There And Then

[classic33]

Long before now,
all was nowt.
No time existed.
So it was, not when,
because no "when" existed.
How could we have a "when",
if we had no time?

Long before now,
all was nowt.
No space existed.
So it was nowhere,
because no "where" existed.
How could we have a "where",
if we had no space?

Without a "when"
and without a "where"
I give up in despair.

Tony Hargreaves

 

[biggs682]

bit like the


A wise old owl sat in an oak;

The more he saw the less he spoke;

The less he spoke the more he heard;

Why can’t we all be like that wise old bird ?

 

[rich p]

O-level, grade E. Must try harder.

 

[Drago]

Here's a masterpiece, written by 8 year old Gerald "Little Milton" Bostock in 1972...

Really don't mind if you sit this one out
My word's but a whisper your deafness a SHOUT
I may make you feel but I can't make you think
Your sperm's in the gutter your love's in the sink

So you ride yourselves over the fields
And you make all your animal deals
And your wise men don't know how it feels
To be thick as a brick

And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away
In the tidal destruction the moral melee
The elastic retreat rings the close of play
As the last wave uncovers the newfangled way

But your new shoes are worn at the heels
And your suntan does rapidly peel
And your wise men don't know how it feels
To be thick as a brick

And the love that I feel is so far away:
I'm a bad dream that I just had today
And you shake your head
And say it's a shame

Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth
Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth
Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song

See there! A son is born and we pronounce him fit to fight
There are black-heads on his shoulders, and he pees himself in the night
We'll make a man of him, put him to a trade
Teach him to play Monopoly and how to sing in the rain

The Poet and the Painter casting shadows on the water
As the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea
The do-er and the thinker: no allowance for the other
As the failing light illuminates the mercenary's creed
The home fire burning: the kettle almost boiling
But the master of the house is far away
The horses stamping, their warm breath clouding
In the sharp and frosty morning of the day
And the poet lifts his pen while the soldier sheaths his sword
And the youngest of the family is moving with authority
Building castles by the sea, he dares the tardy tide to wash them all aside

The cattle quietly grazing at the grass down by the river
Where the swelling mountain water moves onward to the sea:
The builder of the castles renews the age-old purpose
And contemplates the milking girl whose offer is his need
The young men of the household have all gone into service
And are not to be expected for a year
The innocent young master - thoughts moving ever faster -
Has formed the plan to change the man he seems
And the poet sheaths his pen while the soldier lifts his sword
And the oldest of the family is moving with authority
Coming from across the sea, he challenges the son who puts him to the run

What do you do when the old man's gone - do you want to be him?
And your real self sings the song. Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam
And the whirlpool turns you `way off-beam

I've come down from the upper class to mend your rotten ways
My father was a man-of-power whom everyone obeyed
So come on all you criminals! I've got to put you straight
Just like I did with my old man twenty years too late
Your bread and water's going cold
Your hair is too short and neat
I'll judge you all and make damn sure that no-one judges me

You curl your toes in fun as you smile at everyone
You meet the stares, you're unaware that your doings aren't done
And you laugh most ruthlessly as you tell us what not to be
But how are we supposed to see where we should run?
I see you shuffle in the courtroom with
Your rings upon your fingers
And your downy little sidies
And your silver-buckle shoes
Playing at the hard case
You follow the example of the comic-paper idol
Who lets you bend the rules

So!
Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't you rise up from the pages of your comic-books
Your super crooks
And show us all the way
Well! Make your will and testament
Won't you? Join your local government
We'll have Superman for president
Let Robin save the day

You put your bet on number one and it comes up every time
The other kids have all backed down and they put you first in line
And so you finally ask yourself just how big you are
And take your place in a wiser world of bigger motor cars
And you wonder who to call on
So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you though?
They're all resting down in Cornwall
Writing up their memoirs for a paper-back edition
Of the Boy Scout Manual

See there! A man born and we pronounce him fit for peace
There's a load lifted from his shoulders with the discovery of his disease
We'll take the child from him
Put it to the test
Teach it to be a wise man
How to fool the rest

We will be geared to the average rather than the exceptional
God is an overwhelming responsibility
We walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing nylons
Cats are on the upgrade
Upgrade? Hipgrave. Oh, Mac

In the clear white circles of morning wonder
I take my place with the lord of the hills
And the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured
(in neat little rows) sporting canvas frills
With their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention
While queuing for sarnies at the office canteen
Saying: "How's your granny?" and good old Ernie:
He coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win
The legends (worded in
The ancient tribal hymn)
Lie cradled in the seagull's call
And all the promises they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall

The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun
And signal for the crack of dawn
Light the sun. Light the sun
Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!
The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one
Do you believe in the day?
The fading hero has returned to the night
And fully pregnant with the day
Wise men endorse the poet's sight
Do you believe in the day?
Do you? Believe in the day!

Let me tell you the tales of your life
Of your love and the cut of the knife
The tireless oppression, the wisdom instilled
The desire to kill or be killed
Let me sing of the losers who lie
In the street as the last bus goes by
The pavements ar empty: the gutters run red
While the fool toasts his god in the sky

So come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
And join your voices in a hellish chorus
Mark the precise nature of your fear
Let me help you pick up your dead
As the sins of the father are fed
With the blood of the fools
And the thoughts of the wise and
From the pan under your bed
Let me make you a present of song
As the wise man breaks wind and is gone
While the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose
And the nursery rhyme winds along

So! Come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
And join your voices in a hellish chorus
Mark the precise nature of your fear
See! The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
And the hour of judgement draweth near
Would you be the fool stood in his suit of armour
Or the wiser man who rushes clear

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your rise up from the pages of your comic-books
Your super-crooks
And show us all the way
Well! Make your will and testament
Won't you? Join your local government
We'll have Superman for president
Let Robin save the day

So! Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through?
They're all resting down in Cornwall writing up their memoirs
For a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual

So you ride yourselves over the fields
And you make all your animal deals
And your wise men don't know how it feels
To be thick as a brick

 

[Beebo]

It's a Jethro Tull lyric, i have surprised myself by knowing this.

 

[Drago]

It's a Jethro Tull lyric, i have surprised myself by knowing this.

Check out the big brains on Beebo.

In 1971 many pundits praised Jethro Tull's album Aqualung as a masterpiece of the concept album genre. This angered Ian Anderson, who was at pains to point out that it wasn't a concept album.

The critics didn't listen, so Anderson decided to give them the mother and father of all concept albums, the parody of concept albums to end them all. The albums lyrics were supposedly created from a poem written by 8 year old Gerald Bostock, but in reality was all from Anderson's pen. Alas, not many got the joke - the critics praised the latest work as a masterful concept album, and publishers in some countries didn't understand that Anderson was the real author, and on occasion he had to operate under the name Gerald Bostock to be able to claim royalties.

This drove Anderson to new heights of displeasure with the music press, so his next album, A Passion Play, really was a concept album, telling the story of a music critic killed in a terrorist bombing at a gig and his subsequent journey through the afterlife. That went above the critics heads as well, and aside from a few barbed remarks in the lyrics of Minstrel in the Gallery he gave up.

I'm pleased to see Beebo is knowledgeable of all matters progressive rock, who recognised the true origin of the "poem".