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Started By
Message
Let’s Discuss “The Ballad of Gunga Din” by Rudyard Kipling, Sung by Jim Croce
Posted on 3/26/22 at 4:37 am
Posted on 3/26/22 at 4:37 am
The Ballad of Gunga Din-Jim Croce
The Ballad of Gunga Din-Rudyard Kipling
You may talk of gin and beer
When you're stationed way out here
An' you're sent to penny fights an' Aldershot it
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work for water
An' you'll lick the bloomin boots of 'I'm that's got it
Now in Inja's sunny clime
Where I used to spend my time
Servin' her Majesty the Queen
Of all the black faced crew
The finest man I knew
Was regimental bhisti, Gunga Din
The uniform he wore
Was nothin' much before
An' rather less than half of that behind
But a piece of twisty rag
An' a goatskin water bag
Was all the field equipment he could find
When a sweatin' troop train lay
In a sidin' through the day
Where the heat would make you bloomin' eyebrows crawl
We shouted, "Harry By"
Till our throats were bricky-dry
Then wopped him 'cause he couldn't serve us all
He would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done
An' never seemed to know the use of fear
If we charged or broke or cut
You could bet your bloomin' nut
He'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear
With his mussick on his back
He would skip to our attack
An' watch us till the bugles made"Retire"
An' for all his dirty hide
He was white, clear white inside
When he went to tend the wounded under fire
It was Din, Din, Din
With the bullets kickin' dust spots on the green
And when the cartridges ran out
You could hear the front files shout
Send ammunition mules, and Gunga Din!
I shan't forget the night
When I fell behind the fight
With a bullet where my belt plate should a' been
I was chokin' mad with thirst
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din
He lifted up my head
An' he plugged me where I bled
An' he gave me half a pint of water green
It was crawlin' and it stunk
But of all the drinks I've drunk
I'm most grateful to the one from Gunga Din
He carried me away
To where a dooli lay
An' a bullet came and drilled the beggar clean
He carried me inside
An' just before he died
“I hope you like your drink” said Gunga Din
So I'll meet him later on
In the place where he as gone
Where it's always double drill and no canteen
He'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to poor damn souls
I'll catch a swig in hell from Gunga Din
It was Din, Din, Din
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din
Tho' I've belted you an' flayed you
By the livin' God that made you
Your a better man than I am, Gunga Din
This piece really speaks to me, especially brought to life by Jim Croce.
If you’ve never heard it, give it a read and listen.
It speaks to any man who’s had a dry throat, and thanked the man who slaked his thirst.
Though it echoes the typical English superiority, it does so in a way that humbles you. How for it all, when you’re in the shite, it doesn’t matter. It tears down those ranks and makes it clear that hardship and circumstances make equals of us all.
These days some woke sort would give it a cursory dismissal and condemn it for myriad-ism sins. and fools are they.
It’s a beautiful piece, and one of Kipling’s best.
It’s powerful.
Anyway,
To Gunga Din
The Ballad of Gunga Din-Rudyard Kipling
You may talk of gin and beer
When you're stationed way out here
An' you're sent to penny fights an' Aldershot it
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work for water
An' you'll lick the bloomin boots of 'I'm that's got it
Now in Inja's sunny clime
Where I used to spend my time
Servin' her Majesty the Queen
Of all the black faced crew
The finest man I knew
Was regimental bhisti, Gunga Din
The uniform he wore
Was nothin' much before
An' rather less than half of that behind
But a piece of twisty rag
An' a goatskin water bag
Was all the field equipment he could find
When a sweatin' troop train lay
In a sidin' through the day
Where the heat would make you bloomin' eyebrows crawl
We shouted, "Harry By"
Till our throats were bricky-dry
Then wopped him 'cause he couldn't serve us all
He would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done
An' never seemed to know the use of fear
If we charged or broke or cut
You could bet your bloomin' nut
He'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear
With his mussick on his back
He would skip to our attack
An' watch us till the bugles made"Retire"
An' for all his dirty hide
He was white, clear white inside
When he went to tend the wounded under fire
It was Din, Din, Din
With the bullets kickin' dust spots on the green
And when the cartridges ran out
You could hear the front files shout
Send ammunition mules, and Gunga Din!
