More Kipling

While I love poetry, and Kipling is by far my favorite, it's been the Didact who not only has been posting excellent works, but has been focusing on the works and observations of this man.

Go see his latest post. Like much of Kiplings work it ponders human nature, and more broadly applies than at first glance.  In a more general sense, it applies to those with no skin in the game who nevertheless wish to tell you what to do, and backseat drivers.

As an aside - it's one thing to seek advice from someone with knowledge and no skin in the game, or seeing something, give advice when you have relevant wisdom, but in the end, the recipient of the advice is the one to choose. The evils of socialism come from those who have no skin in the game dictating to us, rather than simply informing us.

How can you tell the difference?

Look how they treat you when you say know, and if they try to make you do it anyway, "for your own good".

Like all things, there are exceptions, like intervening in a drug addicts life. But even there, one should be careful, because unless the addict realizes how bad their life has become, unless they want to change, they won't.

Macdonough's Song

Few realize that Rudyard Kipling also wrote a couple of science fiction stories - With the Night Mail and As Easy as ABC. Both feature a international organization - the Aerial Board of Control - that managed all airship traffic and supressed nationalist tendencies. The second of the stories, As Easy as A. B. C. in particular deals with a a Board of Control ship supressing a democratic revolt in Chicago.

It's interesting on several fronts. Namely - this is presented as a supposedly a utopian setting. People live longer, the economy is stable, etc. yet people yearn for more. The system is breaking down, and even the rulers are disillusioned with the world they wrought. The rebels have a vitality that, even as the A.B.C. stamps them out, the world society lacks.

To me though, the strongest argument that internationalism wasn't Kipling's ideal, even if he supposed it would come about, was the song that - within the context of the stories - was banned.

Many people think of "If" when they think of Kipling. Others "Gods of the Copybook Headings". Among my Cherished favorites are "The 'Eathen", and "Sons of Martha", and many more besides.

My favorite is "MacDonough's Song."

Macdonough's Song
"As easy as A B C"--A Diversity of Creatures" 

Whether the State can loose and bind
   In Heaven as well as on Earth:
If it be wiser to kill mankind
  Before or after the birth--
These are matters of high concern
   Where State-kept schoolmen are;
But Holy State (we have lived to learn)
    Endeth in Holy War.

Whether The People be led by The Lord,
    Or lured by the loudest throat:
If it be quicker to die by the sword
  Or cheaper to die by vote--
These are things we have dealt with once,
  (And they will not rise from their grave)
For Holy People, however it runs,
  Endeth in wholly Slave.

Whatsoever, for any cause,
    Seeketh to take or give
Power above or beyond the Laws,
    Suffer it not to live!
Holy State or Holy King--
   Or Holy People's Will--
Have no truck with the senseless thing.
   Order the guns and kill!
        Saying --after--me:--

Once there was The People--Terror gave it birth;
Once there was The People and it made a Hell of Earth
Earth arose and crushed it. Listen, 0 ye slain!
Once there was The People--it shall never be again!

                    ---Rudyard Kipling

The Eathen

I sortof knew Kipling did poetry, if only because of the scraps of doggerel found in The Jungle Book and Just So Stories. Yet somehow, until nearly high school, and picking up a copy of the fourth volume of the "There Will Be War" series by Pournelle (because I already loved the collected short stories in "The Mercenary" and hey, the cover looked cool...), I had completely avoided discovering he was a fucking poet of the first order.

And then I read "The 'Eathen"

Poetry is meant to be read aloud, and you can't help, due to his punctuation, to read this in anything but a better or worse approximation of an english accent.

The 'eathen

The 'eathen in 'is blindness bows down to wood an' stone;
'E don't obey no orders unless they is 'is own;
'E keeps 'is side-arms awful: 'e leaves 'em all about,
An' then comes up the Regiment an' pokes the 'eathen out.

  All along o' dirtiness, all along o' mess,
  All along o' doin' things rather-more-or-less,
  All along of abby-nay, kul, an' hazar-ho,
  Mind you keep your rifle an' yourself jus' so!

The young recruit is 'aughty -- 'e draf's from Gawd knows where;
They bid 'im show 'is stockin's an' lay 'is mattress square;
'E calls it bloomin' nonsense -- 'e doesn't know, no more --
An' then up comes 'is Company an'kicks'im round the floor!

The young recruit is 'ammered -- 'e takes it very hard;
'E 'angs 'is 'ead an' mutters -- 'e sulks about the yard;
'E talks o' "cruel tyrants" which 'e'll swing for by-an'-by,
An' the others 'ears an' mocks 'im, an' the boy goes orf to cry.

The young recruit is silly -- 'e thinks o' suicide.
'E's lost 'is gutter-devil; 'e 'asn't got 'is pride;
But day by day they kicks 'im, which 'elps 'im on a bit,
Till 'e finds 'isself one mornin' with a full an' proper kit.

