Thursday, November 24, 2005

...on a good bird

well, the bastard likes the notion of new experiences. however his body likes to take it's own damn time on these things. a long time ago back when the bastard and the nice lady were in college, the nice lady pointed out this little poem from the norton's anthology of poetry. standard issue for all college students who have to take at least 3 semesters of english. the nice lady was smarter though, she was in the honors of the western tradition track. she didn't have to take the required classes, she could take what she wanted. this is why she's so well rounded. moreso than the bastard. well, this year the nice lady and i are dining seperately for thanksgiving due to certain circumstances that i won't be going into. anyway, i have come to find "sign of the times" to be my favorite poem about the holiday however, i 'm not sure if there are other poems about thanksgiving. feel free to suggest a few. but i figured on posting it because i like it and because i'm thinking of her. i think of her alot. happy thanksgiving.

Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906)
Signs of the Times

Air a-gittin' cool an' coolah,
Frost a-comin' in de night,
Hicka' nuts an' wa'nuts fallin',
Possum keepin' out o' sight.
Tu'key struttin' in de ba'nya'd,
Nary a step so proud ez his;
Keep on struttin', Mistah Tu'key,
Yo' do' know whut time it is.

Cidah press commence a-squeakin'
Eatin' apples sto'ed away,
Chillun swa'min' 'roun' lak ho'nets,
Huntin' aigs ermung de hay.
Mistah Tu'key keep on gobblin'
At de geese a-flyin' souf,
Oomph! dat bird do' know whut's comin';
Ef he did he'd shet his mouf.

Pumpkin gittin' good an' yallah
Mek me open up my eyes;
Seems lak it's a-lookin' at me
Jes' a-la'in' dah sayin' "Pies."
Tu'key gobbler gwine 'roun' blowin',
Gwine 'roun' gibbin' sass an' slack;
Keep on talkin', Mistah Tu'key,
You ain't seed no almanac.

Fa'mer walkin' th'oo de ba'nya'd
Seein' how things is comin' on,
Sees ef all de fowls is fatt'nin' --
Good times comin' sho's you bo'n.
Hyeahs dat tu'key gobbler braggin',
Den his face break in a smile --
Nebbah min', you sassy rascal,
He's gwine nab you atter while.

Choppin' suet in de kitchen,
Stonin' raisins in de hall,
Beef a-cookin' fu' de mince meat,
Spices groun' -- I smell 'em all.
Look hyeah, Tu'key, stop dat gobblin',
You ain' luned de sense ob feah,
You ol' fool, yo' naik's in dangah,
Do' you know Thanksgibbin's hyeah?

don't think me so low brow kids, we had pastor read a poem by john donne on our wedding day. how's that for remembering things? stupid old man, go stuff your face. hope your bird turned out okay mofo.

—the bastard


porchwise said...

Thanks for jarring up an old memory. My Grandma operated a large turkey farm (3000 birds or more a year) during WWII and had this poem (hand copied out God only knows where) tacked to her slaughterhouse door. I was around five or six the first time she read it to me, laughing like a maniac all the way through.

Anonymous said...

It was John Donne, sill, that was read at our wedding. Not Milton. I know you remember the important stuff.

bastard central said...

dammit! and here i thought i got that one right. time to double down on the ginko