman … me!
The fish … and the birds … and her man in the sea!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 24 Aug 07 - 11:41 AM

Looks like I've been neglecting this thread. Here's another nostalgic nautical poem by Bill Adams:

From WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams,
Published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, p. 53.

The old sailor ashore hearing the haunting shanty chorus as a tall-ship departs from the dock pool out the lock.

Ai-Lee-Oh

I see a ship glide through a dock
With lovely white wings,
And women watch her from the lock,
A sailor, laughing, sings,
Ai-lee-yoh,
Haul-away, yoh!

I see the houses slipping by,
Women's wet faces;
I hear a night wind piping high,
Sailors at the braces —
Hi-lee-yoh,
Haul-away, yoh!

I see the tug-boat's bobbing stern,
Ship's lights green and red,
And many lamps new lighted burn
Ashore. The sea's ahead —
Oh-yo-hoh,
Haul-away, yoh!

I see the roadways of the sea,
The stars, the sun, the moon;
From every sea drifts back to me
The faintly echoed tune —
Oh-hi-yoh,
Haul-away, yoh!

I see the ice upon the shrouds,
Eyes of men in pain;
The mastheads scrap the very clouds;
Would we were home again!
Ai-lee-yoh,
Haul-away, yoh!

I would probably standardize the chorus if I were singing this one.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 30 Jul 07 - 09:35 AM

Here's a change of pace, a nautical poem by John Masefield:

From SALT WATER POEMS AND BALLADS, John Masefield, published by The Macmillan Co., NY, © 1912, p. 51.

A Pier-Head Chorus

Oh I'll be chewing salted horse and biting flinty bread,
And dancing with the stars to watch, upon the fo'c's'le head,
Hearkening to the bow-wash and the welter of the tread
Of a thousand tons of clipper running free.

For the tug has got the tow-rope and will take us to the Downs,
Her paddles churn the river-wrack to muddy greens and browns,
And I have given river-wrack and all the filth of towns
For the rolling, combing cresters of the sea.

We'll sheet the mizzen-royals home and shimmer down the Bay,
The sea-line blue with billows, the land-line blurred and grey;
The bow-wash will be piling high and thrashing into spray,
As the hooker's fore-foot tramples down the swell.

She'll log a giddy seventeen and rattle out the reel,
The weight of all the run-out line will be a thing to feel,
As the bacca-quidding shell-back shambles aft to take the wheel,
And the sea-sick little middy strikes the bell.

Here's a link to how I've adapted this one for singing: click and go to MP3 sample

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 21 Jul 07 - 09:01 PM

This one looks like another keeper. I'm in the process of trying out some tunes and changing a few words which I'll post to a separate thread. Jenness always has a fresh take on the sea experience.

Poem by Burt Franklin Jenness
From OCEAN HAUNTS, edited by Burt Franklin Jenness,
Empire Publishing Co., New York, US, © 1934, pp. 45-47.

SEA DREAMS

If you've ever stood a midwatch in the cavern of the night,
With the sea wolves racing past you in a pack;
With the steely star a-playing 'round the mastheads for a light,
And the bucking trades possessed to drive you back;
If you've ever seen a sunset on a copper colored sea,
When the sky was like a polished compass bowl;
And the night winds caught the spindrift from the waves and tossed it free
Till to leeward you could see a silvery shoal.

If you've ever read your compass by a fulling tropic moon,
As it slowly rose above its jungle bed;
Dripping silver in the waters of a coral-fringed lagoon,
Till it hung there like a shining capstan head;
If you've heard the whining Forties day and night about your ears,
And have cursed your packet's ceaseless, sickening roll –
With the backstays all complaining and the creaking of the gears,
Then you'll understand the fretting in my soul.

For the wind has shifted east'r'd, and the long green rollers call,
And a brown-skinned lass is beckoning to me;
The starb'r'd watch is yarning, and I'm longing for it all –
So it's any wind'll take me back to sea.

If you've heard the screws a-grumbling when the craft was cruising light
Or the scuppers gurgle back the weather seas;
If you've tailed behind a typhoon in a hellish running fight,
And have felt your oil-skins freeze about your knees;
If you've heard the crack of head seas, and have felt the settling hull
Or the stern go heaving skyward till she raced;
If you've seen her take the green ones till she quivered like a gull,
And a river ran athwart-ships at her waist.

