Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)

Subject: Lyr Req: Irish Comic Poem
From: PennyBlack
Date: 16 Dec 04 - 04:59 AM

The new Irish CD is in the making, but.. we usually include a poem/monologue on our CDs. As yet we haven't got one that's fun/funny but not "derogatory" of the Irish.

any suggestions?


If it's one you've written; do you give permission for us to record it with acknowledgements? (and a free copy of the CD)


cheers

PB

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Irish Comic Poem
From: Dave Hanson
Date: 16 Dec 04 - 05:22 AM

There is a very funny monologue that Ronny Drew used to do, about the visit if Queen Victoria to Ireland called 'Sez She ' and Packie Byrne used to do one called ' Thank You Mam Said Dan '

eric

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Irish Comic Poem
From: Schantieman
Date: 16 Dec 04 - 06:07 AM

er, no.

But I do know two Irish jokes which don't depend on their supposed lack of intelligence.

1. Why are the Irish the richest people in the world?


Answer later!

Subject: Lyr Add: PAT'S LEATHER BREECHES
From: Flash Company
Date: 16 Dec 04 - 07:20 AM

I've never heard this sung, though believe it has a tune, words collected from John Maguire by Robin Morton, It would probably work as a recitation, worth trying.

At the sign of the Bell on the road to Clonmel,
Pat Haggerty kept a fine cabin,
He sold whisky and bread and kept lodgers besides,
He was liked in the country he lived in.
Now Pat and his wife, sure they struggled through life
On weekdays he mended the ditches,
On a Sunday he dressed in a suit of the best
But his pride was his old leather britches

Sure but last winter's snow brought the vittles so low,
Poor Paddy was ate out completely
With the snow coming down he could not get to yown
And the hunger it bothered him greatly
One night as he lay a-dreaming away
About ghosts, fairies, spirits and witches
He heard an uproar just outside his door
And he jumped up to pull on his britches

Said Barry McGurk with a voice like a Turk.
'Sure Paddy, now get us some eating,
And Big Andy Moore said 'We'll break in the door,
Sure, this isn't the night to be waiting
The word was scarce spoke when the door it was broke,
And they crowded round paddy like leeches,
They swore by the mob if they didn't get grub
They would eat him clean out of his britches

Poor Paddy in dread went back to his bed
Aand got Julie, his own darling wife out,
And they quickly agreed they must fix up a feed,
So he went down and got a big knife out,
He cut off the waist of his britches,
He ripped out the buttons and stitches,
He cut them in stripes in the way you do tripes,
And he boiled them his old leather britches

Oh when they were stewed, on the dishes were strewed
The boys all roared out 'God be thankit!'
But Haggerty's wife was in fear for her life
And decided t'was high time to shank it.
When you saw how they smiled, sure they thought he had boied
Some mutton or beef of the richest
But little they knowed it was old leather brogue
That was made out of Paddy's old britches

As they dined on the stuff, says Darby 'It's tough'
And says Andy 'You're no judge of mutton',
But Barry McGurk on the point of his fork
He held up a ruddy great button
Says Paddy 'Whats that? Sure I thought it was fat'
But Barry he jumps up and screeches
'By the powers above, I was trying to shove
All me teeth through the fly of his britches!'

They all flew at Pat, but he cut out of that
Pretty quick as he saw them all rising,
Said Barry 'Make haste and go for the priest,
For by Holy St Patrick I'm poisoned'
As revenge for the joke, they stayed till they'd broke
All the chairs, tables, glasses and dishes,
And from that very night they will put out your light
If you talk about old leather britches!

FC

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Irish Comic Poem
From: Fiolar
Date: 16 Dec 04 - 09:30 AM

Why not try "The Spoons Murder" by Con Fada O Drisceoil. The words can be found on Mudcat.

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Irish Comic Poem
From: GUEST,fidjit
Date: 16 Dec 04 - 09:38 AM

try the old and ancient condom. In here somewhere. Life of Brian Baru

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Irish Comic Poem
From: Big Tim
Date: 16 Dec 04 - 09:51 AM

A few good ones in a book called "The Irish Reciter", edited by Niall Toibin, 1986.

