Monday, 6 December 2010

A Poem In Honour Of St. Nicholas...

Left-Footer has composed a poem in honour of St. Nicholas... at least, the lack of credit to anyone else made me think it had to be an original.

It really is excellent, and so I am going to snaffle it.

Saint Nicholas was my kind of Saint,
If sometimes short of temper.
Though pacifism was not his bent;
He was fidelis semper.

When Arius denied his Lord's
Divinity, Nick, feeling sore;
Deciding acts speak more than words,
Felled Arius to the floor.

His kind of knock-down plagologue*
Is now not to our taste.
We value courteous dialogue
Above such wordless haste.

And yet there is a time, one feels
To strike and not to speak.
When Reason with Unreason deals,
It's reason which is weak.

For who can mould a brain of mud
With philosophic lore?
Better to thump the stupid crud.
His place is on the floor.

* Left-Footer notes that Plagologue = arguing or reasoning with blows. This word does not appear in any dictionary. It is my own coinage, being derived from Latin 'plagus' = a blow, 'plagosus' = full of blows, violent, cognate with Greek 'plegein = to beat, and logos = reason.

As I said, sheer brilliance. Do go on over and tell him how much you appreciated it!

5 comments:

Left-Footer said...

Thank you! You're very kind.

Yes it is original - "a poor thing but mine own".

Dominic Mary said...

What fun . . !

vesper said...

@ Mulier Fortis

Visited Left-Footer as you requested, and my poem would appear to have rendered him speechless :-)

colmcille2 has commented I like vesper's poem, quite inspired, on Father Finigan's thread 'Immaculate Conception with the sisters dedicated to the Immaculate' on The hermeneutic of continuity.

The poem/song was also recorded for the National Theatre's Box Clever Urban Voices at the Albany in Deptford.

Virgo praedicanda ora pro nobis!

Our Lady of the Rosary pray for us!

Left-Footer said...

Vesper My apologies - not speechless, simply very tired yesterday and today after 8 hours work, 5 hours driving in snow, and 2 hours singing sea shanties.

Loved your poem - a beautiful poem indeed - I simply write verse - and thank you for brightening Eeyore's Gloomy Place with it.

Please come back with more.

vesper said...

@ Left-Footer

"Jam lucis orto sidere" I'm glad that I have brightened Eeyore's Gloomy Place here on the internet.

36 hours of work and driving, or was it 8 hours work, 5 hours driving in snow, and 2 hours singing sea shanties?

My own 24/7 professional practice 1984-2010 once included a performance of the following song at the Towersey Folk Festival:

Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish Ladies,
Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain;
For we've received orders for to sail for ole England,
But we hope in a short time to see you again.
We will rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll rant and we'll roar all on the salt sea.
Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England;
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty five leagues.

We hove our ship to with the wind from sou'west, boys
We hove our ship to, deep soundings to take;
'Twas forty-five fathoms, with a white sandy bottom,
So we squared our main yard and up channel did make.
We will rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll rant and we'll roar all on the salt sea.
Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England;
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty five leagues.

The first land we sighted was called the Dodman,
Next Rame Head off Plymouth, off Portsmouth the Wight;
We sailed by Beachy, by Fairlight and Dover,
And then we bore up for the South Foreland light.
We will rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll rant and we'll roar all on the salt sea.
Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England;
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty five leagues.

Then the signal was made for the grand fleet to anchor,
And all in the Downs that night for to lie;
Let go your shank painter, let go your cat stopper!
Haul up your clewgarnets, let tacks and sheets fly!
We will rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll rant and we'll roar all on the salt sea.
Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England;
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty five leagues.

Now let ev'ry man drink off his full bumper,
And let ev'ry man drink off his full glass;
We'll drink and be jolly and drown melancholy,
And here's to the health of each true-hearted lass.
We will rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll rant and we'll roar all on the salt sea.
Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England;
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty five leagues.

I hope to attend 'The Secret Agent in the Apocalyptic Realm symposium' on Saturday January 8th at The Stephen Lawrence Gallery. This event is being held in association with the current exhibition: "Fireside Tales and Poolside Memoirs".

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