A Saturday Celebration: A A Milne

A Saturday Celebration  

A.A. Milne

This week One Stop Poetry is proud to celebrate poet & author, A.A.Milne, whose birthday is this coming week.

Alan Alexander Milne was born in Kilburn, London on the 18th of January 1882. His father ran a small public school, Henley House. During his time, attending Henley House, one of his teachers was the renowned author H. G. Wells; Wells held a teaching post there for a short while. After finishing at Henley House, Milne went on to attend Westminster School & Trinity College, Cambridgeshire where he studied for a maths scholarship.

Whilst attending Trinity College, Milne was editor and writer for the student magazine, Granta. This led him to write more and before long he was writing for Punch Magazine. He became assistant editor, joining their staff in 1906.

In 1913, Milne married Dorothy “Daphne” de Selincourt. Before they had time to settle down and enjoy their new life together, he had to join the armed forces and fight, as an officer, in WWI. He was discharged in 1919. Milne’s only son, Christopher Robin, was born in 1920.

Milne’s literary career was diverse to say the least. As a playwright, he wrote over 30 plays. The most famous being the adaptation of Wind in the Willows, Toad of Toad Hall. As cinema was taking off, during this time, he also wrote 4 screenplays which were filmed in 1920. Milne wrote 7 novels, the best known  was a detective story, The Red House Mystery, in 1922.

Milne reached  literary brilliance in  the four year period between1924 and 1928.

In 1924, he published his first collection of poems, When We Were Very Young, which was illustrated by friend and Punch cartoonist , E.H.Shepard. 
This was followed, in 1925, by a collection of short stories, published under the title Gallery of Children. It was these stories &amp poems that paved the way for the legendary, Winnie - the - Pooh, published in 1926. In 1927, Milne  published a series of nursery rhyme Now We Are Six. in 1928, the follow up, The House At Pooh Corner was published. The aforementioned, illustrated by E.H.Shepard. 


“"When you wake up in the morning, Pooh," said Piglet at last, "what's the first thing you say to yourself?"
"What's for breakfast?" said Pooh. "What do you say, Piglet?"
"I say, I wonder what's going to happen exciting today?" said Piglet. 
Pooh nodded thoughtfully.
"It's the same thing," he said.

The success of Winnie - the - Pooh was very much to Milne’s annoyance. Before he wrote it,  he loved the freedom of switching genre & style, and being able to write about whatever he pleased. After the publication of the Pooh books, this changed.  The audience for his more "grown up" work dwindled. 

Although he was still  wrote and published on a regular basis, he would never shake off the stigma of writing for children. His work, after this period, was never  received in quite the same manner.

In 1952, Milne retired after a stroke and the resulting brain surgery rendered him an invalid. He lived for another four years this way and on the  31st  of January 1956, aged 74,  he passed away.

On his death, the rights to Winnie - the - Pooh were sold to Walt Disney, where that legacy continues to this very day. Every year, another child is enchanted by the stories of the “hunny” loving bear that lives in "One Hundred Aker Wood".

Milne’s poetry has been celebrated , parodied, and even set to music, but the poem I would like to leave  you with  today is one of great literary importance, The Teddy Bear, published in 1924. This is the very first appearance of Winnie - the - Pooh featured in the poetry collection, When We Were Very Young.

Teddy Bear

by A. A. Milne

A bear, however hard he tries,

Grows tubby without exercise.

Our Teddy Bear is short and fat,

Which is not to be wondered at;

He gets what exercise he can

By falling off the ottoman,

But generally seems to lack

The energy to clamber back.

Now tubbiness is just the thing

Which gets a fellow wondering;

And Teddy worried lots about

The fact that he was rather stout.

He thought: "If only I were thin!

But how does anyone begin?"

He thought: "It really isn't fair

To grudge one exercise and air."

For many weeks he pressed in vain

His nose against the window-pane,

And envied those who walked about

Reducing their unwanted stout.

None of the people he could see

"Is quite" (he said) "as fat as me!"

