I just read this and thought it a wonderful ballad.
Many laugh-out-loud parts (like the "Love Boat"!) and
the mixed-up slang among the crew. The Irish
interludes are sweet and savvy.

What was recalled by me most strongly was my father's
story of his ship escorting one of the bomb ships to
Hiroshima or Nagasaki (can't remember), though no one
knew it then; they were just the Navy bound for Japan.
Until, that is, they got a loud, intensely so, message
on the radio's emergency channel: "Turn back! Turn
back! Turn back!" (I get the shivers even now.)

Candice



--- joe green <[log in to unmask]> wrote:

> I just found this.  In my Spam folder for some damn
> reason.  It's wonderful.
>    
>   Are we doing nautical ballds?
>    
>   Ha.
>    
>   Here's one.
>    
>   The Sinking of the Bismarck
>    
>   It was Nineteen Hundred and Forty One. The war had
> just begun.
> The Germans had the biggest ships. They had the
> biggest guns.
> It was the biggest screw up the world had ever seen.
> They were hanging men and women too for the wearing
> of the green.
> 
> Then up spake my stout crewmen on the good ship
> Fiddler of Dee
> Human all too human. Here's what the said to me.
> “Einstein O'Brien! I hope you do agree!"
>   We gotta sink the Bismarck to the bottom of the
> sea!"
>    
>   I turned then to my stout crew and cries out
> “Sorry, men.
>   We’re getting the Hell out of here.  We won’t be
> back again.
>   We’re just a little fishing boat.  There’s nothing
> we can do.
>   We must save ourselves for our sweethearts dear at
> the Foggy Foggy Dew.”
>    
>   Ah, the name of that blessed tavern seemed to move
> them all.
>   Then Mo Shapiro shouted out a truth -- a truth
> that did appall.
>   “We can’t let them get to Ireland.  They’ll shut
> our dear pubs down!”
>   And though I had cried “Hard Astern!” I cried out
> “Turn Around!”
>    
>   I turned again to my good crew and shouted “Here
> we go!”
>   We’ll ram the Nazi Bastards but does anybody know.
>   What the Hell good that will do?”  But then I
> heard a voice.
>   It was the fine old baritone of the First Mate
> Jimmie Joyce.
>    
>   “Full speed, ahead!” brave Jimmie cried.  “Are ye
> Irish Jews or sissies?
>   I know just what we need to do. It’s in my tale of
> brave Ulysses.
>   “Full speed, ahead!” he cried again.  Oh ye brave
> gentlemen!
>   We got to sink the Bismarck with the Eternal
> Feminine!
>    
>   I want every man among ye to kneel down on the
> deck
>   And apologize sincerely for the lives of women ye
> have wrecked.
>   All your forlorn sweethearts and all your sainted
> mothers
>   And then you’ll all cry desperately for the
> another and another.
>    
>   Yes, all of the poor innocents killed in all your
> wars
>   And  those screwed by your religions -- your
> virgins and your whores 
>   And every single woman enslaved by feary fear
>   That some priestly poobah will say “Come here, my
> dear
>    
>   And fuck them up with all that crap. You know what
> crap I mean.
>   All that crap that’s the worst crap this sad
> world’s ever seen!”
>    
>   He eyed us then with his mad orbs-- his Betty
> Davis eyes--
>   But he had saved the best for last. Ah, Jimmie you
> are wise.
>   “If you can’t do it for the lasses given the cads
> you’ve been
>   Then remember that the Nazis will drink up all
> your malt and gin!”
>    
>   Then we all knelt down and cried aloud.  What
> happened next was queerly
>   Like what happens in a song when you find yourself
> sincerely
>   Suddenly not the jerk you are because something
> strange and new
>   Transcends the swarms of ugly harms that is the
> beast in you.
>    
>   So we raised a song against the wrong committed by
> sad men
>   To that Eternal Feminine as yet beyond our ken.
>   Including almost all women… with certain obvious
> exceptions
>   Like Messalina, Paris Hilton and…I won’t go in
> that direction.
>    
>   We sang that song but that song rang out unto an
> empty sky.
>   Where was the Eternal Feminine?  Surely we would
> die.
>    
>   Then we took heart and sang our song louder… then
> much louder.
>   Then suddenly there was a voice.  “Ah, boys could
> I be prouder?
>   Your song is heard where it is heard by the
> goddesses not gods
>   It is the best that you can do you pack of silly
> sods!”
>    
>   Ah!  We turned our eyes unto the skies and what do
> you think we see?
>   All Nine of the fair muses and many pissed off
> Valkyrie!
>   And you never will believe it but it’s a sight I
> won’t forget.
>   The sailors of the Bismarck began dancing a
> minuet!
>    
>   Then by the grace of the Immortal She we sang
> ourselves aboard
>   And the Nazi’s kept on dancing as we found where
> drink was stored.
>   And the Nine Muses laughed and laughed as I poured
> whisky down my throat.
>   And cried “The Bismarck ne’er shall be.  This is
> the Love Boat!”
>    
>   Then a whistle blew and the Bismarck’s crew jumped
> and swam for land.
>   And a new crew filled the upper deck.  First came
> the Samba Band.
>   They shook their sweet marimbas… began playing
> their guitars.
>   And we sailed through the air to the Southern sea
> beneath the moon and stars.
>    
>   The Bismarck’s now the Love Boat!  We got rid of
> all the guns.
>   The boat is all the sweet sweet forms -- all of 
> the immortal ones.
>   A rare and beauteous sailing ship of the really
> godly sort.
>   And, sadly we have passengers at almost every
> port.
>    
>   And the passengers we take aboard are all the
> innocent
>   Victims of the Godly wars from ungodly Heaven
> sent.
>   And they cruise with us eternally up in the
> May-warm sky.
>   Love goes on ever ever and the good will never
> die.
>    
>   Love goes on ever ever and the good will never
> die!
>    
>   
> 
> Patrick McManus <[log in to unmask]>
> wrote:
>   Jon I am singing this to myself -thanks -feels
> Brechtian - wonderful
> Patrick on The Ship of the Dead
> 
> 
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics
> [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
> Behalf Of Jon Corelis
> Sent: 04 July 2007 03:58
> To: [log in to unmask]
> Subject: Poem: The Ship of the Dead
> 
> The Ship of the Dead
> 
> 
> O who will sing that rudderless ship
> that has lost her destiny?
> With her sails in rags
> and her lines in snags,
> -- the Ship of the Dead is free!
> 
> The captain lies in a coma,
> his hands clutch helplessly,
> and the shantyman chokes
> and wheezes and croaks,
> 
=== message truncated ===



       
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