Some poems can be
time capsules, reminding us of just how greatly our world has changed. Since the poem below was written, by a poet of my grandparents’ generation, there have been shifts both in the boundaries of acceptable behavior
and in the meanings conveyed by certain words:
- 1) Difficult to believe that there really was a time when young rapscallions actually thought it was ‘fun’ to tie cans to a dog’s tail. Not at all an approved amusement today. [Of course , tying a string of cans to the getaway car of a newly married couple is something else altogether…]
- 2) And, how many modern parents would have anxiety attacks when reading of a man ‘gayly’ walking amongst children?
Old Aurélien not being a [pc-driven] fan of
Bowdlerizing texts, you’ll have to make your own judgements [and comments] on this one.
Guess we’ve all known grumpy old men like the specimen here described…not me of course
…well,
not unless wakened too hastily and boisterously from one of my
senior moments [ie naps] by visiting relations….
- Forgotten Boyhood
by Edgar A. Guest 1881 – 1959
- He wears a long and solemn face
And drives the children from his place;
He doesn't like to hear them shout
Or race and run and romp about,
And if they chance to climb his tree,
He is as ugly as can be.
If in his yard they drive a ball,
Which near his pretty flowers should fall,
He hides the leather sphere away,
Thus hoping to prevent their play.
- The youngsters worry him a lot,
This sorry man who has forgot
That once upon a time, he too
The self-same mischief used to do.
The boyhood he has left behind
Has strangely vanished from his mind,
And he is old and gray and cross
For having suffered such a loss.
He thinks he never had the joy
That is the birthright of a boy.
- He has forgotten how he ran,
Or to a dog's tail tied a can,
Broke window panes, and loved to swipe
Some neighbor's apples, red and ripe -
He thinks that always, day or night,
His conduct was exactly right.
In boys to-day he cannot see
The youngster that he used to be,
Forgotten is that by-gone day,
When he was mischievous as they.
- Poor man! I'm sorry for your lot.
The best of life you have forgot.
Could you remember what you were,
Unharnessed and untouched by spur,
These youngsters that you drive away
Would be your comrades here to-day.
Among them you could gayly walk
And share their laughter and their talk;
You could be young and blithe as they,
Could you recall your yesterday.