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A Tale of the 'Evans, v. 3, issue 4, Fall 1945
Page 10
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Heap high the plate with victuals fine And loud your thanks be giving; What's mine is yours and yours is mine To show we're glad we're living. We'll eat the whole long list of things And think what we're enjoying, (Nor mind the pains dyspepsia brings, Nor other ills annoying.) Ah, Man, you boast of how you've scaled The heights of civ'lization, Yet gourmandizing has prevailed -- You eat for celebration. So long as there is grub enough You care not what the day means; Your thanks are all for food and stuff . . . Who, me? Yes, I'll take more beans! A hunk of verse like this not only brings a grin, but underneath it there is a solid message that will make some of its readers do a bit of solid thinking. So, too, another sample from the old scrapbook, about elections, politicians, and our duties as citizens: ELECTIONS. Now election day is over, Office holders are in clover, And the winning politicians bright and gay; With the dying of the thunder, One is forced to stop and wonder -- Will they think of us before next voting day? Oh, the promises they utter, (Tho who knows that 'tis they mutter), As they come around and ask us for their votes; 'Tis for us alone they labor; They, to us, are friend and neighbor, Why, to aid us they would gladly give their coats! Yes, they're full of protestations: They'll protect our habitations And will put our taxes down the lowest yet; And, alto we know they're fooling, Such has so far been our schooling, That we give them just the jobs they're out to get. Another distinct type of Newspaper Verse is the uplifting, optimistic, what-a-wonderful-world-this-is sort of thing. Perhaps no one has quite so well done this sort of verse as the Eddie Guest I mentioned. Altho he is often looked-down upon by those who claim he is no poet, his detractors entirely overlook the fact that Guest himself, never claims he is. Those who have heard him on the radio or at banquets or lectures where he has spoken have not heard him speak of his "poetry" -- but usually says "this little bit of mine", or "something I wrote recently". For Guest all too well realizes that he is a Newspaper Versifier -- and yet he has written some grand poems that will live long and long. I don't claim to be in Eddie Guest class, but here is one of my own that exemplifies this particular type:
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Heap high the plate with victuals fine And loud your thanks be giving; What's mine is yours and yours is mine To show we're glad we're living. We'll eat the whole long list of things And think what we're enjoying, (Nor mind the pains dyspepsia brings, Nor other ills annoying.) Ah, Man, you boast of how you've scaled The heights of civ'lization, Yet gourmandizing has prevailed -- You eat for celebration. So long as there is grub enough You care not what the day means; Your thanks are all for food and stuff . . . Who, me? Yes, I'll take more beans! A hunk of verse like this not only brings a grin, but underneath it there is a solid message that will make some of its readers do a bit of solid thinking. So, too, another sample from the old scrapbook, about elections, politicians, and our duties as citizens: ELECTIONS. Now election day is over, Office holders are in clover, And the winning politicians bright and gay; With the dying of the thunder, One is forced to stop and wonder -- Will they think of us before next voting day? Oh, the promises they utter, (Tho who knows that 'tis they mutter), As they come around and ask us for their votes; 'Tis for us alone they labor; They, to us, are friend and neighbor, Why, to aid us they would gladly give their coats! Yes, they're full of protestations: They'll protect our habitations And will put our taxes down the lowest yet; And, alto we know they're fooling, Such has so far been our schooling, That we give them just the jobs they're out to get. Another distinct type of Newspaper Verse is the uplifting, optimistic, what-a-wonderful-world-this-is sort of thing. Perhaps no one has quite so well done this sort of verse as the Eddie Guest I mentioned. Altho he is often looked-down upon by those who claim he is no poet, his detractors entirely overlook the fact that Guest himself, never claims he is. Those who have heard him on the radio or at banquets or lectures where he has spoken have not heard him speak of his "poetry" -- but usually says "this little bit of mine", or "something I wrote recently". For Guest all too well realizes that he is a Newspaper Versifier -- and yet he has written some grand poems that will live long and long. I don't claim to be in Eddie Guest class, but here is one of my own that exemplifies this particular type:
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