Thanks ever so much Davey Mac for unearthing it......................... I was going to research it later this weekend.Dave McNamara wrote:Plus one to what Loris wrote, James!loris wrote: Don't delete you old posts young man............. you are part of our Saintsational history. I'm one who respects history be it good/bad or indifferent.
Was it Omar Kyham who wrote a poem that went something along these lines.....................?
"The moving finger have writ, moves on
Nor all thy piety, nor wit
can lure it back, to cancel but one line.
Bit hazy on the actual verse these days.....but these were the sentiments JR
And Loris, not very hazy at all...
Omar Khayyám wrote: The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit,
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
But helpless pieces in the game He plays,
Upon this chequer-board of Nights and Days,
He hither and thither moves, and checks… and slays,
Then one by one, back in the Closet lays.
And, as the c**k crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted— “Open then the Door!
You know how little time we have to stay,
And once departed, may return no more.”
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou,
Beside me singing in the Wilderness,
And oh, Wilderness is Paradise enow.
Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out of the same Door as in I went.
With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with my own hand labour’d it to grow:
And this was all the Harvest that I reap’d—
“I came like Water, and like Wind I go.”
Into this Universe, and why not knowing,
Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing:
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop’t we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to It for help—for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.
(Hey, that's not bad for an Arab...)
Isn't it truly wonderful (yep for an Arab
)? I was in my 1st year of High School when an English teacher sprouted forth this poem to his class of pimply faced disinterested teenagers, most giggled and laughed with comments like...........Sir what does it mean? Is he a Wog or a Gypo Sir/ He has a funny name. etc, etc........... however, for this pimply , freckly faced kid, it started a life long love affair with poetry.
Also it started a school-girl crush on Mr White......... he was, short, chubby and bald, not the usual teacher a school girl would get a crush on
Neverless, I hung on every word Mr White uttered throught my whole time at high school. I don't think I have re-visited that poem since 1961......when I left school. Ah that's the beauty of poetry............ one can always summons up some long lost lines, stanzas, verses to elaborate a contemporary point.
Mr White would have been very annoyed that I couldn't spell Omar's surname correctly.................. thanks for guiding me along the path of accuracy Davey Mac
