Joy it is to hear
The sound of birds in springtime:
Life is in their song
A Spring Haiku
Monthly Archives: April 2021
Miss Otis Regrets
The Story behind the song . . . This song, a favourite of mine, was composed by Cole Porter in 1934. It tells in wistful, melancholic mood, of a lady who, distraught after her lover’s taking advantage of her, but then unceremoniously abandoning her, kills him with a single shot of her gun. She then, after a final apology, just before she is lynched by a revengeful mob, apologises with the words, “Miss Otis regrets she’s unable to lunch today”
The following uncorroborated story is told of how Cole Porter came to write “Miss Otis Regrets“
It goes that while Cole Porter was dining in a restaurant, he boasted that he could write a song on any subject. His companion then issued a challenge to write one about whatever the next thing was that they overheard being said. At this point a waiter is supposed to have approached another table and said to the diner waiting for someone to join them “Miss Otis regrets she’s unable to lunch today, Madam“.
I give the song’s lyrics below, followed by a link to my favourite version, sung by Brian Ferry, originally lead singer with Roxy Music, now a mainly solo artist . . .
“Miss Otis Regrets” – The Lyrics
Miss Otis regrets she’s unable to lunch today, Madam
Miss Otis regrets she’s unable to lunch today
She is sorry to be delayed
But last evening down on Lovers Lane she strayed, Madam
Miss Otis regrets she’s unable to lunch today.
When she woke up and found that her dream of love was gone, Madam
She ran to the man who had led her so far astray
And from under her velvet gown
She drew a gun and shot her lover down, Madam
Miss Otis regrets she’s unable to lunch today.
When the mob came and got her and dragged her from the jail, Madam
They strung her upon the old willow ‘cross the way
And the moment before she died
She lifted up her lovely head and cried, Madam
Miss Otis regrets she’s unable to lunch today
Miss Otis regrets she’s unable to lunch today.
Hope – a Sequence from 2020
Walk, Eat, Sleep, Wake,
Little to do
To myself I talk
Thus the story
of twenty-twenty
Gone the years
of more and plenty
Cover my face
as in disgrace
Cross my heart
and keep apart
Cuddles banned
Hugs verboten
Kiss me quick
all that forgotten
When will it end
and will it ever
A Life to live
A love to sever
Lock me up
they might as well
For where I am
there I dwell
Nothing but time
to fill each day
And time never ends
so here I stay
Locked in this cell
not feeling well
Till hope returns
and once again
within me burns
I’m Thinking: A Dialogue
A. Don’t interrupt me when I’m thinking.
B. What about?
A. You wouldn’t want to know.
B. Why? Is it a secret?
A. Could be.
B. Tell me.
A. Wouldn’t be a secret if I did.
B. Now you intrigue me.
A. Secrets are for keeping to yourself.
B. Who says?
A. That’s the definition of a secret.
B. But if you tell me I won’t tell anyone.
A. If I do tell you it won’t be a secret any more.
B. But only you and I will know.
A. But then someone else might ask you to tell them.
B. But I won’t tell them.
A. But that’s what you said to me.
B. I did?
A. Yes … And then you told me.
B. Did I?
A. Oh!
B. It’s no secret that you can’t keep a secret, you know.
A. Is it?
B. How do you know that?
A. It’s a secret.
B. Tell me.
A. No,
B. Why?
A. It wouldn’t be a secret if I did.
Released Into Life
Life lacks lustre
And my world is grey;
As it re-awakes,
Is it here to stay?
I’ve slumbered long
In my cocoon,
Sheltered and shielded
‘Neath a midday moon.
Spring with its joy
Struggles to bring
Its warmth and colour,
Its song to sing.
But after the storm
The clouds disperse;
I await with hope
To end my verse.
Time For The Fox
Photo: WHB 2015
atop the coop
waiting
always waiting
watching
constant watching
a lifetime of watching
and waiting
sleeping too
but always wary
wary
and cunning
on that
my life
their lives
their deaths
depend
catch them off guard
find or force an entry
feather whirlwind
blood so red
sound abounds
then escape
back to my den
prize in my jaws
cubs satisfied
another day survived
one more day alive
to thrive
before I start again
one more fox
one fewer chicken
scales swinging
a sort of balance
is kept
for now
Remembering
Tell me stories,
Sing me hymns.
As I remember
Let me weep.
Time is passing,
Friends are leaving,
Do I want
More hours to keep.
Midst purple heather,
Bracken brown,
Grass close cut
By hillside sheep.
Blue bells ring,
Rose berries ripen,
Let me lie
Both warm and deep.
Green hills surround
Where I was born;
Let me again
Amongst them sleep.
Clytie
Pen & Ink Drawing of George \frederick Watts’ sculptured bust of CLYTIE . . . by W.H.B.
In the verses below, I attempt to express Clytie’s plight when she finds her love for the Son God, Helios, rejected, and she is committed to watch his daily flight across the heavens in his winged chariot . Eventually she is transformed into a sunflower or heliotrope , condemned for ever to follow the sun’s movements across the sky.
CLYTIE
As dusk takes over from the day
I stand on Helios’ shore and weep.
Light for my soul,
Lust for my life;
These no more can I strive to keep.
Yet there is hope because the night
Is followed by expectant day.
The sun will rise
With hope intact,
And I’ll revive my destined way.
The languid sun will lift at dawn
Over the shimmering tranquil sea.
It is my dreams,
My Holy Grail,
And promises new hopes to me.
The sun renews its daily task.
As Clytie, I still strive to meld
Lovers’ aubade,
Their serenade.
With this till dusk my life is held.
Time’s chariot, its path I trace;
Helios arcs across the sky.
Till evening ends
In blood red gore,
And once again I die.
But then again the cycle breaks
When dawn extends to dusk its kiss.
It’s carmine clinch,
Crimson caress,
Herald again life’s feud with bliss.
Clytie is a figure from Ancient Greek mythology. She was a water nymph, daughter of Oceanus and Tethys in Greek mythology. Clytia loved Helios in vain.[ My Poem was Previously published – Sep., 2016 ]
Let Life Begin
My covid story
I rehearse …
I tell its story
In rhyming verse.
To be in England
Now April’s here;
Come lockdown’s end
I’ll give a cheer.
I’ve lived alone
In a bee-loud glade,
And sung the song
That covid made.
Now let me dance
With the daffodils,
And no more seek
For frills and thrills.
A holiday
I can’t afford;
I’ll stay at home,
Not travel abroad.
A cold winter
We’ve had of it;
Let life begin,
Lickety split.
With appreciative nods in the direction of…Robert Browning; W.B.Yeats; William Wordsworth; T.S.Eliot
My Bobby Dazzler
‘Ow do, lass, tha’s a stunner,
I aint seen ‘out like ‘thee afoor.
Th’as luvly as t’sun after t’rain
I’m as sure as I’m sure I am sure.
Tha’s such a reyt bobby-dazzler,
Tha’s taken mi breath clear away
And I’ll nivver find a better,
So one day it’s a bridal bouquet.
And when we git married I’ll luv thee,
I’ll look after thee till I die;
And when we’re tigether in t’eaven
Tha’ll still be a-dazzling me eye.
‘Bobby-dazzler’ was originally a North East England dialect term for a person who is affectionately considered as being beautiful or remarkable. In have attempted to write these 3 verses in a North Yorkshire dialect,
Roland's Ragbag 