alisonism #2: "Pause as necessary."

When people are reading poetry out loud, I don't like it when they read like this:

"And there sat Sam.

looking cool and calm.

in the heart of the furnace roar.

And he wore a smile.

you could see a mile.

and he said.

"Please close that door.

It's fine in here.

but I greatly fear.

you'll let in the cold and storm.

Since I left Plumtree.

down in Tennessee.

it's the first time I've been warm."

Because poems should be read like this:

"And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar, and he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said, "Please close that door.  It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm. Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."

And in celebration of good poems, I leave you with this one, the one I just quoted, that I know because of my grandpa and his brother. :)  (It's long but worth it, people.  If you haven't read it, you should.)

The Cremation of Sam McGee

by Robert Service

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

That would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,

But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge

I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee,

where the cotton blooms and blows.

Why he left his home in the South to roam

'round the Pole, God only knows.

He was always cold but the land of gold

seemed to hold him like a spell;

Though he'd often say in his homely way

that he'd sooner live in hell.

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way

over the Dawson trail.

Talk of your cold! Through the parka's fold,

it stabbed like a driven nail.

If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze

till sometimes we couldn't see.

It wasn't much fun, but the only one

to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight

in our robes beneath the snow,

And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead

were dancing heel and toe,

He turned to me and "Cap," says he,

"I'll cash in this trip, I guess;

And if I do, I'm asking that you 

won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; 

then he says with a sort of moan,

"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold

till I'm chilled clean through to thte bone.

Yet taint being dead - it's my awful dread

of the ice grave that pains;

So I want you to swear that, foul or fair,

you'll cremate my last remains.

A pal's last need is a thing to heed,

so I swore I would not fail;

And we started on at the streak of dawn

but Oh! he looked ghastly pale.

He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day

of his home in Tennessee;

And before nightfall a corpse was all

that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death,

and I hurried, horror-driven,

with a corpse half-hid that I couldn't get rid

because of a promise given.

It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say,

"You may tax your brawn and brains,

But you promised true, and it's up to you

to cremate these last remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid,

and the trail has its own stern code.

In the days to come, though my lips were dumb,

in my heart, how I cursed that load!

In the long, long night, by the lone firelight,

while the huskies, round in a ring,

howled out their woes to the homeless snows - 

Oh, how I loathed the thing!

And every day that quiet clay

seemed to heavy and heavier grow;

And on I went, though the dogs were spent

and the grub was getting low.

The trail was bad, and I felt half mad,

but I swore I would not give in; 

And I'd often sing to the hateful thing,

and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge,

and a derelict there lay;

It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice

it was called the Alice May.

And I looked at it, and I thought a bit,

and I looked at my frozen chum.

Then, "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my crematorium!"

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor

and I lit the boiler fire;

Some coal I found that was lying around,

and I heaped the fuel higher;

The flames just soared, and the furnace roared

such a blaze you seldom see.

And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal

and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like

to hear him sizzle so.

And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled,

and the wind began to blow.

It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled

down my cheeks, and I don't know why;

And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak

went streaking down the sky.

I do not now how long in the snow

I wrestled with grisly fear,

but the stars came out and they danced about 

ere again I ventured near.

I was sick with dead, but I bravely said,

"I'll just take a peep inside.

I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked."

Then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm,

in the heart of the furnace roar;

And he wore a smile you could see a mile,

and he said, "Please close that door.

It's fine in here, but I greatly fear

you'll let in the cold and storm - 

Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee,

it's the first time I've been warm."

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

by the men who moil for gold.

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

that would make your blood run cold.

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,

but the queerest they ever did see

was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge

I cremated Sam McGee.