I shan't forget the night
When I fell behind the fight
With a bullet where my belt plate should a' been
I was chokin' mad with thirst
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din
He lifted up my head
An' he plugged me where I bled
An' he gave me half a pint of water green
It was crawlin' and it stunk
But of all the drinks I've drunk
I'm most grateful to the one from Gunga Din
He carried me away
To where a dooli lay
An' a bullet came and drilled the beggar clean
He carried me inside
An' just before he died
“I hope you like your drink” said Gunga Din
So I'll meet him later on
In the place where he as gone
Where it's always double drill and no canteen
He'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to poor damn souls
I'll catch a swig in hell from Gunga Din
It was Din, Din, Din
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din
Tho' I've belted you an' flayed you
By the livin' God that made you
Your a better man than I am, Gunga Din
This piece really speaks to me, especially brought to life by Jim Croce.
If you’ve never heard it, give it a read and listen.
It speaks to any man who’s had a dry throat, and thanked the man who slaked his thirst.
Though it echoes the typical English superiority, it does so in a way that humbles you. How for it all, when you’re in the shite, it doesn’t matter. It tears down those ranks and makes it clear that hardship and circumstances make equals of us all.
These days some woke sort would give it a cursory dismissal and condemn it for myriad-ism sins. and fools are they.
It’s a beautiful piece, and one of Kipling’s best.
It’s powerful.
Anyway,
To Gunga Din
This post was edited on 3/26/22 at 4:42 am
10
Posted on 3/26/22 at 5:06 am to fr33manator
Can't remember hearing the song, but love the movie.
Used to own it on DVD, and had it on a regular Sunday afternoon watchlist.
Now I want to look it up because I haven't seen it in years.
Used to own it on DVD, and had it on a regular Sunday afternoon watchlist.
Now I want to look it up because I haven't seen it in years.
Posted on 3/26/22 at 6:31 am to fr33manator
I had the entire poem memorised when I was a younger man. All that remains in my brain today is that last stanza. Kipling is simply brilliant.
Posted on 3/26/22 at 7:13 am to fr33manator
I used to think AC/DC's "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" said "Dirty Deeds and Gunga Din"
Posted on 3/26/22 at 7:27 am to MAXtheTIGER
quote:
Kipling is simply brilliant.
‘Tis true. The man had such range. From stories like The Jungle Book, to poetry (which he just called verses) like Gunga Din, or If (read by Morgan Freeman
Or this one. I had never read it before this morning, but someone must have been cutting onions when I read it.
The Power Of The Dog
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie—
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find—it’s your own affair—
But… you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!).
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone—wherever it goes—for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.
We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long—
So why in—Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
This post was edited on 3/26/22 at 7:29 am
Posted on 3/26/22 at 7:30 am to fr33manator
Let’s not discuss it. A discussion of this type will only lead to hurt feelings.
Posted on 3/26/22 at 7:35 am to Geekboy
quote:
A discussion of this type will only lead to hurt feelings.
I’ve learned far more from hurt feelings than I have from empty praise.
I’d love to hear how Gunga Din can bring pain on a glorious spring day that I get to spend above the dirt.
Posted on 3/26/22 at 8:15 am to fr33manator
Big Jim Croce fan…. His plane crashed right outside my dormitory in Natchitoches right after his final show.. huge loss but his music lives on .
Posted on 3/26/22 at 8:18 am to fr33manator
This is a quality post.
Posted on 3/26/22 at 8:48 am to BK Lounge
quote:
Big Jim Croce fan
He was an excellent singer songwriter. I love story songs and he had some great ones. Bad Bad Leroy Brown, rapid Roy, you don’t mess Around with Jim.
Some great love songs and tearjerkers too. The world definitely lost a talent when his plane went down
Posted on 3/26/22 at 9:05 am to fr33manator
My uncle played guitar....a phenomenal folk style finger picker. He taught me how to play and this was one of the songs he'd always play. Can't find a "clean" version of it, as the only version I've heard sounds like Croce was in the bathroom. Probably the equipment of that day. Still, Croce was an absolutely BRILLIANT guitarist and probably under-appreciated for how good he was. (As was the dude that accompanied him on his songs.) Taken too soon.
Operator Live
Operator Live
This post was edited on 3/26/22 at 9:11 am
Posted on 3/26/22 at 9:21 am to rumproast
I love listening to pickers. Got a buddy who plays phenomenal bluegrass. I’ve got guitars, just can’t play worth a shite. I can sing and write songs, but I’m missing that key component. Croce is definitely an influence
Posted on 3/26/22 at 9:30 am to fr33manator
Another fine poem set to music is "The Highwayman", done by Phil Ochs.
Posted on 3/26/22 at 9:50 am to FightinTigersDammit
quote:
Another fine poem set to music is "The Highwayman", done by Phil Ochs.
I hadn’t heard that one. I enjoyed it. Funnily enough, I also wrote a story song titled “The Highwayman” recently
The Highwayman
On a moonlit winter night,
As the wind moans ‘cross the moors,
A lonely carriage wends and makes its way,
Then sprouting from the shadows,
A lone figure blocks the path,
Behind a mask,
In a cloak of sliver grey.
