[1865 – 1936]
⇒[read]⇐ «The Jungle Book» ⇒[listen]⇐
⇓ Disney’s Jungle Book _ 1967 [clip]
• ‘I Wanna Be Like You’
Now I’m the king of the swingers – Oh, the jungle VIP
I’ve reached the top and had to stop and that’s what botherin’ me
I wanna be a man, mancub, and stroll right into town
And be just like the other men – I’m tired of monkeyin’ around!
Oh, oobee doo … I wanna be like you – I wanna walk like you – Talk like you, too
You’ll see it’s true – An ape like me can learn to be human too
Now here’s your part of the deal, cuz
Lay the secret on me of man’s red fire
But I don’t know how to make fire …)
Now don’t try to kid me, mancub – I made a deal with you
What I desire is man’s red fire to make my dream come true
Now give me the secret, mancub – Come on and clue me what to do
Give me the power of man’s red flower so I can be like you . . .
• ‘The Bare Necessities’ ↑
… Look for the bare necessities – The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities – Old Mother Nature’s recipes
That brings the bare necessities of life
Wherever I wander, wherever I roam – I couldn’t be fonder of my big home
The bees are buzzin’ in the tree to make some honey just for me
When you look under the rocks and plants
And take a glance at the fancy ants … Then maybe try a few
The bare necessities of life will come to you – They’ll come to you!
Look for the bare necessities – The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
That’s why a bear can rest at ease
With just the bare necessities of life
. . . You! I wanna be like you – I wanna walk like you, talk like you, too
You’ll see it’s true: someone like me can learn to be like someone like me
Can learn to be like someone like you
Can learn to be like someone like me!
◊ «If» ↓ [poem read by Harvey Keitel]
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!
⇓ «The Female of the Species»
WHEN the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man,
He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can.
But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,
They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws.
‘Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Man’s timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say,
For the Woman that God gave him isn’t his to give away;
But when hunter meets with husbands, each confirms the other’s tale—
The female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Man, a bear in most relations—worm and savage otherwise,—
Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise.
Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact
To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.
Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low,
To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe.
Mirth obscene diverts his anger—Doubt and Pity oft perplex
Him in dealing with an issue—to the scandal of The Sex!
But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame
Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same;
And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,
The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.
She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast
May not deal in doubt or pity—must not swerve for fact or jest.
These be purely male diversions—not in these her honour dwells—
She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.
She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great
As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate.
And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim
Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.
She is wedded to convictions—in default of grosser ties;
Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies!—
He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild,
Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.
Unprovoked and awful charges—even so the she-bear fights,
Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons—even so the cobra bites,
Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw
And the victim writhes in anguish—like the Jesuit with the squaw!
So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer
With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her
Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands
To some God of Abstract Justice—which no woman understands.
And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him
Must command but may not govern—shall enthral but not enslave him.
And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail,
That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male.
•→ ‘Tommy’ ← / [study guide←]
I went into a public-‘ouse to get a pint o’ beer,
The publican ‘e up an’ sez, «We serve no red-coats here.»
The girls be’ind the bar they laughed an’ giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an’ to myself sez I:
O it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ «Tommy, go away»;
But it’s «Thank you, Mister Atkins», when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it’s «Thank you, Mister Atkins», when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but ‘adn’t none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-‘alls,
But when it comes to fightin’, Lord! they’ll shove me in the stalls!
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ «Tommy, wait outside»;
But it’s «Special train for Atkins» when the trooper’s on the tide,
The troopship’s on the tide, my boys, the troopship’s on the tide,
O it’s «Special train for Atkins» when the trooper’s on the tide.
Yes, makin’ mock o’ uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an’ they’re starvation cheap;
An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiers when they’re goin’ large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin’ in full kit.
Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ «Tommy, ‘ow’s yer soul?»
But it’s «Thin red line of ‘eroes» when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it’s «Thin red line of ‘eroes» when the drums begin to roll.
We aren’t no thin red ‘eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An’ if sometimes our conduck isn’t all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don’t grow into plaster saints;
While it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ «Tommy, fall be’ind»,
But it’s «Please to walk in front, sir», when there’s trouble in the wind,
There’s trouble in the wind, my boys, there’s trouble in the wind,
O it’s «Please to walk in front, sir», when there’s trouble in the wind.
You talk o’ better food for us, an’ schools, an’ fires, an’ all:
We’ll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don’t mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow’s Uniform is not the soldier-man’s disgrace.
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ «Chuck him out, the brute!»
But it’s «Saviour of ‘is country» when the guns begin to shoot;
An’ it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ anything you please;
An’ Tommy ain’t a bloomin’ fool — you bet that Tommy sees!
◊→ ‘The Smugglers Song’ ↓ (poem)
If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse’s feet,
Don’t go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street.
Them that ask no questions isn’t told a lie.
Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!
Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the dark –
Brandy for the Parson, ‘Baccy for the Clerk;
Laces for a lady, letters for a spy,
And watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!
Running round the woodlump if you chance to find
Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine,
Don’t you shout to come and look, nor use ‘em for your play.
Put the brishwood back again – and they’ll be gone next day!
If you see the stable-door setting open wide;
If you see a tired horse lying down inside;
If your mother mends a coat cut about and tore;
If the lining’s wet and warm – don’t you ask no more!
If you meet King George’s men, dressed in blue and red,
You be careful what you say, and mindful what is said.
If they call you «pretty maid,» and chuck you ‘neath the chin,
Don’t you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one’s been!
Knocks and footsteps round the house – whistles after dark –
You’ve no call for running out till the house-dogs bark.
Trusty’s here, and Pincher’s here, and see how dumb they lie –
They don’t fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by!
If you do as you’ve been told, ‘likely there’s a chance,
You’ll be given a dainty doll, all the way from France,
With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood –
A present from the Gentlemen, along o’ being good!
Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the dark –
Brandy for the Parson, ‘Baccy for the Clerk;
Them that asks no questions isn’t told a lie –
Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by.
◊→ «Ulster 1912» ↓
•→«The Way Through the Woods» ⇐(poem)
♣ Three Dog poems:
•→ «His Apologies»⇐ / •→«Dinah in Heaven»⇐ / •→«The Power of a Dog»⇔[listen]
Not what I was expecting but great anyway! Good for you!