Then, with a still more moving sigh,

"I mean" (he said) "as fat as I!

One night it happened that he took

A peep at an old picture-book,

Wherein he came across by chance

The picture of a King of France

(A stoutish man) and, down below,

These words: "King Louis So and So,

Nicknamed 'The Handsome!'" There he sat,

And (think of it!) the man was fat!

Our bear rejoiced like anything

To read about this famous King,

Nicknamed "The Handsome." There he sat,

And certainly the man was fat.

Nicknamed "The Handsome." Not a doubt

The man was definitely stout.

Why then, a bear (for all his tub)

Might yet be named "The Handsome Cub!"

"Might yet be named." Or did he mean

That years ago he "might have been"?

For now he felt a slight misgiving:

"Is Louis So and So still living?

Fashions in beauty have a way

Of altering from day to day.

Is 'Handsome Louis' with us yet?

Unfortunately I forget."

Next morning (nose to window-pane)

The doubt occurred to him again.

One question hammered in his head:

"Is he alive or is he dead?"

Thus, nose to pane, he pondered; but

The lattice window, loosely shut,

Swung open. With one startled "Oh!"

Our Teddy disappeared below.

There happened to be passing by

A plump man with a twinkling eye,

Who, seeing Teddy in the street,

Raised him politely to his feet,

And murmured kindly in his ear

Soft words of comfort and of cheer:

"Well, well!" "Allow me!" "Not at all."

"Tut-tut! A very nasty fall."

Our Teddy answered not a word;

It's doubtful if he even heard.

Our bear could only look and look:

The stout man in the picture-book!

That 'handsome' King - could this be he,

This man of adiposity?

"Impossible," he thought. "But still,

No harm in asking. Yes I will!"

"Are you," he said,"by any chance

His Majesty the King of France?"

The other answered, "I am that,"

Bowed stiffly, and removed his hat;

Then said, "Excuse me," with an air,

"But is it Mr Edward Bear?"

And Teddy, bending very low,

Replied politely, "Even so!"

They stood beneath the window there,

The King and Mr Edward Bear,

And, handsome, if a trifle fat,

Talked carelessly of this and that....

Then said His Majesty, "Well, well,

I must get on," and rang the bell.

"Your bear, I think," he smiled. "Good-day!"

And turned, and went upon his way.

A bear, however hard he tries,

Grows tubby without exercise.

Our Teddy Bear is short and fat,

Which is not to be wondered at.

But do you think it worries him

To know that he is far from slim?

No, just the other way about -

He's proud of being short and stout.

And before I go, our most famous of bears would like to leave a special message for all of you

"Poetry and Hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. And all you can do is to go where they can find you"






all images are under creative commons license

One Shock Sunday: A Halloween Special

One Shock Sunday

A Halloween Special

Dustus has been buried deep in a grave of despair as I wrestled One Shoot Sunday from his grasping hands...continuing the Halloween celebrations I give you a poem that celebrate's One Stop Poetry, in a dark, wicked way

A Deathly Tale

by Pete Marshall

An axe that falls upon the neck

Of smoothen skin of innocence

Will draw the breath of life’s regrets

And spasm truths of brilliance

And from the earth the flowers grow

That suck on blood of those before

Who lay beneath in rotten casks

That bide their time with tooth and claw

For in the sky the moon is full

That shines upon the marbled tomb

Who’s stones are etched with flowing words

That speak of tales yet hide the truth

A howl is heard across the pond

As dust would settle on the shrine

The miller works within his realm

As wind blows sails that move with time

And blood will flow and rush through veins

As taste desires those who prey

To suck on sweetly sugared flesh

And stop once more to stay and play…..

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Have you a Halloween treat you would like to share? Or would you like to write your own poem using the iconic image below of Nosferatu?...Whatever you chose please use Mr Linky to lead us to your vault of delights and............

HAPPY HALLOWEEN 

all images courtesy wikipedia

Halloween: A One Stop Celebration

The clock strikes twelve 
as the children lay asleep
the zombies will rise 
and the witches will seek.......................

