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dwgmThe first poem I read and loved from T.S. Eliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats was "Macavity: The Mystery Cat", which had been reprinted in an old textbook I was reading. After a few years, I bought a copy of the entire Old Possum's book, and read and enjoyed them all.
And then Cats, the musical, came along.
Cats is now so much a part of theater history and cultural literacy that it's almost become a joke, a cliché. But as with most clichés, there is solid truth underneath and in this case, brilliance. We came late to our appreciation of Cats, being very much absorbed with Phantom of the Opera for the longest time before branching out to other Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals, but even the first time I heard the soundtrack of Cats I couldn't help squeeing with utter delight: ALW's music was and is the perfect compliment to Eliot's cat poems, each one exactly right in mood, and utterly memorable. We didn't actually see the play until many years later, just four years ago, or so, in Santa Barbara, but we knew the soundtracks, both London and New York versions, by heart and the audience was very fortunate we didn't sing along. *g*
It was difficult to pick out just one of the poems -- each one has its pleasures -- but this one is about Growltiger, a bit of a pirate cat, which seems appropriate for this journal. It's a wonderful song, and there is an interlude after the tenth stanza in which Growltiger and the Lady Griddlebone sing most operatically, in the New York version, or sing "The Ballad of Billy McCaw" in the London Version (and I've included that below).
Growltiger's Last Stand
with The Ballad of Billy McCaw
Growltiger was a Bravo Cat, who travelled on a barge:
In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large.
From Gravesend up to Oxford he pursued his evil aims,
Rejoicing in his title of `The Terror of the Thames'.
His manners and appearance did not calculate to please;
His coat was torn and seedy, he was baggy at the knees;
One ear was somewhat missing, no need to tell you why,
And he scowled upon a hostile world from one forbidding eye.
The cottagers of Rotherhithe knew something of his fame;
At Hammersmith and Putney people shuddered at his name.
They would fortity the hen-house, lock up the silly goose,
When the rumour ran along the shore: GROWLTIGER'S ON THE LOOSE!
Woe to the weak canary, that fluttered from its cage;
Woe to the pampered Pekinese, that faced Growltiger's rage;
Woe to the bristly Bandicoot, that lurks on foreign ships,
And woe to any Cat with whom Growltiger came to grips!
But most to Cats of foreign race his hatred had been vowed;
To Cats of foreign name and race no quarter was allowed.
The Persian and the Siamese regarded him with fear -
Because it was a Siamese had mauled his missing ear.
Now on a peaceful summer night, all nature seemed at play,
The tender moon was shining bright, the barge at Molesey lay.
All in the balmy moonlight it lay rocking on the tide -
And Growltiger was disposed to show his sentimental side.
His bucko mate, GRUMBUSKIN, long since had disappeared,
For to the Bell at Hampton he had gone to wet his beard;
And his bosun, TUMBLEBRUTUS, he too had stol'n away -
In the yard behind the Lion he was prowling for his prey.
In the forepeak of the vessel Growltiger sate alone,
Concentrating his attention on the Lady GRIDDLEBONE.
And his raffish crew were sleeping in their barrels and their bunks -
As the Siamese came creeping in their sampans and their junks.
Growltiger had no eye for aught but Griddlebone,
And the Lady seemed enraptured by his manly baritone,
Disposed to relaxation, and awaiting no surprise -
But the moonlight shone reflected from a hundred bright blue eyes.
And closer still and closer the sampans circled round,
And yet from all the enemy there was not heard a sound.
The foe was armed with toasting forks and cruel carving knives.
As the lovers sang their last duet, in danger of their lives -
Then GILBERT gave the signal to his fierce Mongolian horde;
With a frightful burst of fireworks the Chinks they swarmed aboard.
Abandoning their sampans, and their pullaways and junks,
They battened down the hatches on the crew within their bunks.
Then Griddlebone she gave a screech, for she was badly skeered;
I am sorry to admit it, but she quickly disappeared.
