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Sunday, 7 February 2010

...and another poem

Ok, only my most loyal readers will remember my last masterpiece about the red spider mite. It's just one of those things. You work on the land and you just feel one with nature, so you can't help but be inspired.

So today it happened again, as I was digging over a particularly weed infested bed the muse kissed me, or rather hit me over the back of the head with a large club (otherwise Susan would have complained anyway: "Who's that tart you've been canoodling with?") and here's the result:

The Root
Root, oh root within the earth,
of thou* a favour I'd like to ask,
To a weed, I know, thou wilst give birth,
Which leaves me with one cruel task.

To pull thou out by thy head,
To remove from my veg'tables thy threat
So why don't thou savest us both this arduous toil
And simply stay beneath the soil.

Footnotes for younger readers: In the olden** days people used to say thou instead of you and thy for your, which sounded more poetic, though knowst***. They also added _st to the 3rd person singular like the Germans (see German: du binst = thou arst).
**In the olden days they also said olden instead of old, not sure why. There used to be an insult directed at people who hadn't had a bath in a while (which apparently was quite common): "Thou olden swyne!" The original meaning of this phrase has been lost in the mists of sage... thyme! Sorry thyme, not sage.
***Thou knowst was a popular turn of phrase in the olden days.

I retain all copyrights to this poem for any reprinting or public recitals. Allright, Mr H. you may read it to Mrs. H. I had to recite it to Susan a few times, so I guess that means it's quite deep. Well it is about roots after all...


Mr. H. said...

Thou hast written a most beautiful poem. If the stars align and after a few sips of red wine perhaps I will forgo the usual sweet nothings and recite your root poetry to Mrs. H tonight.:)

Ayak said...

I love it! Oh Heiko you really do make me laugh out loud sometimes..never give up blogging please!

Stefaneener said...

Oh, to what depths the poetic muse will sink. . .

Heiko said...

Mr. H., I Hope Mrs. H. enjoyed the recital (presumably you filled her up with plenty of that red wine first...).

Ayak, no worries, I'm having far too much fun.

Stefani, sink? SINK?? What on earth do you mean?

Jan said...

Lovely poem... but just get on with it man!! The digging out I mean, or they'll only come back twenty-fold!

GetSoiled said...

Thou must stoppeth the mixing of pills and alcoholeth!!!


Thanks for the laugh!

Angela said...

Olden comes from alten, or rather ollen, of course. Die alten Schweine, die! Waschen sich nicht! Old not being taken literally, but as an insult. Die blöden alten Unkräuter kommen einfach immer wieder. Bei mir auch!
Thanks for this very inspired poem.
I remember one that my brother made. It began
durch den Kohl,
Bäuche hohl...
I`ll spare you the rest. But oh, how I am waiting also to get my hands into our soil again. But we expect even lower temps and more snow. Bleah. Der olle Schnee!

Heiko said...

Jan, you're a bit of a slave driver aren't you? You'll get the whip out next.

Get Soiled, is that what it was? There was me thinking it was the muse!

Angela, you can always trust a German to explain things properly. So rational you people! ;-)

Angela said...

Are you making fun of me??? Can you see my frowning face? Maybe I should get that whip out for you, too!

Heiko said...

Wouldn't dream of it, Angela... (if I had a whistling smiley, I'd add it here)

CJ said...

Ha ha nice poem! It reminded me of poetry classes in high school!

Anna said...

Heiko, I'm steel laughing...just fantactic poem! :-)

chaiselongue said...

Definitely deserves a place in an anthology of victorian nature poetry! But Jan's right - thou shouldst dig them out!

Heiko said...

Chaiselongue, if ever you are looking for a lecturer on your creative writing courses, you know where to find me...