Jul 2018
I NEVER HAS SEEN SNOW
I lived my life as if
I had been written
into a Barbara Pym novel
so prim and proper lady I
my soul smoother'd in camphor
yet my life...wot the mot hath got
and here I be
curled upon the Persian rug
in the foetal position
being born
into my dying
as it were
me an elaborate motif
beside an exquisite phoenix
oh the warp and woof of me
so this is death
rather nice
as these things go
not too much( ouch )pain
more easeful and slow and
when ya gotta go...ya...gotta go
rather like that Manx man
was it Brown...or...something
"...if thou couldst empty..." oh what is it?
"...all thy self of self
to be a shell dishabited..."
bit like ha ha that...innit( agghh )
wonder what an anthropologist
from...say...Borneo
would make of me
I'd guess I'd be
so quaintly ever so English
so cue-cumber sandwich
settling down with a Pimms and a Pym
being one of those Excellent Women
**** this dying....haven't even read the book
only got as far as
p.15...how mean
the great unread
the words sticking in my brain
something being "...a welcoming
sort of place...
with a bright entrance..."
as if Mr. Death were saying
"Why...that's what I am!"
"Yeah, yeah...sure sure'"
I answer all Film Noir
another of life's little pleasures
the stuffed bird
stares at me sternly
deigns to speak
"Now that you are going to be
as dead as me...may I
have a word?"
it coughs unaccustomed
as it is
to public speech
"It's not so bad
being dead
it's being stuffed that hurts!"
the cat joins in
with its customary "I'm starving...
ya couldn't open this tin?"
now the cat howls
oh to have opposable thumbs
or a can opener at least
the stuffed bird and the cat and I
singing along to Beverly Kenny
smiling from the record sleeve
"Oh this used to be
my favourite as a girl
'I Never Has Seen Snow."
"Oh the girl I used to be
she ain't me no more!"
I could always carry a tune
the stuffed bird can't
sing for nuts but
the cat's got a good tenor voice
me...I'm letting go
the world is walking out on me
the world don't want to know me no more
I've even forget
can you Adam and Eve it
how to spell... fo'c's'le
my garden looks in
the window at me
well here's a howdy do
I never was '...a lovesome thing..."
even when young
"God wot!"
hee hee hee T.E. Brown
appears to invade the mind
when one is dying
and what would that Borneo
anthropologist make of that
or my love of Jazz
grabbing the music
by the tail as it shape-shifts
improvises world upon world and beyond
oh to be dying
in a smokey jazz club
thoughts climbing a spiral staircase of smoke
"All that is...is not!"
now I wonder where
I got ha ha that
would the man from Borneo know
that is Phil Woods on
the Quincey Jones arrangement
"Oh I love sax me!
never could say the same
for ***
well - enough of that
better get on with
my death
and what better way to go
than with Beverly singing low
always thought I looked a bit like her
she smiles that record sleeve smile
the one I tried to sculpt
upon my own features
"I saw a new horizon
and a road to take me
where I wanted to be...needed to be.... took"
"God! I'm only starving!" yowls the cat
"Ya couldn't feed me before ya go...no
**** those...**** those cans!"
"Oh ****...oh ****!" she purrs
the record's...the record's...the record's
stuck
I lived my life as if
I had been written
into a Barbara Pym novel
so prim and proper lady I
my soul smoother'd in camphor
yet my life...wot the mot hath got
and here I be
curled upon the Persian rug
in the foetal position
being born
into my dying
as it were
me an elaborate motif
beside an exquisite phoenix
oh the warp and woof of me
so this is death
rather nice
as these things go
not too much( ouch )pain
more easeful and slow and
when ya gotta go...ya...gotta go
rather like that Manx man
was it Brown...or...something
"...if thou couldst empty..." oh what is it?
"...all thy self of self
to be a shell dishabited..."
bit like ha ha that...innit( agghh )
wonder what an anthropologist
from...say...Borneo
would make of me
I'd guess I'd be
so quaintly ever so English
so cue-cumber sandwich
settling down with a Pimms and a Pym
being one of those Excellent Women
**** this dying....haven't even read the book
only got as far as
p.15...how mean
the great unread
the words sticking in my brain
something being "...a welcoming
sort of place...
with a bright entrance..."
as if Mr. Death were saying
"Why...that's what I am!"