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Irish Comic Poem
From: Joe Offer
Date: 16 Dec 04 - 12:42 PM

Flash Company, do you have any more information about the piece you posted? Got a title? Is it in a printed or recorded source? Where'd you get it from? You'll find other versions in this thread.
-Joe Offer-

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Irish Comic Poem
From: MartinRyan
Date: 16 Dec 04 - 01:48 PM

Joe

From FC's intro, that set appears to be from Morton's book on the singer John Magure, entitled, if I recall correctly, "God Send Sunday". Lovely book - which you would enjoy!

Regards

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Irish Comic Poem
From: MartinRyan
Date: 16 Dec 04 - 01:55 PM

In fact the full title of the book is "Come day, go day, God send Sunday" and a subtitle! just checked. Don't have my copy to hand.

Regards

p.s
(i) There was a lovely LP/tape to accompany the text.
(ii) I might have a spare copy of the book...

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Irish Comic Poem
From: Nigel Parsons
Date: 16 Dec 04 - 01:58 PM

Schantieman:

Presumably because their capital is always Dublin!

Nigel

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Irish Comic Poem
From: PennyBlack
Date: 17 Dec 04 - 05:27 AM

Nigel - you watch too much TV!

Now a Funny Poem about Dublin would be a good link to us here in Blackpool wouldn't it?

Surprised to two "Cities" weren't twinned

PB

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Irish Comic Poem
From: John MacKenzie
Date: 17 Dec 04 - 08:30 AM

There is a Dublin about 12 miles away from here in the slightly snowy highlands of Scotland, same linguistic root I presume.
Dubh linn.
Giok

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: PennyBlack
Date: 17 Dec 04 - 07:35 PM

the meaning of "Dublin"--dubh linn, "the dark pool," (which filled twice a day with the tide) - or maybe Black Pool?


PB

But what about some poems?

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: Fidjit
Date: 18 Dec 04 - 03:14 PM

Found it "The ancient and old Irish condom" It's the hairy side outside tonight!

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 18 Dec 04 - 03:22 PM

There is a Folk song called "The sick note" which started life as a poem and can be found on Cantaria:-
       http://www.chivalry.com/cantaria/lists/alpha.html

Just copy and paste to go there. Incidentally, it is down the right side under "S" on that Alphabetical list.
Best wishes, Mike.

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: John MacKenzie
Date: 18 Dec 04 - 03:37 PM

Twas an ancient ould Irish French letter
About so long and 6 inches wide
Had a little gold tag on the end sir
With his name and his stud fee inscibed.

not too sure about those words

My mind it went back through the ages
And I pictured that hairy old celt
With his da de da da de da da da
And his wife lying there in her pelt

de da de da da de dad de da
de da de da da de dad de da
You've had your own way long enough dear
It's the hairy side outside tonight.


Memeory fails me, but I can picture Murph singing it as I type, back in the days of the Friday night all nighters at Les Cousins in Greek St Soho.
Giok

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: Ernest
Date: 19 Dec 04 - 06:52 AM

The ancient and old Irish condom works well - I did it on St. Patricks day a couple of years ago!
"The sick note" btw was written by Pat Cooksey - he`s sometimes here. One of the threads has a link to his website, so you can send him an e-mail to ask...
Regards
Ernest

Subject: Lyr Add: THE ANCIENT AND OLD IRISH CONDOM
From: PennyBlack
Date: 19 Dec 04 - 07:25 AM

gotit!

The Ancient and Old Irish Condom     (Tune: "Rosin the Beau") I was up to me arse in the muck, Sir, With a peat contract down in the bog When me shovel it struck something hard, Sir, That I thought was a rock or a log 'Twas a box of the finest old oak, Sir, 'Twas a foot long, and four inches wide And not giving a damn for the Fairies I just took a quick look inside Now I opened the lid of this box, Sir, And I swear that my story is true T'was an ancient and old Irish condom A relic of Brian Boru 'Twas an ancient and old Irish condom 'Twas a foot long, and made of elk hide, With a little gold tag on it's end, Sir, With his name, rank, and stud fee inscribed Now, I cast me mind back thru the ages To the days of that horny old Celt With his wife lyin' by on the bed, Sir, As he stood by the fire in his pelt And I thought that I heard Brian whisper As he stood in the fire's rosy light "Well, you've had yer own way long enough, dear... 'Tis the hairy side outside, tonight."

