'While The Bannock Bakes' by Robert Service
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Light up your pipe again, old chum, and sit awhile with me;
I've got to watch the bannock bake -- how restful is the air!
You'd little think that we were somewhere north of Sixty-three,
Though where I don't exactly know, and don't precisely care.
The man-size mountains palisade us round on every side;
The river is a-flop with fish, and ripples silver-clear;
The midnight sunshine brims yon cleft -- we think it's the Divide;
We'll get there in a month, maybe, or maybe in a year.
It doesn't matter, does it, pal? We're of that breed of men
With whom the world of wine and cards and women disagree;
Your trouble was a roofless game of poker now and then,
And "raising up my elbow", that's what got away with me.
We're merely "Undesirables", artistic more or less;
My horny hands are Chopin-wise; you quote your Browning well;
And yet we're fooling round for gold in this damned wilderness:
The joke is, if we found it, we would both go straight to hell.
Well, maybe we won't find it -- and at least we've got the "life".
We're both as brown as berries, and could wrestle with a bear:
(That bannock's raising nicely, pal; just jab it with your knife.)
Fine specimens of manhood they would reckon us out there.
It's the tracking and the packing and the poling in the sun;
It's the sleeping in the open, it's the rugged, unfaked food;
It's the snow-shoe and the paddle, and the campfire and the gun,
And when I think of what I was, I know that it is good.
Just think of how we've poled all day up this strange little stream;
Since life began no eye of man has seen this place before;
How fearless all the wild things are! the banks with goose-grass gleam,
And there's a bronzy musk-rat sitting sniffing at his door.
A mother duck with brood of ten comes squattering along;
The tawny, white-winged ptarmigan are flying all about;
And in that swirly, golden pool, a restless, gleaming throng,
The trout are waiting till we condescend to take them out.
Ah, yes, it's good! I'll bet that there's no doctor like the Wild:
(Just turn that bannock over there; it's getting nicely brown.)
I might be in my grave by now, forgotten and reviled,
Or rotting like a sickly cur in some far, foreign town.
I might be that vile thing I was, -- it all seems like a dream;
I owed a man a grudge one time that only life could pay;
And yet it's half-forgotten now -- how petty these things seem!
(But that's "another story", pal; I'll tell it you some day.)
How strange two "irresponsibles" should chum away up here!
But round the Arctic Circle friends are few and far between.
We've shared the same camp-fire and tent for nigh on seven year,
And never had a word that wasn't cheering and serene.
We've halved the toil and split the spoil, and borne each other's packs;
By all the Wild's freemasonry we're brothers, tried and true;
We've swept on danger side by side, and fought it back to back,
And you would die for me, old pal, and I would die for you.
Now there was that time I got lost in Rory Bory Land,
(How quick the blizzards sweep on one across that Polar sea!)
You formed a rescue crew of One, and saw a frozen hand
That stuck out of a drift of snow -- and, partner, it was Me.
But I got even, did I not, that day the paddle broke?
White water on the Coppermine -- a rock -- a split canoe --
Two fellows struggling in the foam (one couldn't swim a stroke):
A half-drowned man I dragged ashore . . . and partner, it was You.
* * * * *
In Rory Borealis Land the winter's long and black.
The silence seems a solid thing, shot through with wolfish woe;
And rowelled by the eager stars the skies vault vastly back,
And man seems but a little mite on that weird-lit plateau.
No thing to do but smoke and yarn of wild and misspent lives,
Beside the camp-fire there we sat -- what tales you told to me
Of love and hate, and chance and fate, and temporary wives!
In Rory Borealis Land, beside the Arctic Sea.
One yarn you told me in those days I can remember still;
It seemed as if I visioned it, so sharp you sketched it in;
Bellona was the name, I think; a coast town in Brazil,
Where nobody did anything but serenade and sin.
I saw it all -- the jewelled sea, the golden scythe of sand,
The stately pillars of the palms, the feathery bamboo,
The red-roofed houses and the swart, sun-dominated land,
The people ever children, and the heavens ever blue.