Welcome to Halloween

As the barriers of the underworld open once more, One Stop brings you a bag full of treats to send shivers down your spine and celebrate All Hallows Eve. My first treat is the great and the glorious, I give you Vincent Price reading The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe

Are you cosy? Are you calm? What was that noise....who is that looking over your shoulder? Have you looked in the mirror? What did you see......................................NOTHING!!!!!!!!!!

My next treat is a poem, written by myself, that I originally shared with One Stop Wednesday way back in early August...but in the tradition of Halloween we celebrate those that have gone before

The Lykewake of Morag

The crows would circle high above

As death would waken on the ground

A hand would stretch and flick its claws

To trap the prey that swooped on down.

As feathers fell on sodden earth

And float as boats upon the breeze

Bones would crunch and blood would splay

That fed the Scarecrows dark disease.

The haar would creep along the links

As song was heard beyond the hill

The tabor marked the lykewake start

As clans would bow and mourn their still.

Upon the beach the waves would crash

And curse and spit their maddened angst

The mortcloth lay across her soul

As friends would come and offer thanks.

Through wynd and vennel souls would part

As spirits fled the darkened streets

The Scarecrow watched in silent thought

Whilst winds would blow through mans deceit.

And dirks were drawn at Morag’s hame

As Chiefs would curse their spoken vow

Blades would clash and wounds were deep 

But one remained to tell this tale…….

As I delve into the bag and feel the bones of those before I bring you a tale that will chill the young and old alike. Wilfred Owen, the famous British wartime poet, gives us 

Shadwell Stair

by Wilfred Owen

I am the ghost of Shadwell Stair.

Along the wharves by the water-house,

And through the cavernous slaughter-house,

I am the shadow that walks there.

Yet I have flesh both firm and cool,

And eyes tumultuous as the gems

Of moons and lamps in the full Thames

When dusk sails wavering down the pool.

Shuddering the purple street-arc burns

Where I watch always; from the banks

Dolorously the shipping clanks

And after me a strange tide turns.

I walk till the stars of London wane

And dawn creeps up the Shadwell Stair.

But when the crowing syrens blare

I with another ghost am lain.

Are the lights on? Are you alone? Who's that knocking on the door? Do you dare to invite him in........

My next treat is by the great American Poet, Robert Frost

Ghost House

by Robert Frost

I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.

O'er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.

I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;

The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.

It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me--
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.

They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,--
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.

Is it time to creep upstairs and go to bed? Have you read enough or would you like one more treat?  I bring you the theme tune from Halloween.............

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

all images courtesy wikipedia

The Dawn Chorus: A Poem By Pete Marshall

The Dawn Chorus: A Poem By Pete Marshall

Today I returned from a magical camping trip with my family and as today is my day at One Stop Poetry I would like to share with you the following poem;

The Dawn Chorus

I felt the chill upon my face

that urged my mind to open eyes

I heard the tune of morning song

as light would waken from the night

I heard the wind blow through the trees

as children stirred and stifled yawns

I smelt the bacons wafting scent

that welcomed in a summers dawn

The ground was wet with morning dew

that glistened on a fallen leaf

and as I cupped my steaming mug

the coffee found my lost belief

I looked out far across the fields

and watched the crows that ruled the sky

I watched you slice the crusty bread

and let the time just pass on by

I heard a noise that brought me joy

as children laughed from deep inside

beneath the quilts and sleeping bags

they  wiped the sleep from off their eyes

 I laughed at hair and ruffled clothes

that sat beside and watched the dawn

and though the chill would keep us cold

the taste of bacon kept us warm

*************

image courtesy creative commons http://www.flickr.com/photos/taivasalla/

The Secret: A Poem In 160 Characters

The Secret

A hidden kiss that lingered in the mote

Whilst lovers would sit too close to touch

Their eyes told tales and spoke of want

As fingers stretched and gently brushed.

by Pete Marshall

say it in 160 characters, then tell Monkeyman

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image creative commons http://www.flickr.com/photos/omnia_mutantur/