The Poems of T. S. Eliot Volume I
Page 24
He has a most touching devotion to YOU—
I am asked by my friend, as I started to say,
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And I may say he said it quite off his own bat—
I am asked by the Man in White Spats to convey
This informative poem on a Curious Cat.
[The Rum Tum Tugger]
Now that’s what my friend, the Man in White Spats,
Has asked me to convey, in the matter of Cats.
A Proclamation
Fair stood the wind for France
When the Jellicle Cat jumped out;
But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And sixpenny‑worth of stout.
5
The farmer gave his daughter the ring,
And the Jellicle Cat stood by,
The face that launched a thousand ships
Had a knowing look in its eye.
The toadstool on the mossy bank
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Muttered aloud in its sleep;
Jellicle Cats are Jellicle Cats.
They sow and they also reap.
[Commentary I 1200–1201 · Textual History II 607]
Once more unto the breach, dear friend
The Jellicle hosts proclaim;
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Make wing at once to the rooky wood,
It’s all a part of the game.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Jellicle Cats have got the vote;
Helen of Troy set out to sea
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In a beautiful pea‑green boat.
Jellicles all, come blow up your horn,
The year’s at the spring, too‑wit too‑woo;
Cassia buds and Venetian blinds,
And never a spray of rue.
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Let Jellicle joy be unconfined,
And Jellicle love bring down the sky;
For Cats may come since Cats must go
For an annual holiday.
Cetera desunt……
Roger Roughton
A Practical Possum
A Practical Possum once lived in a Pye,
Surrounded by Gravy and Sweet Pertaters,
And he always walked out with a Glass in his Eye
And a Clerical Hat and an apron and gaiters.
5
For a Possum who dresses in Style
Is certain to be observed;
And everyone said: ‘What a Charming Smile!
And isn’t he Well Preserved!’
[Commentary I 1201–1204 · Textual History II 607–608]
Now a Possum who lives in a Pye
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Is Doing Himself very well.
There was only one thing that was wrong with the Pye
And that one thing was the Smell.
There was nothing exactly precisely wrong—
It wasn’t too mild and it wasn’t too strong,
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There was nothing you’d wish to subtract—
Only something or other it lacked.
No one could say, in such a Pye,
That the Possum was in the Soup.
Still less was he high & dry;
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It was better by far than a cage or a coop,
It was better than having the measles or croup,
But once again, let me tell
You, something was wrong with the Smell.
So the Possum went to the Grocer,
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And he said to the Grocer: ‘O! Sir!
Can you give me a Smell for my Pye?’
Said the Grocer: ‘That can I.
Some Condy’s Fluid, some Keating’s Powder,
Some Onions from Spain, and a Cheese from Gouda
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And a cake of Life Buoy Soap’, said the Grocer,
‘Will give the right Smell to your Pye.’
But the Possum answered: ‘No! Sir!’
And he shut his Other Eye.
[Commentary I 1204 · Textual History II 608]
Then the Possum lighted a large Cheroot
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And he went to the Chemist (whose name was Boot)
And he asked for a Smell for his Pye.
And the Chemist said: ‘I am willing to try.
I suggest some cod liver oil and malt,
With some syrup of figs and Eno’s Salt
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And a pinch of iodoform as a Spice,
All for a small inclusive price.
The Smell’, said the Chemist, ‘will be very nice.’
So the Possum heaved a Sigh
And shut his Other Eye.
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And the Chemist went on talking, but
The Possum by now had Both Eyes shut.
But while the Possum was fast asleep
The Lavender Fairy was wide awake.
She flew to the Pye and took a peep
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And gave her Magical Bag a shake
Right into the Possum’s Pye.
And darted away in the sky.
Then the Possum awoke and composed this song:
‘I must be right and I can’t be wrong;
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It isn’t too mild and it isn’t too strong.
The Perfect Pye for a Possum
Must be flavoured with Lavender Blossom.
Asleep or awake, there is no mistake:
A Lavender Pye, we must now suppose,
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Is the best for a Practical Possum’s Nose
And the tips of his ears and his tail and his toes.’
The Practical Cat
The Practical Cat goes up the flues,
The Practical Cat goes down the drains;
He keeps in order the boots and shoes,
He tidies the pillows and counterpanes.
5
The Practical Cat arranges flowers,
He loves to polish a shiny hat;
He sweeps and scrubs and scrapes and scours:
Oopsa! The Practical Cat.