Well with one hand on his pistol,
And one hand on his blade,
He says “stand and deliver,
And ye best be well afraid,
For if you beat my bullet,
Then you’ll surely taste my knife,
Tonight the choice is yours,
It’s your money or your life.”
For if you take the high road,
Then you’re surely tempting fate,
For somewhere in the darkness,
There the Highwayman awaits,
He’ll offer you safe passage,
All your baubles are his toll,
But if you fail to bargain,
He might ride off with your soul,
The Highwayman…
The Highwayman…
None know just where he came from,
And nobody knows his name,
He rides a horse called Midnight,
Dark as shadows is his mane,
So if you take the high road,
And hear a voice ring out,
Best cling tight to your treasure,
For the Highwayman’s about,
The Highwayman…
The Highwayman…
The Noblemen all fear him,
And they speak of him in hush,
But when he doth appear,
Noblewomen swoon and blush,
For staring down his barrel,
To submit they are inclined,
He’ll free them from their gold,
And a rose he’ll leave behind,
The Highwayman…
/\The Highwayman…
They placed on him a bounty,
For his head a thousand quid,
To take him in an ambush,
In the trees the hunters hid,
Inside a curtained carriage,
Waited men armed to the quick,
As in the moonless night,
Across the moors the fog rolled thick,
The Highwayman…
Then out from the fog,
The night shook with a cannon blast,
It ripped right through the carriage,
And those men had breathed their last,
Then firing at shadows,
The hunters’ guns rang out,
But the Highwayman’s blade,
Slit their throats ‘fore they could shout…
You best lock up your treasure,
Lock away your blushing brides,
For on the lonely road,
The Highwayman on Midnight rides
Posted on 3/26/22 at 10:32 am to MAXtheTIGER
quote:
Kipling is simply brilliant.
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With 60 seconds worth of distant run
Yours is earth, and everything that’s in it
And which is more, you’ll be a man my son.
Here’s the whole thing
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
This post was edited on 3/26/22 at 10:35 am
Posted on 3/26/22 at 11:03 am to Penrod
That’s a great one. Lots of good reads of that
Posted on 3/26/22 at 11:40 am to fr33manator
quote:
That’s a great one. Lots of good reads of that
Didn't his son end up as a bullet-riddled corpse stuck for days on barbed-wire in no-man's-land during WW1?
Posted on 3/26/22 at 12:06 pm to fr33manator
quote:
that hardship and circumstances make equals of us all.
A common theme for Kipling and foundational to his almost reverent respect for opposing warriors.
quote:
'E 'asn't got no papers of 'is own,
'E 'asn't got no medals nor rewards,
So we must certify the skill 'e's shown
In usin' of 'is long two-'anded swords:
When 'e's 'oppin' in an' out among the bush
With 'is coffin-'eaded shield an' shovel-spear,
An 'appy day with Fuzzy on the rush
Will last an 'ealthy Tommy for a year.
So 'ere's ~to~ you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' your friends which are no more,
If we 'adn't lost some messmates we would 'elp you to deplore;
But give an' take's the gospel, an' we'll call the bargain fair,
For if you 'ave lost more than us, you crumpled up the square!
'E rushes at the smoke when we let drive,
An', before we know, 'e's 'ackin' at our 'ead;
'E's all 'ot sand an' ginger when alive,
An' 'e's generally shammin' when 'e's dead.
'E's a daisy, 'e's a ducky, 'e's a lamb!
'E's a injia-rubber idiot on the spree,
'E's the on'y thing that doesn't give a damn For a Regiment o' British Infantree!
So 'ere's ~to~ you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan; You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man;
An' 'ere's ~to~ you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your 'ayrick 'ead of 'air — You big black boundin' beggar — for you broke a British square!
-Fuzzy-Wuzzy
My favorite of Kipling’s works- The Rout of The White Hussars
Edited to replace insecure link.
This post was edited on 4/3/22 at 11:18 pm
Posted on 3/26/22 at 3:52 pm to Mr. Misanthrope
quote:
A common theme for Kipling and foundational to his almost reverent respect for opposing warriors
People like to paint him as a racist, but I don’t see him that way at all. The Victorian breed just had Different perspective and used language much more freely. Although his work is peppered with what some now may call “slurs”, if you read with context you can tell there’s no Ill will. Quite the opposite really.
His use of language and vernacular is superb
Posted on 3/26/22 at 4:20 pm to fr33manator
Mandalay is my favorite
quote:
Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be --
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
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