Edward Cline waxes forth on a Kipling poem, to good effect, here. I've not read much of Kipling's poetry, and I should probably rememdy that.
I was an English major, back in the day. Pretty good school, pretty good English department. But I don't recall that we read any Kipling. I spent an entire semester on Chaucer, and to this day I thank the Fates for that, but even in survey courses on British lit I don't believe there was any Kipling on the syllabus. Just a bit more than forty years after his death, and yet no mention of him.
Was he a modern giant? Well, he was awarded a Nobel Prize. His stuff is still in print and some of it has been filmed. I read The Jungle Book in fourth grade, and then went on the The Second Jungle Book (did you know there was such a thing?) and to the Just-So Stories. Great stuff, all of it, and "Shere Khan" is a great name for a great villain.
Modern English poetry means Pound and Eliot and worse. But it's well to remember that it also means Yeats and Frost. And Kipling.
Modern English poetry means Pound and Eliot and worse.
Yep. Because unless its unintelligible, progressive,written by hippies or "misguided" fascists, oh and boring, its not "real" poetry.
And by misguided I mean a dammed fascism loving ex-pat jerk. Yep I said it.
Posted by: BridgetB at February 28, 2006 11:23 AMThe first two blogs I read today and both are on Kipling. You and Billy Beck must be on the same wavelength today.
Posted by: Happy Curmudgeon at February 28, 2006 02:37 PMAn idea whose time has come!
Posted by: Craig at February 28, 2006 07:19 PM