If you've cleared the reefs of Suva, and have sighted Sydney head;
If you've lifted Sugar Loaf just after dawn;
If you've made Corrigador, and have swung the sounding lead
In the channels of the world where you have gone;
If you've cruised with lousy shipmates, and have heard them curse and brawl;
If you know the seas from Rio to Hong Kong;
If you've loafed about the waterfronts of every port of call –
Then you'll understand the burden of my song.

Oh, the wind has shifted east'r'd, and the long green rollers call,
And a brown-skinned lass is beckoning to me;
The starb'r'd watch is yarning – and I'm longing for it all,
So it's any wind'll take me back to sea.

Here's how I've adapted this poem for singing: Click here and search for lyrics!
Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 20 Jul 07 - 10:38 AM

Now this poem by Burt Franklin Jenness should resonate with some old navy veterans, bring salt tears gushing down the furrows in their weathered cheeks! This appears an easy one to fit a tune to:

Poem by Burt Franklin Jenness
From SEA LANES, edited by Burt Franklin Jenness,
The Churchill Publishing Co., Boston, US, © 1921, pp. 60-61.

THE HOLYSTONER

Swashin' down the quarter-deck, scuppers runnin' free,
All th' gang in workin' white, happy as c'n be;
Smell o' coffee comin' through from th' galley, near,
Getting' keener fer th' mess, ev'ry sound we hear;
Mornin' watch a-swappin' yarns that they get ashore,
Ev'ry guy with somethin' new 'bout th' night before.

Smokes a-workin' overtime, makins' hard t' find,
Jeans rolled up aroun' our knees, blouses left b'hind;
Rus'lin' out th' cleanin' gear, draggin' aft th' hose,
Sloshin' 'round t' feel th' sand oozin' 'tween our toes;
Legs a-tinglin' from th' spray, dancin' 'round with glee,
Holystonin' with th' gang – that's th' watch fer me.

Sun a-peepin' from th' sea out across th' bay,
Fishermen a-makin' sail, getting' under way;
Gulls a-whinin' overhead, lookin' fer their chow,
Bumboatmen a-comin' out, driftin''round th' bow;
Ship a-swingin' to th' tide, chains a-drawin' tight,
Deck a-wash, th' sand an' water shinin' in th' light.

Gang a-singin', fore an' aft, songs o' ev'ry kind,
Holystone a-slidin' – slidin' with a merry grind;
Wadin' 'round in sand an' slush, slippin' on th' deck,
Tiltin' up th' hose a bit to'ards a rockie's neck;
Ev'rybody's soppin' wet, hungry as c'n be,
Holystonin' with th' gang – that's th' life fer me!

Notes:

"Holystoning" involved pushing or dragging a large flat piece of sandstone across a wooden deck to sand it down to fresh wood.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 19 Jul 07 - 03:33 PM

Here's another one from Burt Franklin Jenness about the galley cook aboard a World War 1 naval ship. Evidently the grub served was of a higher quality than that served aboard contemporary sailing ships:

Poem by Burt Franklin Jenness
From SEA LANES, edited by Burt Franklin Jenness,
The Churchill Publishing Co., Boston, US, © 1921, pp. 86-87.

The Ship's Cook

The gilded thrones of kings may pass;
The magistrate's judicial hall,
The Sultan's court of tinkling brass –
They all may go beyond recall,
But there's one monarch that will stay,
And in his sacred, royal nook
Endure all time, and hold full sway –
And that's his highness – our ship's cook.

From out his spacious, steel-bound cage
Come forth his edicts and commands –
No other ruler of the age
Could issue more obscure demands;
No king could closer guard his gate
Against assassin, thief or crook,
Or be a sterner potentate
Then our respected – galley cook.

Bit, though he be but of royalty,
We know the cook will be our friend –
For what would morning watches be
Without his hand-out at the end?
A trick out on the target raft;
A mid-watch on the old mud hook;
A cold, wet field day, fore and aft –
And we bless, then – the old king cook.

Who hasn't made a quiet trip
To cookie's throne room late at night,
When lights were out aboard the ship,
To get from him some tempting bite?
What would the life up for'rd be –
How different things at sea would look –
If that black coffee weren't so free
From our old pal – the galley cook.

What joy we'd lose at reveille,
If we should fail to hear the sound
Of mess gear dropping, or to see
The heaping dishes passed around –
How dull the routine of the day,
If, from that guarded, regal nook,
No golden morsels came our way;
We'd miss his majesty – the cook.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 17 Jul 07 - 08:15 PM

Here's another one from Bill Adams, in Scandanavian dialect:

By Bill Adams
From WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams, published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, p. 80.