She probably escaped with ease, I'm sure she was not drowned -
But a serried ring of flashing steel Growltiger did surround.
The ruthless foe pressed forward, in stubborn rank on rank;
Growltiger to his vast surprise was forced to walk the plank.
He who a hundred victims had driven to that drop,
At the end of all his crimes was forced to go ker-flip, ker-flop.
Oh there was joy in Wapping when the news flew through the land;
At Maidenhead and Henley there was dancing on the strand.
Rats were roasted whole at Brentford, and at Victoria Dock,
And a day of celebration was commanded in Bangkok.
~.~
And then Cats, the musical, came along.
Cats is now so much a part of theater history and cultural literacy that it's almost become a joke, a cliché. But as with most clichés, there is solid truth underneath and in this case, brilliance. We came late to our appreciation of Cats, being very much absorbed with Phantom of the Opera for the longest time before branching out to other Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals, but even the first time I heard the soundtrack of Cats I couldn't help squeeing with utter delight: ALW's music was and is the perfect compliment to Eliot's cat poems, each one exactly right in mood, and utterly memorable. We didn't actually see the play until many years later, just four years ago, or so, in Santa Barbara, but we knew the soundtracks, both London and New York versions, by heart and the audience was very fortunate we didn't sing along. *g*
It was difficult to pick out just one of the poems -- each one has its pleasures -- but this one is about Growltiger, a bit of a pirate cat, which seems appropriate for this journal. It's a wonderful song, and there is an interlude after the tenth stanza in which Growltiger and the Lady Griddlebone sing most operatically, in the New York version, or sing "The Ballad of Billy McCaw" in the London Version (and I've included that below).
Growltiger's Last Stand
with The Ballad of Billy McCaw
Growltiger was a Bravo Cat, who travelled on a barge:
In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large.
From Gravesend up to Oxford he pursued his evil aims,
Rejoicing in his title of `The Terror of the Thames'.
His manners and appearance did not calculate to please;
His coat was torn and seedy, he was baggy at the knees;
One ear was somewhat missing, no need to tell you why,
And he scowled upon a hostile world from one forbidding eye.
The cottagers of Rotherhithe knew something of his fame;
At Hammersmith and Putney people shuddered at his name.
They would fortity the hen-house, lock up the silly goose,
When the rumour ran along the shore: GROWLTIGER'S ON THE LOOSE!
Woe to the weak canary, that fluttered from its cage;
Woe to the pampered Pekinese, that faced Growltiger's rage;
Woe to the bristly Bandicoot, that lurks on foreign ships,
And woe to any Cat with whom Growltiger came to grips!
But most to Cats of foreign race his hatred had been vowed;
To Cats of foreign name and race no quarter was allowed.
The Persian and the Siamese regarded him with fear -
Because it was a Siamese had mauled his missing ear.
Now on a peaceful summer night, all nature seemed at play,
The tender moon was shining bright, the barge at Molesey lay.
All in the balmy moonlight it lay rocking on the tide -
And Growltiger was disposed to show his sentimental side.
His bucko mate, GRUMBUSKIN, long since had disappeared,
For to the Bell at Hampton he had gone to wet his beard;
And his bosun, TUMBLEBRUTUS, he too had stol'n away -
In the yard behind the Lion he was prowling for his prey.
In the forepeak of the vessel Growltiger sate alone,
Concentrating his attention on the Lady GRIDDLEBONE.
And his raffish crew were sleeping in their barrels and their bunks -
As the Siamese came creeping in their sampans and their junks.
Growltiger had no eye for aught but Griddlebone,
And the Lady seemed enraptured by his manly baritone,
Disposed to relaxation, and awaiting no surprise -
But the moonlight shone reflected from a hundred bright blue eyes.
And closer still and closer the sampans circled round,
And yet from all the enemy there was not heard a sound.
