The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #152870 Message #3576717
Posted By: The Sandman
18-Nov-13 - 09:01 AM
Thread Name: changing words of c fox smith poetry in songs
Subject: RE: changing words of c fox smith poetry in
no, i do not wish to personalise the discussion. These are originally poems, that the author wrote carefully, presumably with a specific intention in the words, would it be justified to change the words of this hardy poem.
Had he and I but met By some old ancient inn, We should have sat us down to wet Right many a nipperkin!
But ranged as infantry, And staring face to face, I shot at him as he at me, And killed him in his place.
I shot him dead because — Because he was my foe, Just so: my foe of course he was; That's clear enough; although
He thought he'd 'list, perhaps, Off-hand like — just as I — Was out of work — had sold his traps — No other reason why.
Yes, quaint and curious war is! You shoot a fellow down You'd treat if met where any bar is, Or help to half-a-crown. Under the Waterfall
"Whenever I plunge my arm, like this, In a basin of water, I never miss The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day Fetched back from the thickening shroud of grey. Hence the only prime And real love-rhyme That I know by heart And that leaves no smart, Is the purl of a little valley fall About three spans wide and two spans tall Over a table of solid rock And into a scoop of the self-same block; The purl of a runlet that never ceases In stir of kingdoms, in wars, in peaces; With a hollow, boiling voice it speaks And has spoken since hills were turfless peaks."
"And why gives this the only prime Idea to you of a real love-rhyme? And why does plunging your arm in a bowl Full of spring water, bring throbs to your soul?" "Well, under the fall, in a crease of the stone, Though where precisely none ever has known, Jammed darkly, nothing to show how prized, And by now with its smoothness opalised, Is a drinking-glass: For, down that pass, My love and I Walked under a sky Of blue with a leaf-wove awning of green, In the burn of August, to paint the scene, And we placed our basket of fruit and wine By the runlet's rim, where we sat to dine; And when we had drunk from the glass together, Arched by the oak-copse from the weather, I held the vessel to rinse in the fall, Where it slipped, and sank, and was past recall, Though we stooped and plumbed the little abyss With long bared arms. There the glass still is. And, as said, if I thrust my arm below Cold water in basin or bowl, a throe From the past awakens a sense of that time, And the glass we used, and the cascade's rhyme. The basin seems the pool, and its edge The hard smooth face of the brook-side ledge, And the leafy pattern of china-ware The hanging plants that were bathing there.
"By night, by day, when it shines or lours, There lies intact that chalice of ours, And its presence adds to the rhyme of love Persistently sung by the fall above. No lip has touched it since his and mine In turn therefrom sipped lovers' wine.