Olaf of the Grain Fleet

I coom all der vay from Liverpool roun' der Horn
To 'Freesco; ve voss hunder an' fifty day on der passage;
Forty day ve spend down dere off der ol' Horn mitt der gales,
All der time pully-haul, pully-haul, reefin' an' furlin' der sails,
Mitt ice in der riggin'; ow, aye! I says der voss ice sure 'nough!
An' ice on der topsails too; py gollies, dot makes der yob tough
Ven der sailor got to furl topsail! Me, never I 'ave any skin
In forty whole day on der knuckles, an' colder, py gollies, as sin!
Der grub it voss rotten: yoost hard-take, an' a leetle salt port, an' split peas;
Yah! Ees cold for poor sailorman's belly a-fightin' dem foamy beeg seas!
Hunder an' fifty day ve been on der passage. Five mont? Yah, five mont to der day.
Der wages? Vy, yoost seexty dollar ees der whole o' dot passage's pay;
Twelve dollar a mont! Don't it beats it such a fool any sailorman be?
Me, I kervits. Dot's all feenish, yow bet now. No more now I goes to sea.

Vot yow say, sir? A visky? Vell, tanks you! Yah, I likes me yoost vun leetle sip –
And Olaf's as drunk as the devil, and he's gone down to look for a ship!

It's the same old story but well told.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 17 Jul 07 - 08:42 AM

refresh!

Any thoughts about what the slang phrase "monkey on a stick" refers to in "Old Limejuicer"? There appear to be quite a lot of options.

Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 08:52 PM

The old sailors who grew up in the days of tall-ships never got used to the transition to steamships. On steamships they felt more like passengers rather than real sailors. Here's the way that Bill Adams puts it:


From WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams, published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, pp. 78-79.


OLD LIMEJUICER

She'd carried coal on her last voyage,
So she was thick wi' fleas;
An' there was cockroaches in every crevice,
An' them small bitin' brown things in her bunk-board groves;
She was carryin' barley now, an' her rats was big as rabbits —
You'd wake to see old missis rat a-washin' of her face beside your pillow,
An' underneath it you'd likely find
Her nest o' squirmin' babies, pink an' blind.
The old hooker was a bad sea boat; she'd ship them in the waist
Clear level with her bulwarks with topgallants set;
And even under skysails she was wet;
She was a "hungry ship" — hard-tack, salt pork, an' horse;
At dinner time on Saturday o' course the usual thing,
Black-strap molasses an' a little rice; we called that "Strike me blind."
At every noon they served each man a gill o' limejuice;
That's the limejuice way; (in limejuice ships they says that if
A Yankee sailor don't get pie three times a day he mutinies.)
The old ship's spars were warped; her main topmast was sprung;
Her sails were patched; she only had two suits;
(Law says as ships must carry three.)
Her crew were God-knows-whats from everywhere;
Her skipper was a Blue Nose,
Her mate a Portygee; her second was a monkey on a stick; her boatswain me!
She took eight months from Puget Sound to Falmouth; overdue; posted missin'.
The owner collected insurance on her; he was a Liverpool Jew;
She was the last o' the West Coast grain fleet; an' I've never been to sea since;
This? This is a steamer. Yes, sir, I'm quartermaster.
A good job, quartermaster? Yes, sir. But this ain't goin' to sea;
I quit the sea an' went in steam, sir.

Slang: "her second was a monkey on a stick"; I'm not sure which of several interpretations of this slang holds true here but it's probably unrelated to Thai food and it's probably not a compliment.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 14 Jul 07 - 12:26 PM

Bill Adams does his usual good work with this ode to limejuice:

By Bill Adams
From WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams, published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, pp. 81-82.

LIMEY

She's a Liverpool ship, an' becalmed on the Line;
Ain't it hell when a Liverpool sailor must dine?
Salt pork an' pea soup (an' the sun's overhead),
An' the fat weevils crawlin' in mouldy hard bread;
But the cook's at his door wi' a tin pannikin,
A Liverpool Irishman, scrany an' thin;
A half-gill o' limejuice to each man he serves,
To ward off the scurvy an' heave tight the nerves.

She's a Liverpool ship wi' the ice on her shrouds,
An' the snowflakes down droppin' from lead-coloured clouds;
They're hungry an' weary, half frozen, half dead,
An' for dinner there's weevils in mouldy hard bread,
A bit o' salt pork, o' pea soup just a lick –
But the cook's at his door, an' he's turning the trick!
A half-gill o' limejuice to each man he serves,
To ward off the scurvy an' heave tight the nerves.

