Browning

[Mary Chambers]

All that tumpety-tum is fun for children, though. I've loved The Pied Piper for as long as I remember - and whoever took my beloved illustrated copy to Oxfam will be in trouble when I find out who it was. (Most suspicion falls on elder son.) I can claim to have danced both a rat and the mother of the lame boy in a ballet school version

Apart from The Pied Piper I think of "That's my last duchess painted on the wall", and perhaps above all Home Thoughts from Abroad, which still comes into my mind every spring.

"That's the wise thrush, he sings each song twice over
Lest you think he never can recapture
The first fine careless rapture."

(Something like that, anyway.)

[vinteuil]

ff's talk of Tumpety tum reminds me of what my English master thought of Browning - he thought there was a great deal too much tumpety tum, as exemplified in "I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;
I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three... "

wasn't there the alternative (Sellars & Yeatman?) version -

I sprang to the rollocks and Jorrocks and me
And I galloped, you galloped, we galloped all three...
Not a word to each other; we kept changing place,
Neck to neck, back to front, ear to ear, face to face;
And we yelled once or twice, when we heard a clock chime,
'Would you kindly oblige us, Is that the right time?'
As I galloped, you galloped, we galloped, ye galloped they too have galloped; let us trot.


I unsaddled the saddle, unbuckled the bit,
Unshackled the bridle (the thing didn't fit)
And ungalloped, ungalloped, ungalloped,ungalloped a bit.
Then I cast off my bluff-coat, let my bowler hat fall,
Took off both my boots and my trousers and all -
Drank off my stirrup-cup, felt a bit tight,
And unbridled the saddle, it still wasn't right.


Then all I remember is, things reeling round
As I sat with my head 'twixt my ears on the ground -
For imagine my shame when they asked what I meant
And I had to confess that I'd been, gone and went
And forgotten the news I was bringing to Ghent,
Though I'd galloped and galloped and galloped and galloped and galloped
And galloped and galloped and galloped. (Had I not would I have been galloped?)

ENVOI
So, I sprang to a taxi and shouted 'To Aix!'
And he blew on his horn and he threw off his brakes,
And all the way back till my money was spent
We rattled and rattled and rattled and rattled and rattled
And rattled and rattled -
And eventually sent a telegram.

[Richard Tarleton]

Didn't know that one. Marvellous. There is an ineffable, sirloin-fed Englishness about Browning.

[aeolium]

There is an ineffable, sirloin-fed Englishness about Browning.

Ah, the ultimate insult. Poets from other countries may display national qualities but never English ones. Still, I'd rather read these poems than rely on the judgment of English schoolteachers who have probably never written a line in their lives.

[Richard Tarleton]

Ah, the ultimate insult. Poets from other countries may display national qualities but never English ones. Still, I'd rather read these poems than rely on the judgment of English schoolteachers who have probably never written a line in their lives.

It was not meant as an insult. Sorry if it came across like that. I see him as one of the great positive thinkers, a characteristic of a certain sort of Victorian. I wasn't quoting my English teacher.

I think my impression of Browning (a very positive one) was also formed, prior to English A level, by Frederick March's portrayal in The Barretts of Wimpole Street.

[aeolium]

And I am sorry for my rather testy reaction, RT. I think it was the 'sirloin-fed' that riled me. Dammit, why can't he have starved in a garret like any other poet worth his salt!

I never saw that film about the Brownings. I confess I like the 'horseman' metre in poems, as in Erlkönig, the well-known Highwayman poem by Noyes and even such unlikely authors as Auden ("Oh where are you going?" said reader to rider,). To me it's a convention like its parallel rhythm (and the use of the horn) in hunting music.

[french frank]

I've just been reading Wiki on the legend. Entry of 1384 in the annals of Hameln:

" It is 100 years since our children left ..."