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[andrew]

There once was a man from Bazil
Who swallowed a dynamite pill
His stomach pespired, his arse backfired
and his sausage shot over a hill

[LewEngBridewell]

LEW:

You took the words right out of my mouth.

[andrew]

There was a young girl from Hong Kong,
whose cervical cap was a gong,
she said with a yell,
as a shot rang her bell,
“I’ll give you a ding for a dong!”

[andrew]

There once was a pansy from Khartoum,
who brought a lesbian up to his room,
they argued all night,
over who had the right,
to do what, with which, and to whom.

[LewEngBridewell]

I did a reading of the following poem by Bertolt Brecht a couple of years ago, when I was at drama school:

Who built the seven gates of Thebes?
The books are filled with names of kings.
Was it the kings who hauled the craggy blocks of stone?
And Babylon, so many times destroyed.
Who built the city up each time? In which of Lima's houses,
That city glittering with gold, lived those who built it?
In the evening when the Chinese wall was finished
Where did the masons go? Imperial Rome
Is full of arcs of triumph. Who reared them up? Over whom
Did the Caesars triumph? Byzantium lives in song.
Were all her dwellings palaces? And even in Atlantis of the legend
The night the seas rushed in,
The drowning men still bellowed for their slaves.

Young Alexander conquered India.
He alone?
Caesar beat the Gauls.
Was there not even a cook in his army?
Phillip of Spain wept as his fleet
was sunk and destroyed. Were there no other tears?
Frederick the Greek triumphed in the Seven Years War.
Who triumphed with him?

Each page a victory
At whose expense the victory ball?
Every ten years a great man,
Who paid the piper?

So many particulars.
So many questions.

[darwin dali]

I did a reading of the following poem by Bertolt Brecht a couple of years ago, when I was at drama school:

Who built the seven gates of Thebes?
The books are filled with names of kings.
Was it the kings who hauled the craggy blocks of stone?
And Babylon, so many times destroyed.
Who built the city up each time? In which of Lima's houses,
That city glittering with gold, lived those who built it?
In the evening when the Chinese wall was finished
Where did the masons go? Imperial Rome
Is full of arcs of triumph. Who reared them up? Over whom
Did the Caesars triumph? Byzantium lives in song.
Were all her dwellings palaces? And even in Atlantis of the legend
The night the seas rushed in,
The drowning men still bellowed for their slaves.

Young Alexander conquered India.
He alone?
Caesar beat the Gauls.
Was there not even a cook in his army?
Phillip of Spain wept as his fleet
was sunk and destroyed. Were there no other tears?
Frederick the Greek triumphed in the Seven Years War.
Who triumphed with him?

Each page a victory
At whose expense the victory ball?
Every ten years a great man,
Who paid the piper?

So many particulars.
So many questions.

And for the originally inclined - here's the real deal:

Fragen eines lesenden Arbeiters
Bertholt Brecht

Wer baute das siebentorige Theben?
In den Büchern stehen die Namen von Königen.
Haben die Könige die Felsbrocken herbeigeschleppt?
Und das mehrmals zerstörte Babylon -
Wer baute es so viele Male auf?
In welchen Häusern des goldstrahlenden Lima
wohnten die Bauleute?
Wohin gingen an dem Abend,
wo die Chinesische Mauer fertig war,
die Maurer?
Das große Rom Ist voll von Triumphbögen.
Wer errichtete sie?
Über wen Triumphierten die Cäsaren?
Hatte das vielbesungene Byzanz Nur Paläste für seine Bewohner?
Selbst in dem sagenhaften Atlantis
Brüllten in der Nacht, wo das Meer es verschlang,
Die Ersaufenden nach ihren Sklaven.

Der junge Alexander eroberte Indien.
Er allein?
Cäsar schlug die Gallier.
Hatte er nicht wenigstens einen Koch bei sich?
Philipp von Spanien weinte,
als seine Flotte Untergegangen war.
Weinte sonst niemand?
Friedrich der Zweite siegte im Siebenjährigen Krieg.
Wer Siegte außer ihm?
Jede Seite ein Sieg.
Wer kochte den Siegesschmaus?
Alle zehn Jahre ein großer Mann.
Wer bezahlte die Spesen?
So viele Berichte. So viele Fragen.

[LewEngBridewell]

It makes a fairly good point

[darwin dali]

It makes a fairly good point

Yeah, but the translation is rather crap.

[LewEngBridewell]

It makes a fairly good point

Yeah, but the translation is rather crap.

The translations vary. That was just one copied from a website. The translation I performed was done by H. R. Hays, and was slightly different.

[vaptin]

Young Alexander presumably refers to Alexander the Great? Not so sure he conquered India.

Don't entirely agree with the sentiment either.

[LewEngBridewell]

Young Alexander presumably refers to Alexander the Great? Not so sure he conquered India.

Don't entirely agree with the sentiment either.

Brecht was a Marxist to the very end.

[andrew]

Shame on Lew. You've neglected your poetry thread.

There once was a young man called Lew
Whose poetry thread turned to poo
It was revived by his pal Andrew
and everyone went woohoo

[LewEngBridewell]

The following poem is by Stevie Smith. I like it simply because it's a sentiment I've spent many hours explaining to people who simply cannot rid themselves of their rose-tinted specs.

People who are always praising the past,
And especially the times of faith as best,
Ought to go and live in the Middle Ages,
And be burnt at the stake as witches and sages.

Stevie Smith.

[Jabberwocky]

Ayrton Senna
by
Francis Duggan

Many claim he was the greatest the king of the fast lane
And that the likes of senna will not be seen again
The motor racing legend sacrificed his life for gain
And though he may be gone forever the memory will remain

Of the three times world champion who proved his driving skill
And a hero of the masses was the driver from brazil
But what use to him the glory or fame or fortune now
And without him motor racing will carry on somehow.

The motor racing deeds of ayrton senna now part of history
And his great duels with alain prost will live on in memory
But he met with the grim reaper and the grim reaper won
And he was just a mortal when all is said and done.

A motor racing legend he died in italy
And his fans claim he was the greatest no greater one than he
A three times world champion his was a revered name
But what use now to him fortune or what use now to him fame.

[andrew]

Oh what a sleekit horrible beastie
Lurks in your belly efter the feastie
Just as ye sit doon among yer kin
There sterts to stir an enormous wind
The neeps and tatties and mushy peas
Stert workin like a gentle breeze
But soon the puddin wi the sauncie face
Will have ye blawin all ower the place

Nae matter whit the hell ye dae
A'body's gonnae hiv tae pay
Even if ye try tae stifle
It's like a bullet oot a rifle
Hawd yer bum tight tae the chair
Tae try and stop the leakin air
Shifty yersel fae cheek tae cheek
Prae tae God it doesnae reek

But aw yer efforts go assunder
Oot it comes like a clap o thunder
Ricochets aroon the room
Michty me a sonic boom
God almighty it fairly reeks
Hope I huvnae s*** my breeks
Tae the bog I better scurry
Aw whit the hell it's no ma worry

A'body roon aboot me chokin
Wan or two are nearly bokin
I'll feel better for a while
Cannae help but raise a smile
Wiz him! I shout with accusin glower
Alas too late, he's just keeled ower
Ye dirty bugger they shout and stare
A dinnae feel welcome any mair

Where e'ere ye go let yer wind gan' free
Sounds like just the job fur me
Whit a fuss at rabbie's party
Ower the sake o one wee farty