[ARCHIVED THREAD] - Rudyard Kipling (Page 1 of 2)
Posted: 12/1/2013 3:41:28 PM EDT
| YOU CAN NEVER HAVE TOO MUCH RED WINE, TOO MANY BOOKS, OR TOO MUCH AMMUNITION. |
|
No. Not at all. Kipling is one of the treasures of the English language. It may take a blow to your head, but I hope you come to appreciate him. "Tommy" and "The Sons of Martha" are awesome, never mind Riki Tiki Tavi and Jungle Book. The bonus is that now they're all public domain and free on the internet in ebook format. |
|
Quoted:
If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, but make allowances for their doubting too. Quoted:
If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, but make allowances for their doubting too. C'mon - you can't do that. That's the beginning of the best work of manly prose the world has ever seen. If... 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 Grave of the Hundred Head
There's a widow in sleepy Chester Who weeps for her only son; There's a grave on the Pabeng River, A grave that the Burmans shun; And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri Who tells how the work was done. A Snider squibbed in the jungle, Somebody laughed and fled, And the men of the First Shikaris Picked up their Subaltern dead, With a big blue mark in his forehead And the back blown out of his head. Subadar Prag Tewarri, Jemadar Hira Lal, Took command of the party, Twenty rifles in all, Marched them down to the river As the day was beginning to fall. They buried the boy by the river, A blanket over his face— They wept for their dead Lieutenant, The men of an alien race— They made a samadh in his honor, A mark for his resting-place. For they swore by the Holy Water, They swore by the salt they ate, That the soul of Lieutenant Eshmitt Sahib Should go to his God in state, With fifty file of Burmans To open him Heaven's gate. The men of the First Shikaris Marched till the break of day, Till they came to the rebel village, The village of Pabengmay— A jingal covered the clearing, Calthrops hampered the way. Subadar Prag Tewarri, Bidding them load with ball, Halted a dozen rifles Under the village wall; Sent out a flanking-party With Jemadar Hira Lal. The men of the First Shikaris Shouted and smote and slew, Turning the grinning jingal On to the howling crew. The Jemadar's flanking-party Butchered the folk who flew. Long was the morn of slaughter, Long was the list of slain, Five score heads were taken, Five score heads and twain; And the men of the First Shikaris Went back to their grave again, Each man bearing a basket Red as his palms that day, Red as the blazing village - The village of Pabengmay, And the "drip-drip-drip" from the baskets Reddened the grass by the way. They made a pile of their trophies High as a tall man's chin, Head upon head distorted, Set in a sightless grin, Anger and pain and terror Stamped on the smoke-scorched skin. Subadar Prag Tewarri Put the head of the Boh On the top of the mound of triumph, The head of his son below— With the sword and the peacock-banner That the world might behold and know. Thus the samadh was perfect, Thus was the lesson plain Of the wrath of the First Shikaris - The price of a white man slain; And the men of the First Shikaris Went back into camp again. Then a silence came to the river, A hush fell over the shore, And Bohs that were brave departed, And Sniders squibbed no more; For the Burmans said That a white man's head Must be paid for with heads five-score. There's a widow in sleepy Chester Who weeps for her only son; There's a grave on the Pabeng River, A grave that the Burmans shun; And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri Who tells how the work was done. |
|
Quoted:
No. Not at all. Kipling is one of the treasures of the English language. It may take a blow to your head, but I hope you come to appreciate him. "Tommy" and "The Sons of Martha" are awesome, never mind Riki Tiki Tavi and Jungle Book. The bonus is that now they're all public domain and free on the internet in ebook format. Quoted:
No. Not at all. Kipling is one of the treasures of the English language. It may take a blow to your head, but I hope you come to appreciate him. "Tommy" and "The Sons of Martha" are awesome, never mind Riki Tiki Tavi and Jungle Book. The bonus is that now they're all public domain and free on the internet in ebook format. A good source for this? Is any of his stuff in pdf format? |
|
all books published before 1923 are in the public domain. here's a link to the searchable archive.org. oftentimes, the available book is in a variety a formats, even the various ebook reader formats like Kindle.
