The Poems of T. S. Eliot Volume I
Page 184
60–61 Possum’s Nose · · · his toes: for Lear’s Pobble, see note to Suite Clownesque I 23, 25.
61 And the tips of his ears and his tail and his toes: “From the tips of his ears to the ends of his pedals”, Mr. Pugstyles: The Elegant Pig 11.
[Poem I 299–301 · Textual History II 607–609]
The Practical Cat
Sent to Alison Tandy, 15 Nov 1937.
For the title, see headnote to Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats. Before becoming one of the “4 kinds of Cat the Old Gumbie Cat the Practical Cat the Porpentine Cat and the Big Bravo Cat” (to Polly Tandy, 4 Nov 1934), the Practical Cat appears to have begun as companion to the Possum. To Tom Faber, 7 May 1931:
Thank you for your Letters. I hope you like the Book, because it is a Poetry Book and I like it. I was very much Interested to hear about Ty Glyn Aeron, and the Island, and the Trout, and the Bees. I told the Practical Cat all about it, and the Practical Cat was so Excited that we finally said we would
Go in for COUNTRY LIFE.
For instance, there’s
[Poem I 301–302 · Textual History II 609]
8 Oopsa!: “I greet him with an OOPSA CAT!” The Ad-dressing of Cats 49. OED “upsidaisy · · · Also oops-a-daisy”, with 1912: “Ups-a-daisy, the tender words of the fond father when engaged in baby-jumping.”
15 He’s always ready for fish on Fridays: to Clive Bell, 11 Feb [1935]: “I cant eat Meat on Friday and it casts rather a damper on a British company to see a man eating eggs no matter how much he drinks.”
The Jim Jum Bears
Written for young American relatives at Christmas [1937?].
3 broken · · · scattered the bricks: “shattered bricks”, Second Caprice in North Cambridge 7.
7, 10 Nurse · · · Jim · · · Nurse: Belloc: “And always keep a-hold of Nurse | For fear of finding something worse”, Jim in Cautionary Tales (1907).
16 muddy feet: “muddy feet that press | To early coffee-stands”, Preludes II 4–5.
The Marching Song of the Pollicle Dogs
Published with Billy M’Caw: The Remarkable Parrot in The Queen’s Book of the Red Cross (1939), introduced by an italicised note: “The publication of MR. T. S. ELIOT’S The Waste Land had as startling and decisive effect on English poetry as had the Lyrical Ballads. His more recent play, Murder in the Cathedral, had a similar impact upon the theatre. Quite lately he has confounded and delighted us with a collection of poems about cats. It is in such light-hearted vein that he is represented in these present verses.” After this TSE has written on the galley proof, “Ha ha!” (At the front of the book, “The Authors and Their Contributions” explains: “T. S. Eliot writes two lilting poems: The Marching Song of the Pollicle Dogs, and Billy M’Caw: The Remarkable Parrot.”)
Published at the beginning of the war, the book included a message from Queen Elizabeth, consort of George VI. TSE to Sir Frank Bowater (Lord Mayor of London), 4 Oct 1939: “I have your undated letter, kindly inviting me to contribute a poem to the Royal Red Cross book, to be published on behalf of your fund for the Red Cross. I should be delighted to contribute a poem, but unfortunately I have no unpublished poem on hand, and · · · I do not know when I can look forward to a time when I shall be able to write another poem. The only unpublished verses which I have on hand are a few poems written for children, not included in my forthcoming book of children’s verse, which I fear are not of the quality which readers of the Royal Red Cross book are entitled to expect.” To John Hayward, 12 Oct 1939: “I have been having some correspondence with Sir Frank Bowater, outgoing Lord Mayor, as a result of which he is being offered The Marching Song of the Pollicle Dogs for his Red Cross Book.” The poems were sent to the publisher, Hodder & Stoughton, the following day. To Polly Tandy, 2 Nov 1939: “I enclose two Poems of Possum to be included in the Queen’s Red Cross Book.”
[Poems I 302–304 · Textual History II 609–11]
To John Hayward, 2 Apr 1936 describing his meeting with an “elderly Scottish gentleman” who claimed descent from the El(l)iot family, which he characterised as notable for blue eyes, hot temper and obduracy.
Well, said he, do you mind the Elliot marching song? Yes said I, it begins
My name it is little Jock Elliot
And wha maun meddle wi’ me?
Ah ye ken it fine, said he, that shows that ye are a true Elliot. I am afraid that I read it somewhere, I said, I dont know the tune.
