Poetry Sunday

Yes, I know that today is supposed to be a Musical Sunday, but I didn't want to pass up the opportunity to note the birthday this past week of one of my favorite poets - the man known as The Bard of the Yukon, Canadian poet Robert W. Service. His skill at rhythm and narrative imagery makes for poems that are a delight to read aloud, even though his occasional use of language that might be unacceptable today for its ethnic slurs can offend some more sensitive listeners. My favorite of his poems is "The Cremation of Sam McGee" (just slightly ahead of "The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill"), but this one speaks to me louder the older I get ...

It Is Later Than You Think

by Robert W. Service

Lone amid the café’s cheer,

Sad of heart am I to-night;

Dolefully I drink my beer,

But no single line I write.

There’s the wretched rent to pay,

Yet I glower at pen and ink:

Oh, inspire me, Muse, I pray,

It is later than you think!

Hello! there’s a pregnant phrase.

Bravo! let me write it down;

Hold it with a hopeful gaze,

Gauge it with a fretful frown;

Tune it to my lyric lyre ...   

Ah! upon starvation’s brink,

How the words are dark and dire:

It is later than you think.

Weigh them well .... Behold yon band,

Students drinking by the door,

Madly merry, bock in hand,

Saucers stacked to mark their score.

Get you gone, you jolly scamps;

Let your parting glasses clink;

Seek your long neglected lamps:

It is later than you think.

Look again: yon dainty blonde,

All allure and golden grace,

Oh so willing to respond

Should you turn a smiling face.

Play your part, poor pretty doll;

Feast and frolic, pose and prink;

There’s the Morgue to end it all,

And it’s later than you think.

Yon’s a playwright — mark his face,

Puffed and purple, tense and tired;

Pasha-like he holds his place,

Hated, envied and admired.

How you gobble life, my friend;

Wine, and woman soft and pink!

Well, each tether has its end:

Sir, it’s later than you think.

See yon living scarecrow pass

With a wild and wolfish stare

At each empty absinthe glass,

As if he saw Heaven there.

Poor damned wretch, to end your pain

There is still the Greater Drink.

Yonder waits the sanguine Seine ...

It is later than you think.

Lastly, you who read; aye, you

Who this very line may scan:

Think of all you planned to do ...   

Have you done the best you can?

See! the tavern lights are low;

Black’s the night, and how you shrink!

God! and is it time to go?

Ah! the clock is always slow;

It is later than you think;

Sadly later than you think;

Far, far later than you think.

Have a good day and enjoy the rest of this bitterly cold weekend. It's later than you think.

More thoughts coming.

Bilbo