Alfred Noyes - What Grandfather SaidAlfred Noyes - What Grandfather Said
Work rating:
Low
(_An epistle from a narrow-minded old gentleman to a young artist of
superior intellect and intense realism._)
Your thoughts are for the poor and weak?
Ah, no, the picturesque`s your passion!
Your tongue is always in your cheek
At poverty that`s not in fashion.
You like a ploughman`s rugged face,
Or painted eyes in Piccadilly;
But bowler hats are commonplace,
And thread-bare tradesmen simply silly.
The clerk that sings "God save the King,"
And still believes his Tory paper,--
You hate the anæmic fool? I thought
You loved the weak! Was that all vapour?
Ah, when you sneer, dear democrat,
At such a shiny-trousered Tory
Because he doffs his poor old hat
To what he thinks his country`s glory,
To you it`s just a coloured rag.
You hate the "patriots" that bawl so.
Well, my Ulysses, there`s a flag
That lifts men in Republics also.
No doubt his thoughts are cruder far;
And, where those linen folds are shaking,
Perhaps he sees a kind of star
Because his eyes are tired and aching.
Banal enough! Banal as truth!
But I`m not thinking of his banners.
I`m thinking of his pinched white youth
And your disgusting "new art" manners.
His meek submission stirs your hate?
Better, my lad, if you`re so fervent,
Turn your cold steel against the State
Instead of sneering at the servant.
He does his job. He draws his pay.
You sneer, and dine with those that pay him;
And then you write a snobbish play
For democrats, in which you play him.
Ah, yes, you like simplicity
That sucks its cheeks to make the dimple.
But this domestic bourgeoisie
You hate,--because it`s all too simple.
You hate the hearth, the wife, the child,
You hate the heavens that bend above them.
Your simple folk must all run wild
Like jungle-beasts before you love them.
You own a house in Cheyne Walk,
(You say it costs three thousand fully)
Where subtle snobs can talk and talk
And play the intellectual bully.
Yes. I say "snobs." Are names alone
Free from all change? Your word "Victorian"
Could bite and sting in ninety one
But now--it`s deader than the saurian.
You think I live in yesterday,
Because I think your way the wrong one;
But I have hewed and ploughed my way,
And--unlike yours--it`s been a long one.
I let Victoria toll her bell,
And went with Strindberg for a ride, sir.
I`ve fought through your own day as well,
And come out on the other side, sir,--
The further side, the morning side,
I read free verse (the Psalms) on Sunday.
But I`ve decided (you`ll decide)
That there is room for song on Monday.
I`ve seen the new snob on his way,
The intellectual snob I mean, sir,
The artist snob, in book and play,
Kicking his mother round the scene, sir.
I`ve heard the Tories talk like fools;
And the rich fool that apes the Tory.
I`ve seen the shopmen break your rules
And die like Christ, in Christ`s own glory.
But, as for you, that liberal sneer
Reminds me of the poor old Kaiser.
He was a "socialist," my dear.
Well, I`m your grandson. You`ll grow wiser.
Source
The script ran 0.002 seconds.