[Commentary I 1204–1205 · Textual History II 608–609]
The Practical Cat is the Family Friend,
10
The Practical Cat objects to waste;
He knows when the jam has come to an end,
And whether the soup has the proper taste.
If there’s anything spilt in the kitchen his pride is
To clear up the mess on table or mat;
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He’s always ready for fish on Fridays:
OOPSA! The Practical Cat.
The Practical Cat can straighten pictures,
He always knows what game is in season;
He keeps an eye on the bathroom-fixtures,
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If there’s anything wrong he knows the reason.
He sets his hair with a brush and comb—
And isn’t he neat in his best cravat!
INDISPENSABLE in the Home!
O O P S A!!! The Practical Cat.
The Jim Jum Bears
The Jim Jum Bears are at their Tricks,
The Jim Jum Bears have been at it again;
They’ve broken a clock and scattered the bricks
And one went right through a window pane.
5
And when there’s a noise when we ought to be quiet,
And we’re in bed and the lights are out,
Then Nurse declares:
‘It’s those Jim Jum Bears,
Those Jim Jum Bears!
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Was ever a Nurse so put about!’
>
[Commentary I 1206 · Textual History II 609–10]
The Jim Jum Bears are sharp as mustard,
They splash right into the mutton broth;
They get their faces all covered with custard,
They leave Dirty Marks on the table cloth.
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They drop the toys all down the stairs,
They track muddy feet all over the hall;
And Nurse declares:
‘The Jim Jum Bears,
The Jim Jum Bears,
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I can’t a-bear those Bears at all!’
The Marching Song of the Pollicle Dogs
There are dogs out of every nation,
The Irish, the Welsh and the Dane;
The Russian, the Dutch, the Dalmatian,
And even from China and Spain;
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The Poodle, the Pom, the Alsatian
And the mastiff who walks on a chain.
And to those that are frisky and frollical
Let my meaning be perfectly plain:
That my name it is Little Tom Pollicle—
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And you’d better not do it again.
There are dogs that are sniffy and curious,
There are dogs that are drowsy and dumb;
There are dogs that are sleeky and spurious,
There are dogs that are mimsy and mum.
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There are dogs that are frantic and furious—
And I say of such: let ’em all come.
And to those that are rowdy and rollical
Let my meaning be perfectly plain:
That my name it is Little Tom Pollicle—
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And you’d better not do it again.
[Commentary I 1206–1208 · Textual History II 610–11]
There are dogs that are frowsy and frumpious,
There are dogs that are freaky and frail;
There are dogs that are growly and grumpious,
There are dogs that are puny and pale.
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But I say, if you’re surly and scrumpious,
Just you tread on the tip of my tail!
For my meaning is not amphibolical
And I’d like it to be very plain
That my name it is Little Tom Pollicle—
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And you’d better not do it again.
For our motto is still cave canem—
That’s the cry of the Pollicle Clan,
And our words we’ll not stop to explain ’em,
But bark ’em as loud as we can.
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For the way to show how you disdain ’em
Is to bark at dog, devil and man.
And be ye the most diabolical
Of what diabolic may be—
Yet my name it is Little Tom Pollicle,
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And WHA MAUN MEDDLE WI’ ME?
[Commentary I 1208–1209 · Textual History II 611–13]
Billy M’Caw: The Remarkable Parrot
Oh, how well I remember the old Bull and Bush,
Where we used to go down of a Sattaday night —
Where, when anythink happened, it come with a rush,
For the boss, Mr. Clark, he was very polite;
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And he wouldn’t have anythink what wasn’t right.
And what with the Station it being so near,
And what with the water got into the beer
(There was two kinds of beer, the thick and the clear)
A very nice House it was. Oh dear!
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I’ll never forget it. From basement to garret
A very nice House. Ah, but it was the parret—
The parret, the parret named Billy M’Caw,
That brought all those folk to the bar.
Ah! he was the Life of the bar.
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Of a Sattaday night, we was all feeling bright,
And Lily La Rose—the Barmaid that was—
She’d say: ‘Billy!
Billy M’Caw!
Come give us a dance on the bar!’
And Billy would dance on the bar.
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Lily, she was a girl what had brains in her head;
She wouldn’t have nothink, no not that much said.
If it come to an argument, or a dispute,
She’d settle it offhand with the toe of her boot
Or as likely as not put her fist through your eye.
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But when we was thirsty, and just a bit sad,
Or when we was happy, and just a bit dry,
She would rap on the bar with that corkscrew she had
And say: ‘Billy!
