THE MANLY POETS

HOMER (War Correspondent)

JUVENAL (Satirist)

LI PO (Mountain recluse)

HAFIZ (Party Animal)

DANTE ALIGHIERI (Exile)

FRANK PETRARCA (Lover)

PHIL SIDNEY (Soldier, Spy)

BILL SHAKESPEARE (Screen Writer)

CHRIS MARLOWE (Killed in Bar)

JOHN MILTON (Government Official)

ALEX POPE (Gardener)

LORD BYRON (M.P.,seducer, funded Greek independence)

P.B. SHELLEY (Rogue, drowned sailing)

JOHN KEATS (Medical Student, dead at 26)

SAM COLERIDGE (Trading Co. Official, Opium Addict)

BILL WORDSWORTH (Hiker)

ED POE (Secret Code Writer, Horror Writer)

LORD TENNYSON (Tobacco & Whiskey Stinking)

ARTHUR RIMBAUD (Rock quarry foreman, weapons dealer)

FORD MADOX FORD (Womanizer, War Propaganda Office Director)

RICHARD ALDINGTON (Soldier)

PAUL ENGLE (Fundraiser)

EZRA POUND (Traitor)

JAMES DICKEY (World War Two Pilot)

BILLY COLLINS (Best-Selling Author)

GARY B. FITZGERALD (Self-published, talks shit on blogs)

13 Comments

  1. The Noochie-Coochie Man said,

    August 6, 2010 at 11:33 am

    JOYCE KILMER (World War One Soldier, KIA)
    JAMES SALTER (Korean War Pilot)
    ROBERT GRAVES (World War One Soldier), as were:
    WILFRED OWEN
    RUPERT BROOKE
    DAVID JONES
    SIEGFRIED SASSOON

  2. Marcus Bales said,

    August 6, 2010 at 12:01 pm

    INNES RANDOLPH

    Good Old Rebel
    Major Innes Randolph (J.E.B. Stuart’s staff.)
    Collier’s Weekly, 1914

    Oh, I’m a good old Rebel,
    Now that’s just what I am;
    For this “fair land of Freedom”
    I do not care a damn.
    I’m glad I fit against it-
    I only wish we’d won.
    And I don’t want no pardon
    For anything I’ve done.

    I hates the Constitution,
    This “great Republic” too;
    I hates the Freedman Buro
    In uniforms of blue
    I hates that nasty eagle,
    With all his brag and fuss;
    And the lyin’, thievin’ Yankees
    I hates’ em wuss and wuss.

    I hates the Yankee nation,
    And everything they do;
    I hates the Declaration
    Of Independence too.
    I hates the “glorious Union,”
    ‘Tis dripping with our blood;
    And I hates the Union banner-
    I fit it all I could.

    I followed old Marse Robert
    For four years near about.
    Got wounded in three places,
    And starved at Point Lookout.
    I cotch the roomatism
    A-campin’ in the snow,
    But I killed a chance of Yankees-
    And I’d like to kill some mo’.

    Three hundred thousand Yankees
    Is stiff iin Southern dust;
    We got three hundred thousand
    Befo’ they conquered us.
    They died of Southern fever
    And Southern steel and shot;
    And I wish it was three million
    Instead of what we got.

    I can’t take up my musket
    And fight’ em now no mo’,
    But I ain’t a-goin’to love’ em,
    Now that is sartin sho';
    And I don’t want no pardon
    For what I was and am;
    And I won’t be reconstructed,
    And I do not give a damn.

    • thomasbrady said,

      August 6, 2010 at 6:33 pm

      I wonder if Major Randolph realizes that had the South killed “three million Yankees” and the South had won the war, the former United States, or at least the Confederacy, would have been carved up between Napoleon III (probably the Mississippi Valley) and Queen Victoria (aided by her cunning Foreign Secretary Lord Russell—Bertie Russell’s grandpa).

      Probably not.

  3. August 6, 2010 at 12:46 pm

    I’m pretty sure “I’m a Good Old Rebel” actually dates to the 1860’s or 70’s, with the Colliers apperance in 1914 its first publication. There is a great version of it featured in the 1980 Western “The Long Riders”–an excellent Western that features Stacy and Patrick Keach as Jesse and Frank James, David, Keith and a very young Bob Carradine as the three Younger brothers, Randy and Dennis Quaid as Clell Miller and his brother and two other brothers as the young cowardly Ford brothers who ultimately shoot Jesse in the back. Despite the somewhat contrived concept of casting brothers as brothers, it’s a very good western in the Sam Peckinpaw tradition. David Carradine as Cole Younger gives one of his most interesting performances.