Subject: Lyr Add: IRISH ASTRONOMY (Charles G. Halpine)
From: katlaughing
Date: 19 Dec 04 - 07:35 AM

That one is hilarious!

Here's one I posted a year or so ago:

Found the following in an old book of my aunt's called the National Encylopedia of Business and Social Forms, etc. copyright 1884 by J.R. Jones. It has an extensive collection of "Choice Selections From The Best Authors", including this one...

IRISH ASTRONOMY
by Charles G. Halpine

A veritable myth, touching the constellation of O'Ryan, ignorantly and falsely spelled Orion.

O'Ryan was a man of might
Whin Ireland was a nation,
But poachin' was his heart's delight
And constant occupation.
He had an ould militia gun,
And sartin sure his aim was;
He gave the keepers many a run,
And wouldn't mind the game laws.

St. Pathrick wanst was passin' by
O'Ryan's little houldin',
And as the saint felt wake and dhry,
He thought he'd enther bould in;
"O'Ryan," says the saint, "avick!
To praich at Thurles I'm goin':
So let me have a rasher, quick,
And a dhrop of Innishowen."

"No rasher will I cook for you
While betther is to spare, sir;
But here's a jug of mountain dew,
And there's a rattlin' hare, sir."
St. Pathrick he looked mighty sweet
And says he, "Good luck attind you,
And when you're in your windin' sheet
It's up to heaven I'll sind you."

O'Ryan gave his pipe a whiff--
'Them tidin's is thransportin',
But may I ax your saintship if
There's any kind of sportin'?"
St. Patrhick said, "A Lion's there,
Two Bears, a Bull, and Cancer"--
"Bedad," says Mick, "the huntin's rare,
St. Pathrick, I'm your man, sir!"

So, to conclude my song aright,
For fear I'd tire your patience,
You'll see O'Ryan any night
Amid the constellations.
And Venus follows in his track,
Till Mars grows jealous raally,
But faith, he fears the Irish knack
Of handling his shillaly.

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: PennyBlack
Date: 19 Dec 04 - 07:39 AM

The spoons murder looks good for a future CD but not Irish enough..


PB

Subject: Lyr Add: HOW TO MAKE AN IRISH STEW (O'Meachair)
From: Frank Maher
Date: 19 Dec 04 - 11:50 AM

HOW TO MAKE AN IRISH STEW
By
Cornelius Phroinsias O'Meachair

Sure I’ve sung ye many a song in my time,
But now ye want something new;
So I’m after giving a bit of a rhyme,
Concerning an Irish stew.

For I’ve got the original auld receipt,
For cooking to rights, that's the same;
And if ye can only get hold of the meat,
If ye spoil it, 'tis yerself that's to blame.

CHORUS: So let me give you this bit of advice-
Ye can very soon prove it's true-
That nothing in life is half so nice-
As a savoury Irish stew.

In choosing your meat, don't cut it too fat,
Nor by any means overly lean,
For the kind of mutton that pleases Pat
Is a sort of betwixt and between.

Your praities should be of the mealy sort,
And your onions sound and sweet,
And it's peel 'em & wash 'em, & slice 'em, yez ought,
And pop 'em right in with the meat.

Then pepper, & salt, and season to taste-
OCH! The water, I almost forgot-
Pour in just enough-if ye swamp it the least,
By jabers, ye'll spoil the lot.

Then yez can sit down and watch the pot boil,
Till the meat’s done thoroughly through;
And you'll soon be rewarded for all your toil,
By a savoury Irish stew.

Or if you wish, you can substitute fish,
That's entirely . . . . . up to you!

Subject: Lyr Add: HOW PADDY STOLE THE ROPE (Albert/Egerton)
From: Frank Maher
Date: 19 Dec 04 - 02:14 PM

From the sheet music at the Library of Congress:


HOW PADDY STOLE THE ROPE
Words by Fred Albert; music by Frank Egerton
New York: Willis Woodward & Co., ©1885.