Valerie Eliot later wrote that “The Marching Song of the Pollicle Dogs was written to the tune of The Elliots of Minto” (see headnote to Practical Cats). TSE evidently knew the marching song, which is quoted in the notes to Walter Scott’s The Antiquary.
On 14 Mar 1946 Arthur Rogers wrote to him about his poem: “In the last line why ‘Wha Maun Meddle Wi’ Me’? The original is surely ‘Daur’ and what Scotsman would say Maun for Daur!” Recalling his mistake in quoting Arnaut Daniel (see headnote to “Poems (1920)”, 7. PUBLICATION OF ARA VOS PREC), TSE replied to Rogers, 20 Mar 1946: “I do not pretend to be an expert in the Northern language and it may be that I have been guilty of a howler of the grossest kind. I was once guilty of a blunder of equal gravity with a quotation from the Provençal language. I only know that it was maun in a typed copy of the Ballad of Little Jock Elliot which somebody showed me some years ago. I admit that I was puzzled by this word which is certainly used much further South, and daur seems to me, on the face of it, much more probable. If I ever reprint my poem I shall certainly get it vetted by one of my Scottish friends.” (TSE to Ian Cox, 14 Oct 1938, declining to take place in a broadcast about Moby-Dick: “it is so long since I have heard my own North Shore speech, that I should be in danger of confusing even that with the speech to the Eastward of Cape Porpoise. So it is evident that I know just enough about these matters not to dare to meddle with them.”)
After the attribution in Commerce Autumn 1929 of Som de l’escalina (Ash-Wednesday III) to “T. S. Eliott”, TSE wrote to Marguerite Caetani, 21 Jan 1930: “I was Angry about the spelling of my name, but it is a Venial rather than a Deadly Sin: Elyot, Eliott or Aliot have been used at various periods; the only real insult is to spell it Elliot or Elliott, which is Scotch.” See headnote to Whan Cam ye fra the Kirk? and letter to H. J. C. Grierson, 15 Nov 1926. To Ottoline Morrell, from Harvard, 14 Mar 1933: “outside of Boston I am simply T. S. Eliot, but here I am an Eliot. There is a pleasure in anonymity—and that I am better able to enjoy in London than here, where I am still a news item; but after eighteen years of being merely oneself there is a pleasure in being just a member of one’s family.”
On 20 Nov 1936 he wrote to Polly Tandy of his hope that Possum might “become a regular Feature in the Children’s Hour”:
I am toilin away trying to finish the Marching Song of the Pollicle Dogs, but the Scots dialect or language comes difficult to Me. It starts
My name it is little Tom Pollicle
And wha maun meddle wi me?
but there I stuck so far.
[Poem I 303–304 · Textual History II 610–11]
TSE told Donald Hall: “I’ve never done any dogs. Of course dogs don’t lend themselves to verse quite so well, collectively, as cats”, Paris Review (1959), but see Five-Finger Exercises IV. Lines to Ralph Hodgson Esqre.
Title Marching Song: to Hope Mirrlees [Oct 1944]: “I am sorry that I tore out the Marching Song of Portuguese Girlhood [from an enclosed booklet] to send to Faber, who is convalescing in Sussex and needs simple piano pieces.” For F. M. Cornford, “The marching songs of various English regiments, with their ribald satire on the officers”, see note to the title Triumphal March in Coriolan.
13 sleeky and spurious: Burns: “Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim’rous beastie!” To a Mouse 1.
14 mimsy: Carroll: “All mimsy were the borogoves”, Jabberwocky. For nonsense coinages, see notes to Five-Finger Exercises V. Lines for Cuscuscaraway and Mirza Murad Ali Beg 11 and 12, and to Billy M’Caw: The Remarkable Parrot 41.
27 amphibolical: OED:
obsolete form of amphibolic, “of the nature of an amphiboly; ambiguous, equivocal” (citations all from the 1650s).
31 cave canem: “Beware of the dog” (L.). (“O keep the Dog far hence”, The Waste Land [I] 74.) canem: pronounced to rhyme with “explain ’em”. John Sargeaunt: “Of disyllables the penultimate vowel, if it be followed by a single consonant or by T and R or L, is sounded long, as amo, scelus, Titus, onus, furor, lyra, patrem, triplex”, Notes on the Westminster Pronunciation of Latin in Annals of Westminster School (1898) (Kenneth Haynes, personal communication).
40 WHA MAUN MEDDLE WI’ ME: the motto of the Order of the Thistle is Nemo me impune lacessit [No one provokes me with impunity] (31, “motto”) (Donald Sommerville, personal communication).