    The song is very stirring, even for me, someone who has been extremely conscious since childhood that my unusual first name comes to me directly from my Union Civil War veteran great-great-grandfather, someone who automatically cheers against any southern team any time I happen to find myself watching a game I’m otherwise not interested in, someone who has avoided travelling through the American south ever since the short stint I spent in Columbus, GA for basic training, and who has personally brawled with the nasty redneck descendents of the confederacy on a few different occasions in my Army days, regularly invoking the 20th Maine Infantry and the fight on Little Round Top at Gettysburg during nearly every argument I ever had with one of those rednecks. I’d say it’s actually one of my favorite songs, as long as I focus on the fiddle and banjo and the first few lines and ignore the stuff about killing Yankees, of which I am proud to be one. I believe the song was also used in the adaptation of the Ron Hansen novel a couple of years ago that starred Brad Pitt and Casey Affleck.

    Briggs Seekins,
    manly poet–honest, I’m headed to New Jersey tonight so I can choke people out tomorrow at the North American Grappling Association Brawl on the Beach.

  4. thomasbrady said,

    August 6, 2010 at 12:47 pm

    Then mounte! then mounte, brave gallants, all,
    And don your helmes amaine:
    Deathe’s couriers, Fame and Honor, call
    Us to the field againe.
    No shrewish teares shall fill our eye
    When the sword-hilt’s in our hand, —
    Heart-whole we’ll part, and no whit sighe
    For the fayrest of the land;
    Let piping swaine, and craven wight,
    Thus weepe and puling crye,
    Our business is like men to fight.
    And hero-like to die !

    —William Motherwell (1797-1835) born in Glasgow, son of an ironmonger, Orangeman and Tory

  5. Marcus Bales said,

    August 6, 2010 at 1:21 pm

    Something to unman the manliest:

    Christmas in the Trenches
    John McCutcheon

    My name is Francis Tolliver, I come from Liverpool.
    Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.
    To Belgium and to Flanders, to Germany to here
    I fought for King and country I love dear.

    ‘Twas Christmas in the trenches, where the frost so bitter hung,
    The frozen fields of France were still, no Christmas song was sung
    Our families back in England were toasting us that day
    Their brave and glorious lads so far away.

    I was lying with my messmate on the cold and rocky ground
    When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound
    Says I, “Now listen up, me boys!” each soldier strained to hear
    As one young German voice sang out so clear.

    “He’s singing bloody well, you know!” my partner says to me
    Soon, one by one, each German voice joined in in harmony
    The cannons rested silent, the gas clouds rolled no more
    As Christmas brought us respite from the war

    As soon as they were finished and a reverent pause was spent
    “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” struck up some lads from Kent
    The next they sang was “Stille Nacht.” “Tis `Silent Night’,” says I
    And in two tongues one song filled up that sky

    “There’s someone coming toward us!” the front line sentry cried
    All sights were fixed on one long figure trudging from their side
    His truce flag, like a Christmas star, shown on that plain so bright
    As he bravely strode unarmed into the night.

    Soon one by one on either side walked into No Man’s Land
    With neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to hand
    We shared some secret brandy and we wished each other well
    And in a flare-lit soccer game we gave ‘em hell.

    We traded chocolates, cigarettes, and photographs from home
    These sons and fathers far away from families of their own
    Young Sanders played his squeezebox and they had a violin
    This curious and unlikely band of men.

    Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more
    With sad farewells we each prepared to settle back to war
    But the question haunted every heart that lived that wonderous night
    “Whose family have I fixed within my sights?”

    ‘Twas Christmas in the trenches where the frost so bitter hung
    The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung
    For the walls they’d kept between us to exact the work of war
    Had been crumbled and were gone forevermore.

    My name is Francis Tolliver, in Liverpool I dwell
    Each Christmas come since World War I, I’ve learned its lessons well
    That the ones who call the shots won’t be among the dead and lame
    And on each end of the rifle we’re the same.

  6. August 6, 2010 at 2:33 pm

    I’ve always found the Christmas truce to be an extremely touching example of what humanity can spontaneously be capable of…and the fact that they all returned to their trenches to continue slaughtering each other one of the most depressing examples of how easily we can be herded into insanity.

  7. The Noochie-Coochie Man said,

    August 6, 2010 at 4:35 pm

    LANGSTON HUGHES (made his points while maintaining his cool at HUAC hearings)

  8. The Noochie-Coochie Man said,

    August 6, 2010 at 4:54 pm

    KIM CHI HA (Korean “barricades” poet, veteran of numerous face-offs against baton-wielding police)

  9. August 6, 2010 at 5:08 pm

    Okay, Tom, so you do have a sense of humor. Let me join the fun:

    E.E. Cummings (Womanizer)

    Dylan Thomas (Drunkard)

    Franz Wright (Pulitzer Prize, talks shit on blogs)

    • thomasbrady said,

      August 6, 2010 at 5:46 pm

      Putting forward other manly poets…well done, Gary.

      I hope you’ve prepared something, too. You’ll be expected to give a short speech between the supper and cigars this evening…

  10. August 6, 2010 at 6:01 pm

    You also forgot Sappho.

    Har har!

    • thomasbrady said,

      August 6, 2010 at 6:35 pm

      Work her into your speech…but you might offend the men…


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