1. There was once two Irish laboring men, to America came over,
And they tramped about in search of work from New York town to Dover.
Said Pat to Mick, "I'm tired of this; we're both left in the lurch,
And if we don't get work, bedad! I'll go and rob a church!"
"What! Rob a church!" said Mick to Pat. "How could you be so vile?
Sure something bad will happen you when in the sacred Pile;
But if you do, I'll go with you; we'll get safe out, I hope."
So listen, and I'll tell ye true, how Paddy stole the rope:

2. They tramped about through mud and mire the place they wanted finding.
They got inside a country church, which nobody was minding.
They scraped together all they could, and then prepared to slope,
When Paddy said: "Hold on now, Mick; what shall we do for rope?
We've got no bag to hold the swag, and ere we go outside,
With something stout and strong, my lad, the bundle must be tied."
Just then he spied the church-bell rope, and swift as antelope,
He scrambled on the belfry high, to go and steal the rope.

3. When Paddy reached the belfry rope, "Be jabers!" said he, "Stop!
To get a piece that's long enough I must climb to the top!"
So like a sailor up he went, and when near the end said he:
"I think the piece that's underneath quite long enough will be."
So, holding by one arm and leg, he pulled his clasp-knife out,
And right above his head and hand he cut the rope so stout.
He quite forgot it held him up; his brain was soft as soap.
Down to the bottom of the church fell Paddy and the rope.

4. Says Mick to Pat, "Come out of that!" as he on the floor lay groaning.
"Is that the way to steal a rope? No wonder now ye're moaning.
I'll show yez how to cut a rope; there, just lend me your knife."
"Yerra, Mick, be careful!" cried out Pat, "or else you'll lose your life!"
Mick bounded up the other rope, and, like an artful thief,
Instead of cutting it above, he cut it underneath.
The piece fell down and he was left to hang up there and mope.
"Bad cess unto the day," said he, "when we came stealing rope."

5. There was Paddy groaning on the floor, while Mick hung up on high.
"Come down," says Pat. "I can't," says Mick, "for if I drop, I'll die."
Their noise soon brought the preacher round, the sexton and police,
But though they set poor Mickey free, the pair got no release.
They took them to the station, where their conduct they now rue,
For if they had no work before, they've plenty now to do;
And for their ingenuity they have a larger scope
Than when they broke into the church and tried to steal the rope.

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: Fidjit
Date: 20 Dec 04 - 03:22 PM

Glad you found the words of the aincient old I rish condom. Hope it works for you.

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: Susanne (skw)
Date: 22 Dec 04 - 06:01 PM

There's also 'The Food-A-Holic' by Crawford Howard, as well as a couple of funny spoken pieces which James Simmons wrote and recorded on his 'Rostrevor Sessions' album in 1987. I'd have to try and work out the lyrics over Christmas should you want them.

Subject: Lyr Add: WILD DRINKER and THE INVERTED BLACKBIRD
From: GUEST,patmike
Date: 22 Dec 04 - 06:41 PM

You might enjoy one of these.

WILD DRINKER

I've been a wild drinker for many a year,
And I always fall over, on ten pints of beer,
So now, when I’m drinking, I sit on the floor,
And I never will risk falling over no more.

CHORUS: And it's no, nay, never, no, nay never, no more,
Will I drink and fall over, no, never, no more.

I went to a pub that I used to frequent,
Despite having sworn that I'd give up for Lent.
I asked for two pints, but the barman said, "Nay,
You'll only fall down like you did yesterday".

I pulled from my pocket five new silver pounds,
And I managed to do it without falling down.
The barman said, "Sir, please choose from this list,
And I'm sorry if just now I thought you were pissed.”

I think that I'll stick now to stiff drinks and shorts,
Like whiskey and brandy and Pernods and ports,
Cut down on the volume of all that I drink,
Then at least when I throw up I won’t block the sink.

I'll go back to my girlfriend, confess what I've done,
And if she should hit me, I won’t turn and run.
I'll promise to give up, but if I should fail,
I'll see you next Friday, for ten pints of ale.

_____________________________________

The second one is:

THE INVERTED BLACKBIRD

As I roved out on a summer’s morning,
When the autumn leaves they were turning brown,
I looked up in a tree and there I saw a quare thing:
It was a female blackbird hanging upside down.

So I said to this bird, "Now, why are you thus inverted?
In other words, why are you in this manner hung?"
Then up spoke this bird from the pit of her stomach:
"It was a gentleman blackbird that did me wrong.

