… this past Spring as I was visiting Scotland, my Father-in-Law and I found ourselves embroiled in a deep, philosophical discussion regarding poetry.. he had just bought me a wonderful antique copy of an old Kipling book while we had day-tripped to St. Andrews, and we spent that evening in his conservatory with a sherry-casked Glenmorangie….
…. we passed the book around and took turn reading aloud to each other… he in his age-softened Glasgow accent and me in my jumbled Hillbillyese…. we had a whale of a time… we really did…. it is amazing to me how good company, a nice Scotch, and the ‘turn of phrase’ from a fine mind can help a blustery evening just fly by….
… as we laid the book aside and talked more, he brought up an ancient poem from his childhood… he wasn’t sure of the author, but he did remember the two principle characters… Abdul and Ivan…. and he regaled me with tales of he and his schoolmates bantering the poem back and forth when he was a child… standing and shivering on a freezing Spring day waiting for rugby practice to begin… and the 13 year old hellions of Glasgow High School chanting the whimsical lines of Epic Battle…..
.. the next morning after coffee, I was presented with a printed copy of the poem…. he had downloaded it from the Internet earlier and was genuinely excited that he had found it…. I tell you truly, people… the marvel that is The Internet is one amazing creation….
… anyway, I read the poem with great enthusiasm over a breakfast of smoked cheese and toast… for not only did it have a ‘family history’ of a kind, it also had a moral, color, and a rhythmic progression that I was already addicted to…. after all, once you have read Longfellow, Service, Coleridge, and Tennyson, well, you seriously start to dig some rhymes…. (and yes, I know that by lumping Robert W. Service in with those three I am committing some kind of word-smithing deadly sin, but I don’t really give a flying shit. Service is in and he stays.)
…. so it was with a solemn and great mischievousness that I contacted my dear friend Elisson yesterday…. he is, as we all well know, a fine, fine poet himself… and I just knew that he would get a kick out of the story of Ivan and Abdul…..
… and, boys and girls, he has outdone himself with this recitation…..
… for more information on the poem – written by Percy French – check out the wikipedia entry…. I was pleased to find that he had also written another of my favorites (made famous by Don McLean) “The Mountains of Mourne”…. to the tune of which Elisson performed a blogmeet-satire while I accompanied him on guitar this past October in my living room.. small world, no?.....
… in any case, here is the text of the poem…. use it to follow along as Elisson tells the tale of Abdul and Ivan…..
Abdul Abulbul Amir by William Percy French
The sons of the Prophet are many and bold
and quite unaccustomed to fear,
But the bravest by far in the ranks of the Shah,
Was Abdul Abulbul Amir.
If you wanted a man to encourage the van,
Or harass the foe from the rear,
Storm fort or redoubt, you had only to shout
for Abdul Abulbul Amir.
Now the heroes were plenty and well known to fame
in the troops that were led by the Czar,
And the bravest of these was a man by the name
of Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
One day this bold Russian, he shouldered his gun
and donned his most truculent sneer,
Downtown he did go where he tred on the toe
of Abdul Abulbul Amir.
"Young man," quoth Abdul, "has life grown so dull
That you wish to end your career?
Vile infidel know, you have trod on the toe
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.
So take your last look upon sunshine and brook
And send your regrets to the Czar
For by this I imply, you are going to die,
Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar."
Then this bold Mameluke drew his trusty chibouk,
Singing, "Allah! Il Allah! Al-lah!"
And with murderous intent he ferociously went
for Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
They parried and thrust, they side-stepped and cussed,
Of blood they spilled a great part,
The philologist blokes, who seldom crack jokes,
Say that hash was first made on the spot.
They fought all that night neath the pale yellow moon;
The din, it was heard from afar,
And huge multitudes came, so great was the fame,
of Abdul and Ivan Skavar.
As Abdul's long knife was extracting the life,
In fact he was shouting, "Huzzah!"
He felt himself struck by that wily Kalmuck,
Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
The Sultan drove by in his red-breasted fly,
Expecting the victor to cheer,
But he only drew nigh to hear the last sigh,
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.
Czar Petrovich, too, in his spectacles blue
Rode up in his new crested car.
He arrived just in time to exchange a last line
With Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
There's a tomb rises up where the Blue Danube rolls,
And graved there in characters clear,
Is, "Stranger, when passing, oh pray for the soul
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir."
A splash in the Black Sea one dark moonless night
Caused ripples to spread wide and far,
It was made by a sack fitting close to the back,
of Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
A Muscovite maiden her lone vigil keeps,
'Neath the light of the cold northern star,
And the name that she murmurs in vain as she weeps,
is Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
Bravo! Great collaberation. Bravo, I say!
Bullshitted by imp on December 10, 2006 06:15 PME.--
I inherited an old old copy of Scottish sailing songs from my grandfather that had this ditty in it. When I looked it up on the trusty internet I wandered across the lirics as well as the tune. Sounds good. They say that it came out of the Crimean War.
Yeah. Love that internet.
Bob
MERRY CHRISTMAS
HAPPY NEW YEAR
SEASON'S GREETINGS
HAPPY HOLIDAYS
HAPPY HANUKKAH
PEACE ON EARTH, GOOD WILL TO ALL
Enjoyed the hell out of that, I did.
Bullshitted by Jim - PRS on December 11, 2006 04:01 AMI first heard this poem in 8th grade. Read with great enthusisam by the english teacher, Mr. Parks. He purely enjoyed the hell out of reading it and getting us as excited as he. I've read it many times since and it still rouses somewhat the warrior spirit in me.
Bullshitted by kdzu on December 11, 2006 08:28 AMEgad I havent heard or read that poem since Hector was a pup
Bullshitted by DanToom on December 11, 2006 01:04 PMNice job. I can't wait to hear the mp3 of you singing "Hava Nagila". You *are* going to return the favor, right?
Sweet poem. It's appropriate that you'd quote it in a post mentioning Bob Service because it reminds me a lot of some of his work, and that's high praise.
I raise a glass to the olde fashioned warrior- mind, body, and battle!
Bullshitted by g on December 11, 2006 09:18 PMYou are such a throwback [to another century] for a young lad of 34.
That is an awesome poem though; just roooolls right off the lips.
Bob Baird: please share the link to the tune!
This is a buckskinner rendezvous campfire song if I ever read one!
Bullshitted by Graumagus on December 13, 2006 01:28 AMAs a young lad, I recall hearing a recording of this song on the Dr. Demento Show.
Bullshitted by Harvey on December 17, 2006 02:40 AM