Billy M’Caw!
Come give us a tune on your pastoral flute!’
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And Billy’d strike up on his pastoral flute.
And then we’d feel balmy, in each eye a tear,
And emotion would make us all order more beer—
For the way that Bird played, with his Robin Adairs,
And his All in the Downs, and his Wapping Old Stairs,
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Would bring tears to the eyes of a donkey, it would.
There was no use of saying that Bird wasn’t good.
And when we was feeling exceedingly tearful,
Then Lily would say: ‘Now, let’s have somethink cheerful!
Billy!
Billy M’Caw!
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Come give us a tune on your moley guitar!’
And Billy’d strike up on his moley guitar.
[Commentary I 1209–10 · Textual History II 613–14]
Oh, how well I remember the old Bull and Bush
Where the folk came from near and from far.
A very nice House. From basement to garret
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A very nice House. Ah but it was the parret,
The parret, the parret named Billy M’Caw,
Who brought all those folk to the bar.
Ah, he was the Life of the bar.
Grizabella: The Glamour Cat
… She haunted many a low resort
Near the grimy road of Tottenham Court;
She flitted about the No Man’s Land
From The Rising Sun to The Friend at Hand.
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And the postman sighed, as he scratched his head:
‘You’d really ha’ thought she’d ought to be dead—
And who would ever suppose that THAT
Was Grizabella, the Glamour Cat!”
[Commentary I 1210–11 · Textual History II 614–15]
In Respect of Felines
Dear Madam,
Thank you for your letter. I am grieved to find
That in respect of felines you are so confused in mind.
You would be qualified to criticise me if you had
Perceived the truth that no one Cat is wholly good or bad.
5
At least, of all the Cats between Mousehole and John o’Groats,
You can’t say, some of them are sheep and other Cats are goats.
For even the nicest tabby that was ever born and weaned
Is capable of acting, on occasion, like a fiend.
And even my toughest characters, who gloat in doing harm,
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Are not entirely destitute (admit it, please) of Charm.
And all my Cats with one accord disclaim the title ‘pets’,
Which is only suitable to parrots, Pekes and marmosets.
I trust that on consideration you may come to see
The strength of my contention.
Yours truly,
T. S. E.
[Commentary I 1211 · Textual History II 615]
LINES
Addressed to Geoffrey Faber Esquire, on his Return from a Voyage to the Bahamas, and the Parts about New Spain
ULYSSES, in his age, had tales to tell
Of battle, shipwreck, and descents to hell;
Of foreign people, with peculiar names,
Of feasts and frolicks and funereal games,
5
Of sirens’ quiring, and enchantress’ art:
His patient consort knew them all by heart.
He told of polyphemes, and clashing rocks:
She went on darning and un-darning socks.
At Circe or Calypso (which was which?)
10
&n
bsp; She sighed, and only dropped another stitch,
And, regist’ring th’ expected smiles and tears,
Murmur’d, ‘a lot can happen in ten years’.
FABRICIUS, an we credit what he speaks,
Compressed as much experience into weeks …
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Let both Ulysses and his Bard avow,
Which of the three could draw the longest bow.
Morgan Tries Again
It’s our Mr. Eliot what started me writin’;
’E says to me, ‘Morgan, you’d easily do worse
Now you’re too fat for mousin’ and too old for fightin’
Than set down your life; jist you put it in verse’.
5
Well it wasn’t no use jist to tell ’im I couldn’t,
So I got it all down, and in rhyme more or less.
And I done pretty good, though I says it as shouldn’t;
And everyone says that I got a good press.
>
[Commentary I 1211–12 · Textual History II 615–16]
‘Well, Morgan’ ’e says, ‘now you made a good start,
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And you got what I call quite a natural style;
Now you jist try your paw—let it come from the ’art—
At a birthday oration to honour Miss ’Ile.
‘What!’ says I, ‘that Miss ’Ile what’s a friend of Miss Swan?
If you mean that Miss ’Ile, I can’t ’ardly decline’.
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‘Right!’ ’e says, ‘that’s the lady; and now you git on:
And what’s more, I’ll pay you a kipper a line’.
‘Coo!’ I says, ‘that’s a bargain. I’ll do you a nice prime ’un,
For she ’as a kind way and she ’as a nice smile’.
So with that I set straight down to work at my rhymin’
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This birthday oration to honour Miss ’Ile.
She’s one that old Morgan would most like to see,