“He accosted me one Sunday morning,
As I flew innocently from East to West.
'Come here, young one', says he to me 'I have something to show you,
I have some bloody fine etchings above in my nest.’

“So off I flew with him, may God forgive me,
His nest was there forninst the wall,
And in the middle of the nest, there was a great big double bed,
And apart from that bed, there was sweet shag-all.

“So I said to this bird 'now where are these famous etchings?
Or could it be they aren't here at all?’
'Ha Ha!' says he. 'Now you have it',
With a sneer on his face from Ballinasloe to Youghal.

“I pass over the next incident with understandable modesty,
And look at me now, slinging by my legs,
For that dirty divil, he upped and skedaddled,
And he left me here with six fatherless eggs.

“So come all ye young female blackbirds, take heed of my warning,
In the blackbird jungle or in the town,
Don't go with any strange macho blackbirds or go to see their etchings,
Or you could end up like me, slinging upside down."

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 22 Dec 04 - 08:38 PM

PB: Interesting that you mentioned you wanted to avoid material that was derogatory to Irish.

Are the Irish sensitive about songs that stereotype them? You wouldn't think so, judging from the reaction (or lack of it) to my thread Lyr Add: Irish songs about balls, wakes, soirees [etc.] I posted the lyrics to dozens of comical songs there, that portray Irish people (or Irish-Americans) getting drunk and fighting at parties. No one complained about the stereotyping, although I specifically invited people to comment on it. Maybe no one was paying attention, or maybe nobody cares. Or maybe the Irish sense of humor appreciates this kind of song. I wish I knew.

You might find something there you can use.

Subject: Lyr Add: PATRICK'S ARRIVAL (William Maginn)
From: Barbara
Date: 23 Dec 04 - 02:38 AM

For something less antic, choose a reading from James Stephen's Crock of Gold,
And then there's this one:
Blessings,
Barbara

PATRICK'S ARRIVAL

You've heard of St. Denis of France.
He never had much for to brag on.
You've heard of St. George and his lance
Who killed d'old heathenish dragon.
The Saints of the Welshmen and Scot
Are a couple of pitiful pipers
And might just as well go to pot
When compared to the patron of vipers:
St. Patrick of Ireland, my dear.

He sailed to the Emerald Isle
On a lump of pavin' stone mounted.
He beat the steamboat by a mile
Which mighty good sailing was counted.
Says he, "The salt water, I think,
Has made me unmerciful thirsty;
So bring me a flagon to drink
To wash down the mullygrups, burst ye,
Of drink that is fit for a Saint."

He preached then with wonderful force
The ignorant natives a teaching,
With wine washed down each discourse,
For, says he, "I detest your dry preaching."
The people in wonderment struck
At a pastor so pious and civil,
Exclaimed, "We're for you, my old buck,
And we'll heave our blind Gods to the divil,
Who dwells in hot water below."

This finished, our worshipful man
Went to visit an elegant fellow
Whose practise each cool afternoon
Was to get most delightful mellow.
That day with a barrel of beer,
He was drinking away with abandon.
Say's Patrick, "It's grand to be here.
I drank nothing to speak of since landing,
So give me a pull from your pot."

He lifted the pewter in sport.
Believe me, I tell you, it's no fable.
A gallon he drank from the quart
And left it back full on the table.
"A miracle!" everyone cried
And all took a pull on the Stingo.
They were mighty good hands at that trade
And they drank 'til they fell yet, by Jingo.
The pot it still frothed o'er the brim.

Next day said the host, "It's a fast,
And I've nothing to eat but cold mutton.
On Fridays who'd make such repast
Except an unmerciful glutton?"
Said Pat, "Stop this nonsense, I beg.
What you tell me is nothing but gammon."
When the host brought down the lamb's leg,
Pat ordered to turn it to salmon,
And the leg most politely complied.

You've heard, I suppose, long ago,
How the snakes, in a manner most antic,
He marched to the county Mayo
And ordered them all into the Atlantic.
Hence never use water to drink
The people of Ireland determine
With mighty good reason, I think,
For Patrick has filled it with vermin,
And snakes and such other things.

He was a fine man as you'd meet
From Fairhead to Kilcrumper,
Though under the sod he is laid,
Let's all drink his health in a bumper.
I wish he was here that my glass
He might by art magic replenish,
But since he is not, why alas!
My old song must come to a finish
Because all the drink is gone.

