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G4EBT > POEM 01.02.08 21:00l 177 Lines 5968 Bytes #999 (0) @ WW
BID : 2D7789G4EBT
Read: GUEST
Subj: "The Sentimental Bloke"
Path: DB0FHN<DB0FOR<DB0SIF<HB9EAS<OE9XPI<OE7XLR<OE2XUM<OE5XBL<OE6XPE<DB0RES<
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Sent: 080201/1829Z @:GB7FCR.#16.GBR.EU #:60228 [Blackpool] FBB-7.03a $:2D7789G4
From: G4EBT@GB7FCR.#16.GBR.EU
To : POEM@WW
In an earlier bull I mentioned the film A Sentimental Bloke", based on a
poem of that name written in slang by C.J. Dennis - an Austrlaian born
writer and journalist.
Apart from 'bonzer' and 'cobber', amd smoogin (= smooching?) most of
the rest seems to read more like a "sarf Lunn'on" accent than "strine".
The "Songs of a Sentimental Bloke" was published in October 1915; twelve
of the fourteen poems had appeared in the Bulletin since 1909. It was an
immediate success, requiring three editions in 1915, nine in 1916, and
three in 1917.
By 1976 fifty-seven editions had been published in Australia,
England, the USA and Canada, covering 285,000 copies.
A very human story, it was simply and humorously told in dialect verse
which could be as easily spoken as read. Dennis said of this verse 'that
slang is the illegitimate sister of poetry, and if an illegitimate
relationship is the nearest I can get, I'm content'.
He'd 'tried to tell a common but beautiful story in coarse language, to
prove - among other things - that life and love can be just as real and
splendid to the "common" bloke as to the "cultured"'.
Just as important was the timing of the publication - it reached a public
depressed by enormous war casualties. Thousands of copies of the 'trench'
pocket edition were sent to overseas troops. The work was widely recited,
produced as silent (1918) and sound (1932) films, a stage play (1922), a
musical (1961), and many gramophone recordings and radio and TV
programmes.
Here's the poem:
'Er name's Doreen ...Well, spare me bloomin' days!
You could er knocked me down wiv 'arf a brick!
Yes, me, that kids meself I know their ways,
An' 'as a name for smoogin' in our click!
I just lines up 'an tips the saucy wink.
But strike! The way she piled on dawg! Yer'd think
A bloke was givin' back-chat to the Queen....
'Er name's Doreen.
I seen 'er in the markit first uv all,
Inspectin' brums at Steeny Isaacs' stall.
I backs me barrer in - the same ole way --
An' sez, "Wot O! It's been a bonzer day.
'Ow is it fer a walk?" ... Oh, 'oly wars!
The sorta look she gimme! Jest becors
I tried to chat 'er, like you'd make a start
Wiv any tart.
An' I kin take me oaf I wus perlite.
An' never said no word that wasn't right,
An' never tried to maul 'er, or to do
thing yeh might call croook. Ter tell yeh true,
I didn't seem to 'ave the nerve - wiv 'er.
I felt as if I couldn't go that fur,
An' start to sling of chiack like I used...
Not intrajuiced!
Nex' time I sighted 'er in Little Bourke,
Where she was in a job. I found 'er lurk
Wus pastin' labels in a pickle joint,
A game that -- any'ow, that ain't the point.
Once more I tried to chat 'er in the street,
But, bli'me! Did she turn me down a treat!
The way she tossed 'er head an' swished 'er skirt!
Oh, it wus dirt!
A squarer tom, I swear, I never seen,
In all me natchril, than this 'ere Doreen.
It wer'n't no guyver neither; fer I knoo
That any other bloke 'ad Buckley's 'oo
Tried fer to pick 'er up. Yes, she was square.
She jest sailed by an' lef me standin' there
Like any mug. Thinks I, "I'm out er luck,"
And done a duck.
Well, I dunno. It's that way wiv a bloke.
If she'd ha' breasted up ter me an' spoke.
I'd thort 'er jist a common bit er fluff,
An' then fergot about 'er, like enough.
It's jest like this. The tarts that's 'ard ter get
Makes you all 'ot to chase 'em, an' to let
The cove called Cupid get a 'ammer-lock;
An' lose yer block.
I know a bloke 'oo knows a bloke 'oo toils
In that same pickle found-ery. ('E boils
The cabbitch storks or somethink.) Anyway,
I gives me pal the orfis fer to say
'E 'as a sister in the trade 'oo's been
Out uv a jorb, an' wants ter meet Doreen;
Then we kin get an into, if we've luck.
'E sez, "Ribuck."
O' course we worked the oricle; you bet!
But, 'struth, I ain't recovered frum it yet!
'Twas on a Saturdee, in Colluns Street,
An' - quite by accident, o' course -- we meet.
Me pal 'e trots 'er up an' does the toff --
'E allus wus a bloke fer showin' off.
"This ere's Doreen," 'e sez. "This 'ere's the Kid."
I dips me lid.
"This 'ere's Doreen," 'e sez. I sez "Good day."
An' bli'me, I 'ad nothin' more ter say!
I couldn't speak a word, or meet 'er eye.
Clean done me block! I never been so shy,
Not since I was a tiny little cub,
An' run the rabbit to the corner pub --
Wot time the Summer days wus dry and 'ot --
Fer me ole pot.
Me! that 'as barracked tarts, an' torked an' larft,
An' chucked orf at 'em like a phonergraft!
Gorstrooth! I seemed to lose me pow'r o' speech.
But 'er! Oh, strike me pink! She is a peach!
The sweetest in the barrer! Spare me days,
I carn't describe that cliner's winnin' ways.
The way she torks! 'Er lips! 'Er eyes! 'Er hair! ...
Oh, gimme air!
I dunno 'ow I done it in the end.
I reckerlect I arst ter be 'er friend;
An' tried to play at 'andies in the park,
A thing she wouldn't sight. Aw, it's a nark!
I gotter swear when I think wot a mug
I must 'a' seemed to 'er. But still I 'ug
That promise she give me fer the beach.
The bonzer peach!
Now, as the poit sez, the days drag by
On ledding feet. I wish't they'd do a guy.
I dunno 'ow I 'ad the nerve ter speak,
An' make that meet wiv 'er fer Sundee week!
But strike! It's funny wot a bloke'll do
When 'e's all out ... She's gorn, when I come-to.
I'm yappin' to me cobber uv me mash....
I've done me dash!
'Er name's Doreen....An' me -- that thort I knoo
The ways uv tarts, an' all that smoogin' game!
An' so I ort; fer ain't I known a few?
Yet some'ow ... I dunno. It ain't the same.
I carn't tell wot it is; but all I know,
I've dropped me bundle -- an' I'm glad it's so.
Fer when I come ter think uv wot I been....
'Er name's Doreen.
Clever eh?
I've not run a spellcheck over it:-)
Best wishes
David, G4EBT @ GB7FCR
Cottingham, East Yorkshire.
Message timed: 18:27 on 2008-Feb-01
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