"Yeah, yeah...sure sure'"
I answer all Film Noir
another of life's little pleasures
the stuffed bird
stares at me sternly
deigns to speak
"Now that you are going to be
as dead as me...may I
have a word?"
it coughs unaccustomed
as it is
to public speech
"It's not so bad
being dead
it's being stuffed that hurts!"
the cat joins in
with its customary "I'm starving...
ya couldn't open this tin?"
now the cat howls
oh to have opposable thumbs
or a can opener at least
the stuffed bird and the cat and I
singing along to Beverly Kenny
smiling from the record sleeve
"Oh this used to be
my favourite as a girl
'I Never Has Seen Snow."
"Oh the girl I used to be
she ain't me no more!"
I could always carry a tune
the stuffed bird can't
sing for nuts but
the cat's got a good tenor voice
me...I'm letting go
the world is walking out on me
the world don't want to know me no more
I've even forget
can you Adam and Eve it
how to spell... fo'c's'le
my garden looks in
the window at me
well here's a howdy do
I never was '...a lovesome thing..."
even when young
"God wot!"
hee hee hee T.E. Brown
appears to invade the mind
when one is dying
and what would that Borneo
anthropologist make of that
or my love of Jazz
grabbing the music
by the tail as it shape-shifts
improvises world upon world and beyond
oh to be dying
in a smokey jazz club
thoughts climbing a spiral staircase of smoke
"All that is...is not!"
now I wonder where
I got ha ha that
would the man from Borneo know
that is Phil Woods on
the Quincey Jones arrangement
"Oh I love sax me!
never could say the same
for ***
well - enough of that
better get on with
my death
and what better way to go
than with Beverly singing low
always thought I looked a bit like her
she smiles that record sleeve smile
the one I tried to sculpt
upon my own features
"I saw a new horizon
and a road to take me
where I wanted to be...needed to be.... took"
"God! I'm only starving!" yowls the cat
"Ya couldn't feed me before ya go...no
**** those...**** those cans!"
"Oh ****...oh ****!" she purrs
the record's...the record's...the record's
stuck
INDWELLING
If thou couldst empty all thyself of self,
Like to a shell dishabited,
Then might He find thee on the Ocean shelf,
And say — "This is not dead," —
And fill thee with Himself instead.
But thou art all replete with very thou,
And hast such shrewd activity,
That, when He comes, He says — "This is enow
Unto itself — 'Twere better let it be:
It is so small and full, there is no room for Me."
T.E. BROWN
I Never Has Seen Snow Lyrics
I NEVER HAS SEEN SNOW
done lost my ugly spell
I am cheerful now
Got the warm all overs a-smoothin' my worried brow
Oh, the girl I used to be
She ain't me no more
I closed the door on the girl I was before
Feeling fine and full of bliss
What I really wants to say is this
I never has seen snow
All the same I know
Snow ain't so beautiful
Cain't be so beautiful
Like my love is
Like my love is
Nothing do compare
Nothing anywhere with my love
A hundred things I see
A twilight sky that's free
But none so beautiful
Not one so beautiful
Like my love is
Like my love is
Once you see his face
None can take the place of my love
A stone rolled off my heart
When I laid my eyes on
That near to me boy with that far away look
And right from the start
I saw a new horizon
And a road to take me where I wanted to be took
Needed to be took
And though
I never has seen snow
All the same I know
Nothing will ever be
Nothing can ever be
Beautiful as my love is
Like my love is to me
Harold Arlen/Truman Capote
from THE HOUSE OF FLOWERS musical
MY GARDEN
A GARDEN is a lovesome thing, God wot!
Rose plot,
Fringed pool,
Ferned grot—
The veriest school
Of peace ; and yet the fool
Contends that God is not—
Not God ! in gardens ! when the eve is cool?
Nay, but I have a sign;
‘Tis very sure God walks in mine.
T. E. BROWN
She used to sing along to the Quincey Jones arrangement with Phil Wood featuring....yea he of that famous alto sax solo on Billy Joel's JUST THE WAY YOU ARE.
Beverly Kenny is now more remembered for her I Hate Rock 'n' Roll but was a young up and coming singer who died too early by her own hand.