-William Maginn

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: Barbara
Date: 23 Dec 04 - 02:42 AM

Here's a link for the text for "Crock of Gold"

Blessings,
Barbara

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: GUEST,Tickled pink
Date: 21 Jan 10 - 02:46 PM

some of the funniest songs and recitations I,ve heard in ages come from writing of Brian O Rourke who finally launched a cd called Chantal de Championon, ABSOLUTELY HILARIOUS!!!!!!!!!!!!

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: GUEST
Date: 10 Aug 10 - 04:29 AM

Coincidentally, I heard Brian O Rourke singing "The Inverted Blackbird" recently. He attributed it to Fergus Linehan an Irish actor and writer of comic material.

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: GUEST,maria
Date: 08 Apr 17 - 12:08 PM

Dublin funny prose recitation. Titled 'Cinderella'
Cinderella
Well if yez all shut up I'll tell yez about poor oul Cinderella
The mot what had to stay at home cos she hadn't got a fella.
She used to do the housework for an ugly pair of sisters
And they didn't even stamp her cards the dirty pair of twisters
She'd no fully fashioned stockings, she'd no powder for her nose
And the only bit of glam she had was her sisters' cast off clothes.
And when she'd go out walking sure she'd never make a click
For the fellas'd all laugh at poor aul Mary Hick.
And Cinders'd bawl her eyes out as round the house she'd go
Saying 'Gawney girls, I'm finished I'll end up in Portland Row'.
Then one night the ugly sisters were going to a ball
When the queen an' all her fairies came through the kitchen wall.
She waved her wand at Cinders and near scared her of her life
And the next thing – she was all dressed up just like the Taoiseach's wife!
She waved her magic wand again before they did disperse
And a coach all made of glass appeared, like an undertaker's hearse,
And a tiny little coachman only half the size of Jeff
In a smashing little uniform just like the LDF.
Well Cinders stepped into the coach and went off to the ball
She caused a great sensation when she came into the hall
The centre of attraction she was, a beaut, a perfect toff
The fellas were all delighted but the mots were all browned off.
As she moved along the ballroom she broke everybody's heart
And the Prince said to the bodyguard 'Eh who's the smashing tart?'
So he asked her for the dances but she only gave him five,
The tango, waltz and foxtrot, the jitterbug and jive.
Then he asked her to the garden just to listen to the band
And wait'll yez hear the poor aul eejit didn't even hold her hand.
'For' says he 'she wouldn't like it she's a real stand offish miss',
And all the time poor Cinders was only dying for a kiss.
But he moved up closer to her and things were going well
When all at once the clock struck 12 and Cinders ran like hell
But she lost her little slipper as she flew across the room,
And she dashed along Clanbrassil street, that's the shortcut to the Coombe.
Anyhow, the Prince, he picked the slipper up and to the guards he said
'That bird what I was dancing with is the only one I'll wed
So let yez go and find her yez shocking pair of dafts
She's the wan with the Cuffe St accent and the smashing pair of shafts.
Search every joint in Dublin for the foot that fits that slipper
And bring her back to Marlborough St, I'll be waiting in the chipper'.
So the guards set out to try the shoe on every foot in town
And what a dirty job it was it nearly got them down.
But Cinders was the only one successful in the test
And the bould ould Prince, he married her and sure yez all know the rest.

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: Thompson
Date: 08 Apr 17 - 01:44 PM

Most of the above are patronising, and I suspect would be listened to in cool silence if spoken by a foreigner. In fact most recimitations, as they're mockingly known in Dublin, are not great works.

The Percy French one (with the "says she" refrain in each line) suggested is mocking Queen Victoria. (Percy French was a popular music hall comedian and songwriter of the 1900s.)

The longest-lived classic of the genre is The Night Before Larry Was Stretched, which someone - I think maybe Elvis Costello? - does as a song. This is an 18th-century ballad in thieves' cant, about friends gathering the night before one of their number is hanged. The first mention I know of was by Sidney Owenson, Lady Morgan, in one of her novels, but it's probably older than that.

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: Mrrzy
Date: 08 Apr 17 - 02:22 PM

Also, The Sick Note, which can be British but doesn't hve to be,.