Billy M’Caw: The Remarkable Parrot
For publication see headnote to The Marching Song of the Pollicle Dogs.
To Bonamy Dobrée, 29 July 1927: “I have to buy 1 young talking Parrot in Cage”. 2 Sept: “Talking Parrot is off. My wife objects—says she had some friends who had four, and they made conversation impossible.” 24 Jan 1928: “I am going to help the Flood sufferers by presenting a Young Talking Parret to the pub. in Hammersmith.” To Frank Morley, 30 Jan 1928: “Dear Morleigh, What do you think I have just heard of a pub in the Roman Road Islington way this pub is called the ALBERT Well it Seems this pub has the most remarkable Parret You wouldnt believe ½ the Tales they tell about this Parret How it told the barman Off when he robbed the Till etc. Well I would have rung you up last night the minute I heard but it was Raining but anyway I think we ought to go down to Islington way and see about this Parret.” (To Virginia Woolf, 9 Jan 1935: “I didnt try to tell you what Captain Eben Lake of Jonesport said to Captain Joe Tibbetts of East Machias · · · nor did I tell you what the Parrot in the Public in Islington said after seeing the barman rob the till.”)
[Poems I 303–306 · Textual History II 611–12]
To Sally Cobden-Sanderson, 2 Feb 1928: “What I am going to write about is now what about this Parret I mean are you really ready to take delivery of this Parret Because if so it is essential to know clearly what are your wishes in the matter I mean to put it clearly do you want a Male or a Femaile Perret I mean it makes no Difference in so much As there Is no difference in Plumiage Noise etc. and you get a Cage in either case & a pkt. of birdseed, only This that if later on you wanted to make it a Pair it would make a difference which was which if you grasp my meaning you would want a Proper pair only this time it will only be a single Parret What I think is that as a Parret should be named Pansy but some say Alexander only tastes differ. Hoping to Hear from you on this small point I remain, yours faithfully.”
TSE recalled a janitor, “Uncle Henry Jones”, as “a romantic figure to me as a child, not only because he possessed a parrot which actually did a little talking but because he was reputed to have been a runaway slave”, From Mary to You (1959). Hope Mirrlees, with whom TSE lodged during the war, had a parrot too. To John Hayward, 29 Aug 1943: “The Parrot died early this morning · · · for the last five weeks it had been looking like an elderly one-eyed pirate (parrot and pirate, that’s good …) on the way to Execution Dock.”
To J. Isaacs, 29 Dec 1948: “I am pleased that you liked the Parrot · · · I daresay it was composed about the same time as The Rock · · · it has no relation to the Advocate poem [On a Portrait] which is of course inspired by the Manet portrait, while the episodes in the Life of Billy m’Caw are entirely of my own invention. His figure was inspired by a very gifted parrot which used to belong to the licensee of a bar in Islington. The adventures of the real parrot were just as incredible as those of mine!”
1 the old Bull and Bush: music hall song sung by Florrie Forde: “Come, come, come and make eyes at me | Down at the Old Bull and Bush” (an 18th-century pub near Hampstead Heath).
9-11 A very nice House it was · · · A very nice House. Ah, but it was the parret: music hall song sung by Harry Fay: “Ours is a nice ’ouse ours is; | We never pay the rent and yet | The landlord never grouses, | We’ve got no windows in the house, | It’s healthy, lets the air in, | It also lets the foul air out | When father he starts swearing.” Parrots too were renowned for swearing. (TSE: “no one can possibly blaspheme in any sense except that in which a parrot may be said to curse, unless he profoundly believes in that which he profanes”, After Strange Gods 52.)
16 Lily La Rose: “The bailey beareth the bell away; | The lily, the rose, the rose I lay”, The Bridal Morn (anon, 15th–16th century). Swinburne: “change in a trice | The lilies and languors of virtue | For the raptures and roses of vice”, Dolores 66–68. For Rose La Touche, see note to A Cooking Egg 9–24.
18 on the bar: “The parrot on the bar”, On a Portrait 13.
22 If it come to an argument, or a dispute: “‘I’ll have the police if there’s any uproar’”, Old Deuteronomy 39 (“And what with the Station it being so near”, 6).
24 put her fist through your eye: Charles-Louis Philippe: “‘If you’re fed up, I’ll shove my fist through your face’”, Bubu of Montparnasse ch. VI (1924).