You told me of that girl of yours, that blossom of old Spain,
All glamour, grace and witchery, all passion, verve and glow.
How maddening she must have been! You made me see her plain,
There by our little camp-fire, in the silence and the snow.
You loved her and she loved you. She'd a husband, too, I think,
A doctor chap, you told me, whom she treated like a dog,
A white man living on the beach, a hopeless slave to drink --
(Just turn that bannock over there, that's propped against the log.)
That story seemed to strike me, pal -- it happens every day:
You had to go away awhile, then somehow it befell
The doctor chap discovered, gave her up, and disappeared;
You came back, tired of her in time . . . there's nothing more to tell.
Hist! see those willows silvering where swamp and river meet!
Just reach me up my rifle quick; that's Mister Moose, I know --
There now, I've got him dead to rights . . . but hell! we've lots to eat
I don't believe in taking life -- we'll let the beggar go.
Heigh ho! I'm tired; the bannock's cooked; it's time we both turned in.
The morning mist is coral-kissed, the morning sky is gold.
The camp-fire's a confessional -- what funny yarns we spin!
It sort of made me think a bit, that story that you told.
The fig-leaf belt and Rory Bory are such odd extremes,
Yet after all how very small this old world seems to be . . .
Yes, that was quite a yarn, old pal, and yet to me it seems
You missed the point: the point is that the "doctor chap" . . . was ME. . . .
Editor 1 Interpretation
While The Bannock Bakes by Robert Service
Robert Service is a master of narrative poetry, and his poem "While The Bannock Bakes" is no exception. It is a poem that speaks of the joys of the simple life, and the pleasures that come with being surrounded by nature. Service's use of vivid imagery and descriptive language transports the reader to the wilds of Canada, where they can almost taste the hot bannock bread that is being baked over an open fire.
A Poem of Simplicity
"At the cycle's southern limit, Where the lonesome sunsets die, Lived a maid, benighted, In the land of Caribou.
Kept her father's house and tended All his wants from day to day, Cooked his meals and softly blended All his bitter toil away."
The opening stanza of "While The Bannock Bakes" sets the scene for a story that is both intimate and universal. Here is a young woman, living in a remote corner of the world, taking care of her father and keeping his home. She is a figure of quiet strength, and her daily routine is one of hard work and contentment.
Service has a gift for capturing the essence of ordinary moments and transforming them into something extraordinary. He does this with ease in "While The Bannock Bakes", where he takes the simple act of baking bread and turns it into a celebration of life itself.
The Joys of Nature
"From the woods the red squirrels scamper, Chipmunks chuckle in the trees; From the marsh the wild ducks clamour, In the meadow pipits wheeze.
From the sky the sunbeams slanting Gild the landscape with their grace, And the brook, with laughter chanting, Merrily runs its race."
The second stanza of "While The Bannock Bakes" is a hymn to the beauty of nature. Here, Service describes the sights and sounds of the wilderness with a poet's eye. The red squirrels scampering in the woods, the wild ducks clamouring in the marsh, and the brook running its race are all images that transport the reader to the heart of the Canadian wilderness.
Service has a deep love for nature, and it shines through in his poetry. He sees the natural world as a place of wonder and magic, where every creature has its own story to tell. In "While The Bannock Bakes", he invites the reader to share in this magic, to feel the sunbeams slanting and the brook running, and to be part of the wild beauty that surrounds us all.
A Celebration of Life
"Life is sweet and love is tender, Bread's the staff of life, they say, And I know no other splendour Than to bake my bannock gay.
So I'll keep my fire a-burning, And my kettle boiling too, And I'll take no heed of yearning, For I'm happy through and through."
The final stanza of "While The Bannock Bakes" is a celebration of life itself. Here, Service reminds us that life is sweet and love is tender, and that the simple pleasures of bread and fire are enough to make us happy. The young woman in the poem has found contentment in her daily routine, and she takes pleasure in baking her bannock over the fire.
Service's poetry is often a celebration of life in all its forms. He finds beauty in the ordinary, and he sees the world as a place of wonder and magic. In "While The Bannock Bakes", he invites the reader to share in this celebration, to feel the warmth of the fire and the taste of the bannock, and to be grateful for the simple joys that life has to offer.