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: Jack Campin
Date: 08 Apr 17 - 04:03 PM

The Sick Note has been mentioned in this thread already.

The one about Paddy's leather breeches is odd, because there is a very well known Highland pipe tune of that name ... and it doesn't fit those words. What happened?

This book is a goldmine: Ireland's Other Poetry.

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: eftifino
Date: 09 Apr 17 - 03:58 AM

Penny Black: Here's a funny one with an Irish Family, but in Australia. May be useful:

A BUSH CHRISTENING - A.B. "Banjo" Paterson

On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
        And men of religion are scanty,
On a road never cross'd 'cept by folk that are lost,
        One Michael Magee had a shanty.


Now this Mike was the dad of a ten-year-old lad,
        Plump, healthy, and stoutly conditioned;
He was strong as the best, but poor Mike had no rest
        For the youngster had never been christened,


And his wife used to cry, "If the darlin' should die
        Saint Peter would not recognise him."
But by luck he survived till a preacher arrived,
        Who agreed straightaway to baptise him.


Now the artful young rogue, while they held their collogue,
        With his ear to the keyhole was listenin',
And he muttered in fright while his features turned white,
        "What the divil and all is this christenin'?"


He was none of your dolts, he had seen them brand colts,
        And it seemed to his small understanding,
If the man in the frock made him one of the flock,
        It must mean something very like branding.


So away with a rush he set off for the bush,
        While the tears in his eyelids they glistened-
"'Tis outrageous," says he, "to brand youngsters like me,
        I'll be dashed if I'll stop to be christened!"


Like a young native dog he ran into a log,
        And his father with language uncivil,
Never heeding the "praste" cried aloud in his haste,
        "Come out and be christened, you divil!"


But he lay there as snug as a bug in a rug,
        And his parents in vain might reprove him,
Till his reverence spoke (he was fond of a joke)
        "I've a notion," says he, "that'll move him."


"Poke a stick up the log, give the spalpeen a prog;
        Poke him aisy-don't hurt him or maim him,
'Tis not long that he'll stand, I've the water at hand,
        As he rushes out this end I'll name him.


"Here he comes, and for shame! ye've forgotten the name-
        Is it Patsy or Michael or Dinnis?"
Here the youngster ran out, and the priest gave a shout-
        "Take your chance, anyhow, wid 'Maginnis'!"


As the howling young cub ran away to the scrub
        Where he knew that pursuit would be risky,
The priest, as he fled, flung a flask at his head
        That was labelled "Maginnis's Whisky!"


And Maginnis Magee has been made a J.P.,
        And the one thing he hates more than sin is
To be asked by the folk who have heard of the joke,
        How he came to be christened "Maginnis"!

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: GUEST,.gargoyle
Date: 09 Apr 17 - 06:02 AM

Mr. Kress, I got complaint,
About one ten cent can of paint
My wife, she buy from your dam store,
And now by Christ, I'm good and sore.

You see, last week the spring she come
An everything, he's on the bum.
Da wall, da floor, and da window too,
He's dirty like; no like new.

Now my wife, she's clean and neat,
So she buy paint for toilet seat.
In one whole week we watch with eye
But whoopee paint, he not get dry.

My wife ain't tall, she's kinda fat,
Now you should see just where she sat.
She's got ring around complete,
Where she sat down on toilet seat.

I say to her, "It serve you right,
To try and be so whoopee tight".
That ten cent paint, he's no damn good,
He won't dry on no damn wood.

My daughter too get ring around
When on toilet seat she sit down.
For one whole damn week by Christ we wait
And now we all got constipate.

By Christ, I don't know what to do,
You got to eat and some go through.
My wife she cry and cry and cry
But whoopee paint, she not get dry.

And she's got sister, Evangelous,
She lives all time in house with us.
Last night I'm look where she sit down
By Christ, she's so fat she almost round.

I'm try to wipe off, with turpentine,
She howl like wolf, she lose her mind.
I'm scare like hell for half a day,
Da skin come off but the paint she stay

I live long time, but never see,
A man w'st got so mad like me.
When I think about that paint,
By Christ, I'm almost faint

Now, Mr. Kresge, I ask you
What the hell we're gonna do
For how can house be nice and neat,
If paint won't dry on toilet seat?.