It ain't Bass's ale, an' it ain't Burton stout,
Nor fine Irish whisky puts clippers about
An' heads 'em away when the breeze comes along
Wi' a rattle o' sheaves to the chanteyman's song;
It ain't fine Madeira nor sweet Muscatel
Keeps Liverpool clippers a-riddin' the swell;
Nor it ain't brown Jamaica nor bubblin' champagne
Keeps the Limeys a-singin' in wind an' in rain;
It's the thin bitter liquid as puckers the lips
Brings fame for smart sailin' to Liverpool ships.

Then here's to them Limeys, "Lor' love 'em!" says I,
Who swigs down their limejuice blow low or blow high;
An' I wish I was back in them Liverpool ships,
Wi' a rusty tin pannikin held to me lips!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 13 Jul 07 - 08:56 AM

Capt. Birdseye-

It's a lonely job but one of us gobs has got to do it!

Do consider adapting some of these poems for singing. You certainly did a fine job with C. Fox Smith's "Sailortown." I've done a number of these myself, most recently the "Sea Cook" by Bill Adams, and if you're interested there are MP3 samples of all my efforts on my website: Click here and search for lyrics!

I'd like to think that Cyrill Tawney would have enjoyed this thread.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: The Sandman
Date: 13 Jul 07 - 12:10 AM

Thanks Charley.

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 12 Jul 07 - 09:38 PM

Here's another essential crewmember from the Great Age of Sail, the sail-maker, as commemorated by Bill Adams:

By Bill Adams
From WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams, published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, p. 41.

SAILMAKER

Old man Stitch-away, old man Sails,
With his long grey beard, he's hard as nails;
His teeth are yellow, and his eyes are grey,
And he's seaming and he's roping all the livelong day.

Stitch away, stitch away, sew them strong
For the lofty spars, where they belong;
Rope them tight and seam them true
So never a cupful of wind blows through.

A big ship's topsails, a big ship's courses,
To race her along through the wild white horses;
Royals and skysails, a big ship's wings,
To lift her high where the comber swings.

Stitch them, Sails; aye, sew them tight
For the mad squall blowing in the maniac night;
Sew them to stand the beat of hail,
The lash of rain and the hurricane's flail.

Sew them strong, so they'll never rip
When we're bow to bow with a rival ship;
Bolt on bolt of canvas high
To tower in a pyramid to the sky.

Bolt on bolt of canvas wide
To cast swift shadows on the blue sea's tide;
Bolt on bolt of canvas white
To gleam in the glory of the tropic night.

And if there's a little bit of sail left over,
Save it, Sails, for a fellow-rover!
Old man Sails, with his grey head bowed,
He's sitting and he's stitching at a dead men's shroud.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 10 Jul 07 - 08:54 PM

Here, Burt Franklin Jenness is waxing nostalgic for his days in the navy now that he's freshly mustered out on shore. The "Mystery" is of course the culture shock of re-entry into civilian life:

From OCEAN HAUNTS, edited by Burt Franklin Jenness,
Empire Publishing Co., New York, US, © 1934, pp. 57-58.

THE MYSTERY

I'm back on my old job again; the boss has raised my pay;
I've donned "civilians," and I've put my uniform away;
The folks are proud because their son has done his bit at sea,
And everybody 'round the house is happy — except me.
There's something I don't understand, about this coming home;
For when I should be most content, my thoughts begin to roam;
And when I light my cigarette, I seem to see the gang
Up for'rd on the fo'c's'le, and I hear the songs they sang.
When I'm awakened by a voice, I think it's not for me,
And I turn over for a nap, and wait for reveille;
And 'round the steaming coffee every morning, now, there clings
The memories of mess time, and all the joy it brings
When a fellow comes off morning watch, with not a bite since four,
And cold and drenched — and his relief a half hour late, or more.
The wind that howls around the house, but brings delight to me,
For I hear the creak of gear, and racing screws at sea;
The sleet which cut my face today, as I walked into town,
I fought, in fancy, on the bridge, where I paced up and down;
There's something strange about the way I dream, now, on the job,
And stranger still, that I should long to be once more, a gob.

Notes

"Gob" is navy slang for a sailor.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 09 Jul 07 - 08:45 PM

Well, we're back to Bill Adams for a dose of reality and romanticism:

By Bill Adams
From WIND IN THE TOPSAILS, edited by Bill Adams, published by George G. Harrap & Co., London, UK, © 1931, pp. 158-159.