  Gettin' clear o' dirtiness, gettin' done with mess,
  Gettin' shut o' doin' things rather-more-or-less;
  Not so fond of abby-nay, kul, nor hazar-ho,
  Learns to keep  'is ripe an "isself jus'so!

The young recruit is 'appy -- 'e throws a chest to suit;
You see 'im grow mustaches; you 'ear 'im slap' is boot.
'E learns to drop the "bloodies" from every word 'e slings,
An 'e shows an 'ealthy brisket when 'e strips for bars an' rings.

The cruel-tyrant-sergeants they watch 'im 'arf a year;
They watch 'im with 'is comrades, they watch 'im with 'is beer;
They watch 'im with the women at the regimental dance,
And the cruel-tyrant-sergeants send 'is name along for "Lance."

An' now 'e's 'arf o' nothin', an' all a private yet,
'Is room they up an' rags 'im to see what they will get.
They rags 'im low an' cunnin', each dirty trick they can,
But 'e learns to sweat 'is temper an 'e learns to sweat 'is man.

An', last, a Colour-Sergeant, as such to be obeyed,
'E schools 'is men at cricket, 'e tells 'em on parade,
They sees 'im quick an 'andy, uncommon set an' smart,
An' so 'e talks to orficers which 'ave the Core at 'eart.

'E learns to do 'is watchin' without it showin' plain;
'E learns to save a dummy, an' shove 'im straight again;
'E learns to check a ranker that's buyin' leave to shirk;
An 'e learns to make men like 'im so they'll learn to like their work.

An' when it comes to marchin' he'll see their socks are right,
An' when it comes: to action 'e shows 'em how to sight.
'E knows their ways of thinkin' and just what's in their mind;
'E knows when they are takin' on an' when they've fell be'ind.

'E knows each talkin' corp'ral that leads a squad astray;
'E feels 'is innards 'eavin', 'is bowels givin' way;
'E sees the blue-white faces all tryin 'ard to grin,
An 'e stands an' waits an' suffers till it's time to cap'em in.

An' now the hugly bullets come peckin' through the dust,
An' no one wants to face 'em, but every beggar must;
So, like a man in irons, which isn't glad to go,
They moves 'em off by companies uncommon stiff an' slow.

Of all 'is five years' schoolin' they don't remember much
Excep' the not retreatin', the step an' keepin' touch.
It looks like teachin' wasted when they duck an' spread an 'op --
But if 'e 'adn't learned 'em they'd be all about the shop.

An' now it's "'Oo goes backward?" an' now it's "'Oo comes on?"
And now it's "Get the doolies," an' now the Captain's gone;
An' now it's bloody murder, but all the while they 'ear
'Is voice, the same as barrick-drill, a-shepherdin' the rear.

'E's just as sick as they are, 'is 'eart is like to split,
But 'e works 'em, works 'em, works 'em till he feels them take the bit;
The rest is 'oldin' steady till the watchful bugles play,
An 'e lifts 'em, lifts 'em, lifts 'em through the charge that wins the day!

  The 'eathen in 'is blindness bows down to wood an' stone --
  'E don't obey no orders unless they is 'is own.
  The 'eathen in 'is blindness must end where 'e began
  But the backbone of the Army is the Non-commissioned Man!

  Keep away from dirtiness -- keep away from mess,
  Don't get into doin' things rather-more-or-less!
  Let's ha' done with abby-nay, kul, and hazar-ho;
  Mind you keep your rifle an' yourself jus' so!

Kipling: Study of an Elevation, In Indian Ink

Even back in my blue-pill and, bluntly, somewhat gamma days, I read this poem in high school and recognized what a sad, jealous, petty, sack of shit the narrator of this poem was.

Study of an Elevation, In Indian Ink

    This ditty is a string of lies.
     But-how the deuce did Gubbins rise?

          Potiphar Gubbins, C.E.
          Stands at the top of the tree;
And I muse in my bed on the reasons that led
          To the hoisting of Potiphar G.

          Potiphar Gubbins, C.E.,
          Is seven years junior to Me;
Each bridge that he makes either buckles or breaks,
          And his work is as rough as he.

          Potiphar Gubbins, C.E.,
          Is coarse as a chimpanzee;
And I can't understand why you gave him your hand,
          Lovely Mehitabel Lee.

          Potiphar Gubbins, C.E.,
          Is dear to the Powers that Be;
For They bow and They smile in an affable style,
          Which is seldom accorded to Me.

          Potiphar Gubbins, C.E.,
          Is certain as certain can be
Of a highly paid post which is claimed by a host
          Of seniors -- including Me.

          Careless and lazy is he,
          Greatly inferior to Me.
That is the spell that you manage so well,
          Commonplace Potiphar G.?

          Lovely Mehitabel Lee,
          Let me inquire of thee,
Should I have riz to where Potiphar is,
          Hadst thou been mated to Me?

             -Rudyard Kipling