i have a crap ton of these on my Kindle/computer. never pay $$ for stuff in the public domain, unless you have good reason: https://archive.org/details/texts Quoted:
A good source for this? Is any of his stuff in pdf format? |
|
Recessional
BY RUDYARD KIPLING 1897 God of our fathers, known of old, Lord of our far-flung battle-line, Beneath whose awful Hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine— Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget—lest we forget! The tumult and the shouting dies; The Captains and the Kings depart: Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget—lest we forget! Far-called, our navies melt away; On dune and headland sinks the fire: Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget—lest we forget! If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe, Such boastings as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without the Law— Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget—lest we forget! For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard, All valiant dust that builds on dust, And guarding, calls not Thee to guard, For frantic boast and foolish word— Thy mercy on Thy People, Lord! |
|
Quoted: The Grave of the Hundred Head There's a widow in sleepy Chester Who weeps for her only son; There's a grave on the Pabeng River, A grave that the Burmans shun; And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri Who tells how the work was done. A Snider squibbed in the jungle, Somebody laughed and fled, And the men of the First Shikaris Picked up their Subaltern dead, With a big blue mark in his forehead And the back blown out of his head. Subadar Prag Tewarri, Jemadar Hira Lal, Took command of the party, Twenty rifles in all, Marched them down to the river As the day was beginning to fall. They buried the boy by the river, A blanket over his face— They wept for their dead Lieutenant, The men of an alien race— They made a samadh in his honor, A mark for his resting-place. For they swore by the Holy Water, They swore by the salt they ate, That the soul of Lieutenant Eshmitt Sahib Should go to his God in state, With fifty file of Burmans To open him Heaven's gate. The men of the First Shikaris Marched till the break of day, Till they came to the rebel village, The village of Pabengmay— A jingal covered the clearing, Calthrops hampered the way. Subadar Prag Tewarri, Bidding them load with ball, Halted a dozen rifles Under the village wall; Sent out a flanking-party With Jemadar Hira Lal. The men of the First Shikaris Shouted and smote and slew, Turning the grinning jingal On to the howling crew. The Jemadar's flanking-party Butchered the folk who flew. Long was the morn of slaughter, Long was the list of slain, Five score heads were taken, Five score heads and twain; And the men of the First Shikaris Went back to their grave again, Each man bearing a basket Red as his palms that day, Red as the blazing village - The village of Pabengmay, And the "drip-drip-drip" from the baskets Reddened the grass by the way. They made a pile of their trophies High as a tall man's chin, Head upon head distorted, Set in a sightless grin, Anger and pain and terror Stamped on the smoke-scorched skin. Subadar Prag Tewarri Put the head of the Boh On the top of the mound of triumph, The head of his son below— With the sword and the peacock-banner That the world might behold and know. Thus the samadh was perfect, Thus was the lesson plain Of the wrath of the First Shikaris - The price of a white man slain; And the men of the First Shikaris Went back into camp again. Then a silence came to the river, A hush fell over the shore, And Bohs that were brave departed, And Sniders squibbed no more; For the Burmans said That a white man's head Must be paid for with heads five-score. There's a widow in sleepy Chester Who weeps for her only son; There's a grave on the Pabeng River, A grave that the Burmans shun; And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri Who tells how the work was done.  Love that one. |
|
Now this is the Law of the Jungle -- as old and as true as the sky; And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die. As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back -- For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack. |
|
When Earth's last picture is painted
And the tubes are twisted and dried When the oldest colors have faded And the youngest critic has died We shall rest, and faith, we shall need it Lie down for an aeon or two 'Till the Master of all good workmen Shall put us to work anew And those that were good shall be happy They'll sit in a golden chair They'll splash at a ten league canvas With brushes of comet's hair They'll find real saints to draw from Magdalene, Peter, and Paul They'll work for an age at a sitting And never be tired at all. And only the Master shall praise us. And only the Master shall blame. And no one will work for the money. No one will work for the fame. But each for the joy of the working, And each, in his separate star, Will draw the thing as he sees it. For the God of things as they are! |
|
Rome never looks where she treads.