Conclusion
In "While The Bannock Bakes", Robert Service has created a poem of rare beauty and simplicity. His use of vivid imagery and descriptive language transports the reader to the wilds of Canada, where they can almost taste the hot bannock bread that is being baked over an open fire.
Service's poetry is a celebration of life in all its forms, and he finds beauty in the ordinary. He sees the world as a place of wonder and magic, and he invites the reader to share in this celebration.
In the end, "While The Bannock Bakes" is a poem that reminds us of the simple joys of life, and the pleasures that come with being surrounded by nature. It is a poem that speaks of love and contentment, and it is a reminder that sometimes the simplest things in life are the most beautiful.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
While The Bannock Bakes: A Poem of Nostalgia and Simplicity
Robert Service, the famous poet known for his works on the Yukon Gold Rush, has left us with a beautiful poem that captures the essence of a simpler time. "While The Bannock Bakes" is a nostalgic piece that takes us back to a time when life was slower, and the simple pleasures of life were cherished. In this analysis, we will explore the themes, imagery, and language used in the poem to understand its significance.
The poem begins with the speaker reminiscing about his childhood days, when he would sit by the fire and watch his mother bake bannocks. The bannock, a traditional Scottish bread, was a staple food in the speaker's household. The opening lines of the poem set the tone for the rest of the piece, as the speaker describes the warmth and comfort of the fire, and the smell of the bannock baking. The imagery used here is vivid and evocative, as the reader can almost smell the aroma of the bread and feel the heat of the fire.
As the poem progresses, the speaker describes the simple pleasures of life that he enjoyed as a child. He talks about the joy of playing with his siblings, and the excitement of going to school. The language used here is simple and straightforward, reflecting the innocence and naivety of childhood. The speaker's tone is one of fondness and nostalgia, as he looks back on these memories with a sense of longing.
The poem takes a more serious turn in the third stanza, as the speaker reflects on the hardships of life. He talks about the struggles of his parents, who worked hard to provide for their family. The language used here is more somber, as the speaker acknowledges the difficulties that his family faced. However, he also emphasizes the resilience and strength of his parents, who never gave up despite the challenges they faced.
The final stanza of the poem brings us back to the present, as the speaker reflects on his current life. He talks about the changes that have taken place, and how the world has become more complex and fast-paced. However, he also acknowledges that the simple pleasures of life still exist, and that we should cherish them. The poem ends with the speaker expressing his gratitude for the memories of his childhood, and the lessons that he learned from his parents.
One of the main themes of the poem is nostalgia. The speaker looks back on his childhood with a sense of longing, as he remembers the simpler times. He contrasts this with the present, which he sees as more complex and fast-paced. The poem suggests that we should not forget the simple pleasures of life, and that we should cherish the memories of our past.
Another theme of the poem is resilience. The speaker acknowledges the hardships that his family faced, but also emphasizes their strength and determination. This theme is particularly relevant in today's world, where many people are facing difficult challenges. The poem reminds us that we can overcome these challenges if we remain strong and determined.
The imagery used in the poem is particularly effective in creating a sense of nostalgia and simplicity. The description of the fire and the smell of the bannock baking creates a vivid picture in the reader's mind. The use of simple language and straightforward descriptions also adds to the sense of innocence and naivety that the poem conveys.
The language used in the poem is simple and straightforward, reflecting the innocence and naivety of childhood. The speaker's tone is one of fondness and nostalgia, as he looks back on these memories with a sense of longing. The use of Scottish dialect also adds to the authenticity of the poem, and gives it a unique flavor.
In conclusion, "While The Bannock Bakes" is a beautiful poem that captures the essence of a simpler time. The themes of nostalgia and resilience are particularly relevant in today's world, where many people are facing difficult challenges. The imagery and language used in the poem are effective in creating a sense of nostalgia and simplicity. Overall, this poem is a testament to the power of memories, and the importance of cherishing the simple pleasures of life.
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