PACKET RAT

'Ow would you like to be a packet rat,
Wiv no place anyw'ere to 'ang your 'at?
Wiz two bare feet most bleedin' froze an' wet,
Aboard a clipper wiv her tops'ls set?

'Ow would you like to sail the greenin' sea
Wiv a black 'urricane a-blowin' free?
To 'old the w'eel-spokes in your freezin' 'ands,
Footin' the furrows down for foreign lands?

'Ow would you like it when ashore you goes,
To see the folks all drawin' back their clo'es?
Sayin', "'E is a sailor, 'orrid thing!"
'Ow would you like to 'ear that sailor sing?

Singin' upon the sea some tropic night,
Wiv the old moon all shinin' silver bright,
A shipmate's fiddle twinkin' merrily
To cheer the 'earts of sailors far at sea?

'Ow would you like to see a shipmate drown,
Under goosed tops'ls, in the easting down?
To 'ear 'im holler, "'Elp me! 'Elp me, Gawd!"
'Ow would you like that, eh? "Man overboard!"

I'll take my lot! I'll be a packet rat!
I'll shake the tops'ls loose an' wave my 'at!
Give me a ship, my pals wot never knows
W'en death goes walkin' w'ere the night wind blows.

Give me the sea, an' I'll give thanks to Gawd
For ev'ry wave as lops its 'ead inboard,
A-thankin' I'm for breath, an' 'ands to bleed;
I'll be a man, by Gawd! The rat's 'ard creed!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 05 Jul 07 - 08:39 PM

Here's one from Burt Franklin Jenness remembering his days as a young blue jacket painting ship:

Poem by Burt Franklin Jenness
From SEA LANES, edited by Burt Franklin Jenness,
The Churchill Publishing Co., Boston, US, © 1921, pp. 81-82.

RED LEAD

You may visit studios
In New York or gay Paree;
Watch the famous models pose;
Study scenes of land and sea;
You may sing the cubist's praises,
Or a portrait's curving lip –
But for art with all its phases,
Watch a deck crew painting ship.

You will never find them stalling
When the paint begins to pour;
Artisans of every calling;
Rookies fresh from haunts ashore
Hustle overside, and swinging
On their creaking stages high,
Work to tunes the gang is singing
Till they made the red lead fly.

Hieroglyphics and odd creatures;
Birds and faces, curves and lines;
Ancient art with all its features;
Modern art in strange designs
Grace the old hull, till the laughter
Gives the bosun's mate a tip –
And he finds, a moment after,
All hands busy – painting ship.

Dungarees and blouses spattered;
Features standing in relief,
Where the spots of paint are scattered,
Like a decked Apache chief;
Gaunt and silent, wan and bleary,
Daubed and smeared from head to feet
Come the artists, cramped and weary,
When the bugle blows retreat.

There are painters far more clever
Than these artists of the sea,
But the scrawls they make will ever
Cling around my memory;
And their laughter and their yelling,
And the steady slap and dip
Of their brushes, will be telling
How the old gang painted ship.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 04 Jul 07 - 09:29 PM

Here's another one from Burt Franklin Jenness to warm the heart of the old navy veteran:

Poem by Burt Franklin Jenness
From OCEAN HAUNTS, edited by Burt Franklin Jenness,
Empire Publishing Co., New York, US, © 1934, p. 77.

Bright-Work

If ever I quit this goin' t' sea,
An' cease th' world t' roam,
An' old dame fortune smiles on me;
I'll build myself a home.

Th' decks'll all be made o' glass,
A guy can't holystone,
An' there won't be an inch o' brass
In this 'ere home I'll own;
For I decided long ago
My eyes won't stand th' glare,
An' in my craft – one thing I know –
There'll be no bright-work there.

Th' galley'll be a fathom wide;
Th' cook'll work all night,
An' keep hot coffee by my side,
An' pipes all primed t' light;
Th' mess boards I'll have made o' steel,
For I'll be through with rubbin';
An' paper dishes ev'ry meal,
For they don't need no scrubbin'
An' that's th' one sea job I hate,
So when I've time t' spare
T' build my house, I'll tell ye mate:
There'll be no bright-work there!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Old Sailor-Poets (early 1900's)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 28 Jun 07 - 09:01 PM

Q-

Thanks for your contribution. I've been tempted to post a few other miscellaneous poems in addition to my stalwarts.

Cheerily,
Charley noble