Always her heavy hooves fall On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads; And Rome never heeds when we bawl. Her sentries pass on--that is all, And we gather behind them in hordes, And plot to reconquer the Wall, With only our tongues for our swords. We are the Little Folk--we! Too little to love or to hate. Leave us alone and you'll see How we can drag down the State! We are the worm in the wood! We are the rot at the root! We are the taint in the blood! We are the thorn in the foot! Mistletoe killing an oak-- Rats gnawing cables in two-- Moths making holes in a cloak-- How they must love what they do! Yes--and we Little Folk too, We are busy as they-- Working our works out of view-- Watch, and you'll see it some day! No indeed! We are not strong, But we know Peoples that are. Yes, and we'll guide them along To smash and destroy you in War! We shall be slaves just the same? Yes, we have always been slaves, But you--you will die of the shame, And then we shall dance on your graves! |
|
Given some of the sketchy places I've been to and some of the mouth breathing knuckleheads I've been looking after over the last decade, this one resonates with me:
From Epitaphs: Convoy Escort. I was a shepherd to fools Causelessly bold or afraid. They would not abide by my rules. Yet they escaped. For I stayed. |
|
Quoted:
Don't know much about him, other than he seems to be one of the most important writers of all time. I like his works on Colonial Britain expeditionary stories like in India. Indeed he is. When I was in Afghanistan a family friend sent me a book with a collection of his works, it was passed around quite a bit. It was interesting to read that, and then go out on mission to one of our district centers that was based around an old British colonial prison. I don't care what anyone says, history is cool. |
|
Quoted:
He was a racist. Say the antiwhites. I picked up some Required Reading for a College indoctrination course off a friends bookshelf the other day called Mentor Book of Major British Poets Nowhere in it was a Kipling poem found....Major British Poets..... |
|
I have many favorites among Kiplings work but here is perhaps a lesser known gem-
Dane-Geld A.D. 980-1016 It is always a temptation to an armed and agile nation To call upon a neighbour and to say: -- "We invaded you last night--we are quite prepared to fight, Unless you pay us cash to go away." And that is called asking for Dane-geld, And the people who ask it explain That you've only to pay 'em the Dane-geld And then you'll get rid of the Dane! It is always a temptation for a rich and lazy nation, To puff and look important and to say: -- "Though we know we should defeat you, we have not the time to meet you. We will therefore pay you cash to go away." And that is called paying the Dane-geld; But we've proved it again and again, That if once you have paid him the Dane-geld You never get rid of the Dane. It is wrong to put temptation in the path of any nation, For fear they should succumb and go astray; So when you are requested to pay up or be molested, You will find it better policy to say: -- "We never pay any-one Dane-geld, No matter how trifling the cost; For the end of that game is oppression and shame, And the nation that pays it is lost!" |
|
You MUST find a copy of his Tales of Land and Sea. There is a very interesting adventure by Boy Jones, his protagonist, wherein he visits a "rifle range" for the first time and learns of shooting. There is a VERY heavy undercurrent of England NEEDING to be prepared for war- some years later he was proven right of course.
Kipling was a huge proponent of civilian marksmanship and built a 1000 yard range himself after seeing how poorly the Brits performed in the Boer War. Here is the story along with a few others-http://www.di2.nu/files/kipling/LandandSea.html |
|
Quoted:
 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Glcg95L4JK4&list=FLnvv01o-ykPlD9ztFixz_Vg&index=27
Ahh... SERE. Yeah, but I grooved on Inna-Godda-Davida in that place! 