The foe was armed with toasting forks and cruel carving knives.
As the lovers sang their last duet, in danger of their lives -
Oh, how well I remember the Old Bull and Bush
Where we used to go down on a Sattaday night
Where, when anythink happened, it come with a rush
For the boss, Mr. Clark, he was very polite
A very nice house, from basement to garret
A very nice house. Ah, but it was the parret
The parret, the parret named Billy M'Caw
That brought all those folk to the bar
Ah, he was the life of the bar!
Of a Saturday night, we was all feeling bright
And Lily La Rose - the barmaid that was
She'd say, 'Billy, Billy M'Caw!
Come give us, come give us a dance on the bar!'
And Billy would dance on the bar
And Billy would dance on the bar
And then we'd feel balmy, in each eye a tear
And emotion would make us all order more beer
Lily, she was a girl what had brains in her head
She wouldn't have nothing, no, not that much said
If it come to an argument or a dispute
She'd settle it offhand with the toe of her boot
Or as likely as not put a fist through your eye
But when we was happy, and just a bit dry
Or when we was thirsty, and just a bit sad
She would rap on the bar with that corkscrew she had
And say:
'Billy, Billy M'Caw!
Come give us a tune on your pastoral flute!'
And Billy'd strike up on his pastoral flute
And Billy'd strike up on his pastoral flute
And then we'd feel balmy, in each eye a tear
And emotion would make us all order more beer
'Billy, Billy M'Caw!
Come give us a tune on your moley guitar!'
And Billy'd strike up on his moley guitar
And Billy'd strike up on his moley guitar
And then we'd feel balmy, in each eye a tear
And emotion would make us all order more beer
Billy, Billy M'Caw!
Come give us a tune on your moley guitar!
Ah! He was the life of the bar.
Then GILBERT gave the signal to his fierce Mongolian horde;
With a frightful burst of fireworks the Chinks they swarmed aboard.
Abandoning their sampans, and their pullaways and junks,
They battened down the hatches on the crew within their bunks.
Then Griddlebone she gave a screech, for she was badly skeered;
I am sorry to admit it, but she quickly disappeared.
She probably escaped with ease, I'm sure she was not drowned -
But a serried ring of flashing steel Growltiger did surround.
The ruthless foe pressed forward, in stubborn rank on rank;
Growltiger to his vast surprise was forced to walk the plank.
He who a hundred victims had driven to that drop,
At the end of all his crimes was forced to go ker-flip, ker-flop.
Oh there was joy in Wapping when the news flew through the land;
At Maidenhead and Henley there was dancing on the strand.
Rats were roasted whole at Brentford, and at Victoria Dock,
And a day of celebration was commanded in Bangkok.
~.~
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no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 05:50 am (UTC)(People on my friendslist have been making disparaging remarks about Andrew Lloyd Weber tonight because I guess American Idol is having a ALW night. I'm sorry, but I love Cats and Phantom and Evita.)
The most wonderful thing about Eliot's Practical Cats is that the man obviously knew and loved his cats, and despite the anthropomorphic treatment no cat person can read those poems without laughing and shaking their head in wry recognition.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 05:59 am (UTC)I have to confess, I tend to make disparaging remarks about American Idol, so it all balances out, I suppose. I loathe "reality" shows of any kind. They send the message that life is a competition, and it's every man for himself. So not good. :-/
no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 06:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 06:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 10:54 am (UTC)Never a truer word, mate.
(and I see the next chapter of Stormalong is up. You realise you're going to make me late for work!)
no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 12:52 pm (UTC)LOL! What a lovely compliment! Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 06:17 pm (UTC)Nowadays, I don't even recognize notes anymore :p
Sorry for not commenting on the latest chapters of your story -- I'm saving the full joy till weekend when I can concentrate properly ;)
no subject
Date: 2008-04-24 01:38 am (UTC)Don't worry about my story -- it'll wait. You just have a good week.