Sincerely,
Gargoyle
First, and only time I heard this, it was delivered by a teenage boy in a west coast, U.S.A. speech competion in 1973. He used a French Canadian accent.

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: GUEST,gutcher
Date: 09 Apr 17 - 06:18 AM

Not a comic recitation

Back in the 1950s. on a regular program broadcast in the early afternoon on Radio Eirian, the host, a chap called Dinjo, recited a poem about the aunction sale of a fiddle.

The aunctioneer was having a hard time with no bids forthcoming when from the back of the hall cam an auld gaun bodie [a tramp]. He took up the fiddle and with his playing, reduced the audience to tears.

Anyone have the words for this.

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: mayomick
Date: 09 Apr 17 - 07:44 AM

loved the Dub Cinderella one . Maria , do you know what the "LDF" initials stood for?

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: GUEST,.gargoyle
Date: 09 Apr 17 - 11:07 AM

Dear Mr. gutcher,

What you are referring to is...Ms Brookes poem...You will find "Touch of the Master's Hand" in the Digital Tradition ....www.mudcat.org/@displaysong.cfm?SongID=7397 ......and a whole slew of discussions on the Mudcat Forum.

Sincerely,
Gargoyle

Poem by Myra Brooks Welch, Lyrics John Kramp, recording Wayne Watson.

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: Long Firm Freddie
Date: 09 Apr 17 - 11:25 AM

There's a gentle charm about this one:

TULLYNOE: TETE-A-TETE IN THE PARISH PRIEST'S PARLOUR

"Ah, he was a good man."
"He was: he fell out of the train going to Sligo."
"He did: he thought he was going to the lavatory."
"He did: in fact he stepped out of the rear door of the train."
"He did: God, he must have got an awful fright."
"He did: he saw that it wasn't the lavatory at all."
"He did: he saw that it was the railway tracks going away from him."
"He did: I wonder if....but he was a grand man."
"He was: he had the most expensive Toyota you can buy."
"He had: well, it was only beautiful."
"It was: he used to have an Audi."
"He had: as a matter of fact he used to have two Audis."
"He had: and then he had an Avenger."
"He had: and then he had a Volvo."
"He had: in the beginning he had a lot of Volkses."
"He had: he was a great man for the Volkses."
"He was: did he once have an Escort?"
"He had not: he had a son a doctor."
"He had: and he had a Morris Minor too."
"He had: he had a sister a hairdresser in Kilmalock."
"He had: he had another sister a hairdresser in Ballybunion."
"He had: he was put in a coffin which was put in his father's cart."
"He was: his lady wife sat on top of the coffin driving the donkey."
"She did: Ah, but he was a grand man."
"He was: he was a grand man....."
"Good night, Father."
"Good night, Mary."
- Paul Durcan

LFF

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: GUEST
Date: 10 Apr 17 - 04:22 AM

LDF --- Local Defence Force

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: GUEST
Date: 10 Apr 17 - 04:31 AM

Thanks gargoyle.

"The Touch Of The Masters Hand" may or may not have been the inspiration for the one I am looking for.

The contrast between the player, a tramp, and the music performed on the old fiddle with the reaction of the listeners to it forms the complete story with no mention of money, as I recollect it.


"The Lost Cord" always comes to mind when I recollect the recitation I am looking for.

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: mayomick
Date: 10 Apr 17 - 07:07 AM

Thanks Guest. I had sort of guessed the Defence Force bit but couldn't work out what the L stood for, silly me - "Leinster" was the only thing I could think of !

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: GUEST
Date: 11 Apr 17 - 06:01 PM

Cinderella was written by Paddy Kenny, used to write funny poems and such like for Jack Cruise and Vinnie Captain ("capper') back in the days.

Subject: RE: Req: Irish Comic Poem (for recitation)
From: Thompson
Date: 12 Apr 17 - 03:33 AM

Not a "comic" piece (they usually sneer at those they're supposedly fondly describing), but this stunning poem was commissioned for St Patrick's Day this year by the St Patrick's Festival:

My Ireland by Stephen James Smith

The Irish Times had a piece about it, but I won't post the link as they tend to paywall a lot of their articles and it's annoying - search and you'll find it if you want to try.