|
|
Quoted: You MUST find a copy of his Tales of Land and Sea. There is a very interesting adventure by Boy Jones, his protagonist, wherein he visits a "rifle range" for the first time and learns of shooting. There is a VERY heavy undercurrent of England NEEDING to be prepared for war- some years later he was proven right of course. Kipling was a huge proponent of civilian marksmanship and built a 1000 yard range himself after seeing how poorly the Brits performed in the Boer War. Here is the story along with a few others-http://www.di2.nu/files/kipling/LandandSea.html Quoted: You MUST find a copy of his Tales of Land and Sea. There is a very interesting adventure by Boy Jones, his protagonist, wherein he visits a "rifle range" for the first time and learns of shooting. There is a VERY heavy undercurrent of England NEEDING to be prepared for war- some years later he was proven right of course. Kipling was a huge proponent of civilian marksmanship and built a 1000 yard range himself after seeing how poorly the Brits performed in the Boer War. Here is the story along with a few others-http://www.di2.nu/files/kipling/LandandSea.html Thanks for that Nations have passed away and left no traces, And History gives the naked cause of it— One single, simple reason in all cases; They fell because their peoples were not fit.  sad but true |
|
Quoted:
Say the antiwhites. I picked up some Required Reading for a College indoctrination course off a friends bookshelf the other day called Mentor Book of Major British Poets Nowhere in it was a Kipling poem found....Major British Poets..... Quoted:
Quoted:
He was a racist. Say the antiwhites. I picked up some Required Reading for a College indoctrination course off a friends bookshelf the other day called Mentor Book of Major British Poets Nowhere in it was a Kipling poem found....Major British Poets..... I was talking to an English major taking a Brit Lit. class. I asked if they read any Kipling. She gave me a very confused look... 
I wouldn't say he was racist, he writes well of many of the African tribes and Indian troops, with respect and even honors their memory. He was a product of the British Empire, they owned a huge portion of the world for a long time, and most places that were under their control continue to flourish and seek to better themselves. And I'm not just counting the anglo-saxon areas. India, for all its problems is going to be a huge world power. Saying someone from that time was racist is a fallacy, you are attempting to apply your moral and ethic credo to a time and place where none existed. Its like saying driving off the Indians was immoral. Sure, in our time it may be wrong, but for a Texas farmer in the 1830's? It was life or death. |
|
Quoted: Indeed he is. When I was in Afghanistan a family friend sent me a book with a collection of his works, it was passed around quite a bit. It was interesting to read that, and then go out on mission to one of our district centers that was based around an old British colonial prison. I don't care what anyone says, history is cool. Quoted: Quoted: Don't know much about him, other than he seems to be one of the most important writers of all time. I like his works on Colonial Britain expeditionary stories like in India. Indeed he is. When I was in Afghanistan a family friend sent me a book with a collection of his works, it was passed around quite a bit. It was interesting to read that, and then go out on mission to one of our district centers that was based around an old British colonial prison. I don't care what anyone says, history is cool. That would be pretty neat. To be reading literature about a place in Afghanistan that some Colonial British Army guy wrote about 100+ years ago, and you're in the same place, facing the same dangers and dealing with the same problems as they did. But "neat" doesn't mean "good".  |
|
Quoted:
I was talking to an English major taking a Brit Lit. class. I asked if they read any Kipling. She gave me a very confused look...
I wouldn't say he was racist, he writes well of many of the African tribes and Indian troops, with respect and even honors their memory. He was a product of the British Empire, they owned a huge portion of the world for a long time, and most places that were under their control continue to flourish and seek to better themselves. And I'm not just counting the anglo-saxon areas. India, for all its problems is going to be a huge world power. Saying someone from that time was racist is a fallacy, you are attempting to apply your moral and ethic credo to a time and place where none existed. Its like saying driving off the Indians was immoral. Sure, in our time it may be wrong, but for a Texas farmer in the 1830's? It was life or death. Quoted:
Quoted:
Quoted:
He was a racist. Say the antiwhites. I picked up some Required Reading for a College indoctrination course off a friends bookshelf the other day called Mentor Book of Major British Poets Nowhere in it was a Kipling poem found....Major British Poets..... I was talking to an English major taking a Brit Lit. class. I asked if they read any Kipling. She gave me a very confused look...
I wouldn't say he was racist, he writes well of many of the African tribes and Indian troops, with respect and even honors their memory. He was a product of the British Empire, they owned a huge portion of the world for a long time, and most places that were under their control continue to flourish and seek to better themselves. And I'm not just counting the anglo-saxon areas. India, for all its problems is going to be a huge world power. Saying someone from that time was racist is a fallacy, you are attempting to apply your moral and ethic credo to a time and place where none existed. Its like saying driving off the Indians was immoral. Sure, in our time it may be wrong, but for a Texas farmer in the 1830's? It was life or death. Interesting. Sad about the Lit major. Agreed. Imperialism aside, Id say he was the product of a healthy nation. Healthy nations transcend time and care not for fleeting credos. |