31 And then we’d feel balmy, in each eye a tear: “All in the balmy moonlight it lay rocking on the tide— | And Growltiger was disposed to show his sentimental side”, Growltiger’s Last Stand 23–24.
[Poem I 304–305 · Textual History II 612–14]
33–34 Robin Adairs · · · All in the Downs · · · Wapping Old Stairs: Lady Caroline Keppel’s Robin Adair (“What’s this dull town to me?”), Gay’s Sweet William’s Farewell to Black-Eyed Susan (“All in the Downs the fleet was moored”) and the 19th-century Wapping Old Stairs (“Your Molly has never been false, she declares”) are all sentimental ballads, the last two about sailors parting from their lovers. The “stairs” to the foreshore can still be seen in Wapping, East London. Dickens: “take a boat at Wapping Old Stairs”, The Uncommercial Traveller II. TSE to Polly Tandy, 4 Apr 1941:
It is so long since I have heard from you: I mean, since you have heard from me, that really, what you must think. Well I hope there is nothing really to think at all, except that
Your Possum has never been false, he declares,
Since last time he left you at Wapping Old Stairs.
41 And Billy’d strike up on his moley guitar: Edward Lear: “The Owl looked up to the stars above, | And sang to a small guitar”, The Owl and the Pussy Cat 5–6. moley: TSE’s own nonsense word. For others, see notes to Five-Finger Exercises V. Lines for Cuscuscaraway and Mirza Murad Ali Beg 11 and 12.
Grizabella: The Glamour Cat
Published in Cats: The Book of the Musical (1981). Text from Valerie’s Own Book.
To Polly Tandy, 8 Dec 1939, two months before sending the eight lines that survive: “People have been Pestering me with suggestions: the Legal Cat—with an address at Gray’s Inn; the Blue Water Cat (in contrast to Growltiger) etc. But what I incline to do is an idea of my own, and a very frightful one: the GLAMOUR CAT. The very thought of it makes me go shivery down the spine.” 13 Feb 1940: “It is on my mind to pass by the shop in the Tottenham Court Road, where I dare say I shall find that the Shetland wool is unobtainable; but I do not doubt that you have had your hands full otherwise, and have been quite willing to postpone this extra chore which I imposed upon you without so much as asking leave. The Glamour Cat, I am sorry to say, is not turning out a suitable subject for edifying my juvenile audience; in fact, she came down in the world pretty far. The story is very sad, and also a bit sordid.” TSE here quotes the poem, adding: “No, I fear that the story had better not be told.” Later he reminisced: “there are one or two incomplete cats that probably will never be written. There’s one about a glamour cat. It turned out too sad. This would never do. I can’t make my children weep over a cat who’s gone wrong. She had a very questionable career, did this cat. It wouldn’t do for the audience of my previous volume of cats”, Paris Review (1959).
Title Glamour Cat: anticipating “glamor-puss”. Dictionary of American Slang (ed. H. Wentworth a
nd S. B. Flexner) cites Paul Gallico 1941: “we called them super-swoopers instead of glamorpusses”.
1–2 She haunted many a low resort | Near the grimy road of Tottenham Court: “An almost denizen of Leicester Square”, Paysage Triste 7. “having our horoscopes cast in the Tottenham Court Road”, Charleston, Hey! Hey! (1927).
[Poems I 306 · Textual History II 614–15]
4 The Rising Sun: a common name, but perhaps the Victorian pub at Smithfield in the City of London. The Friend at Hand: historic pub, around the corner from Russell Square Tube station.
In Respect of Felines
Published in Kenyon Review Summer 1984, with B. R. Skinker’s poem To Mr T. S. Eliot, on reading “Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats”, and an appraisal by Jeanne Campbell and John Reesman. Bertha Skinker attended Mary Institute, the school founded by TSE’s grandfather, and her poem refers to their childhood days (“When the Eliots lived on Locust Street | Tom was pale and thin and shy”) and to his supposed prejudice against cats (“But where,—Oh, where?—in this big round world | That is full of adorable pets | Did he ever have the bad luck to find | Such hateful pestiferous cats?”) TSE sent her letter to Hayward, with “Ansd 1.6.40” (King’s).
To J. R. Culpin, 4 Aug 1938, of the essays of “Mr. Singer” (unidentified): “His style shows a certain lack of ease: it reminds me somewhat of the epistolary style of a skilled and highly intelligent metal-worker whom I know; a man who can talk perfectly good and simple English, but who cannot put pen to paper without using words like maelstrom or pandemonium, a sort of language drawn I imagine from the leading articles of the penny press.”