My lady in the poem did indeed look very much like her and one was often disconcerted by a record sleeve looking back at one with my lady's young face. I never cared for her much except for her version of I Never Has Seen Snow. Curiously the Japanese to this day adore her. I was more of a Julie London man don't ya know.
The rather excellent Barbara Pym was another stand by or go to...EXCELLENT WOMEN was her second book and on p.15 there indeed occurs the line...
"A vicarage ought to be a welcoming sort of place with a bright entrance."
She was Philip Larkin's favourite novelist.
My lady was the very model of a modern curmudgeon and not everyone could stand her but I got on well with her seeing as I knew both Brown and Pym and could sing along to I NEVER HAS SEEN SNOW.
fo'c's'le was necessary to complete a crossword and she was getting very cross at not being able all of a sudden to spell it.
The forecastle (abbreviated fo'c'sle or fo'c's'le)is the upper deck of a sailing ship forward of the foremast, or the forward part of a ship with the sailors' living quarters. Related to the latter meaning is the phrase "before the mast" which denotes anything related to ordinary sailors, as opposed to a ship's officers
If thou couldst empty all thyself of self,
Like to a shell dishabited,
Then might He find thee on the Ocean shelf,
And say — "This is not dead," —
And fill thee with Himself instead.
But thou art all replete with very thou,
And hast such shrewd activity,
That, when He comes, He says — "This is enow
Unto itself — 'Twere better let it be:
It is so small and full, there is no room for Me."
T.E. BROWN
I Never Has Seen Snow Lyrics
I NEVER HAS SEEN SNOW
done lost my ugly spell
I am cheerful now
Got the warm all overs a-smoothin' my worried brow
Oh, the girl I used to be
She ain't me no more
I closed the door on the girl I was before
Feeling fine and full of bliss
What I really wants to say is this
I never has seen snow
All the same I know
Snow ain't so beautiful
Cain't be so beautiful
Like my love is
Like my love is
Nothing do compare
Nothing anywhere with my love
A hundred things I see
A twilight sky that's free
But none so beautiful
Not one so beautiful
Like my love is
Like my love is
Once you see his face
None can take the place of my love
A stone rolled off my heart
When I laid my eyes on
That near to me boy with that far away look
And right from the start
I saw a new horizon
And a road to take me where I wanted to be took
Needed to be took
And though
I never has seen snow
All the same I know
Nothing will ever be
Nothing can ever be
Beautiful as my love is
Like my love is to me
Harold Arlen/Truman Capote
from THE HOUSE OF FLOWERS musical
MY GARDEN
A GARDEN is a lovesome thing, God wot!
Rose plot,
Fringed pool,
Ferned grot—
The veriest school
Of peace ; and yet the fool
Contends that God is not—
Not God ! in gardens ! when the eve is cool?
Nay, but I have a sign;
‘Tis very sure God walks in mine.
T. E. BROWN
She used to sing along to the Quincey Jones arrangement with Phil Wood featuring....yea he of that famous alto sax solo on Billy Joel's JUST THE WAY YOU ARE.
Beverly Kenny is now more remembered for her I Hate Rock 'n' Roll but was a young up and coming singer who died too early by her own hand.
My lady in the poem did indeed look very much like her and one was often disconcerted by a record sleeve looking back at one with my lady's young face. I never cared for her much except for her version of I Never Has Seen Snow. Curiously the Japanese to this day adore her. I was more of a Julie London man don't ya know.
The rather excellent Barbara Pym was another stand by or go to...EXCELLENT WOMEN was her second book and on p.15 there indeed occurs the line...
"A vicarage ought to be a welcoming sort of place with a bright entrance."
She was Philip Larkin's favourite novelist.
My lady was the very model of a modern curmudgeon and not everyone could stand her but I got on well with her seeing as I knew both Brown and Pym and could sing along to I NEVER HAS SEEN SNOW.
fo'c's'le was necessary to complete a crossword and she was getting very cross at not being able all of a sudden to spell it.
The forecastle (abbreviated fo'c'sle or fo'c's'le)is the upper deck of a sailing ship forward of the foremast, or the forward part of a ship with the sailors' living quarters. Related to the latter meaning is the phrase "before the mast" which denotes anything related to ordinary sailors, as opposed to a ship's officers
