Posted on 04/24/2019 9:57:34 AM PDT by re_tail20
I like taking old classics and streamlining them and applying modern spelling and proofreading standards to them. One can see them in a new, fresh light that way. In the past, on Free Republic, I’ve done it with the Declaration of Independence, the United States Constitution, and George Washington’s Rules of Civility. Now, I’ve done it with Rudyard Kipling’s “The White Man’s Burden” as well as several responses to it. As I did with the above three, I’ve taken their original poetry structure and reassembled it into normal sentences. “The White Man’s Burden” takes up only five sentences, but it holds up very well. Perhaps Kipling did it this way.
Kipling originally wrote “The White Man’s Burden” as a warning to Americans as they intervened in the Philippines. He then appears to have just moved on to other things and left it alone to speak for itself. Well, it caused a lot of furious reactions, both at the time, from then on, and today, as it was viewed, not as a warning, but as a justification of imperialism and white supremacy. Thus, in addition to all the normal “rebuke” articles that were written about it, several poets and writers chose the path of writing their own poems as response. Thus, there are the four below that I could find.
The White Man’s Burden
by Rudyard Kipling - February, 1899
Take up the White Man’s Burden—send forth the best you breed—go send your sons to exile to serve your captives' need to wait in heavy harness on fluttered folk and wild—your new-caught, sullen peoples, half devil and half child.
Take up the White Man’s Burden in patience to abide to veil the threat of terror and check the show of pride; by open speech and simple a hundred times made plain to seek another’s profit and work another’s gain.
Take up the White Man’s Burden—and reap his old reward: the blame of those you better, the hate of those you guard—the cry of hosts you humor (Ah slowly) to the light: "Why brought you us from bondage, our loved Egyptian night?”
Take up the White Man’s Burden - have done with childish days - the lightly proffered laurel, the easy, ungrudged praise.
Comes now, to search your manhood through all the thankless years, cold-edged with dear-bought wisdom, the judgment of your peers!
The Brown Man's Burden
by Henry Labouchère - February, 1899
Pile on the Brown Man's Burden to gratify your greed; go, clear away the "niggers" who progress would impede; be very stern, for truly it is useless to be mild with new-caught, sullen peoples, half devil and half child. Pile on the Brown Man's Burden; and, if you rouse his hate, meet his old-fashioned reasons with Maxims up to date.
With shells and dumdum bullets a hundred times made plain the Brown Man's loss must ever imply the White Man's gain. Pile on the Brown Man's Burden, compel him to be free; let all your manifestoes reek with philanthropy.
And if with heathen folly he dares your will dispute, then, in the name of freedom, don't hesitate to shoot. Pile on the Brown Man's Burden, and if his cry be sore, that surely need not irk you—you’ve driven slaves before.
Seize on his ports and pastures, the fields his people tread; go make from them your living, and mark them with his dead. Pile on the Brown Man's Burden, and through the world proclaim that you are Freedom's agent—there's no more paying game!
And, should your own past history straight in your teeth be thrown, retort that independence is good for whites alone.
The Black Man’s Burden - (Version One)
by H. T. Johnson - April, 1899
Pile on the Black Man’s Burden.
It is nearest at your door; why heed long bleeding Cuba, or dark Hawaii’s shore?
Hail you your fearless armies, which menace feeble folks who fight with clubs and arrows and brook your rifle’s smoke.
Pile on the Black Man’s Burden, his wail with laughter drown, you’ve sealed the Red Man’s problem, and will take up the Brown, in vain you seek to end it, with bullets, blood or death, better by far defend it, with honor’s holy breath.
The Black Man's Burden - (Version Two)
by Lulu Baxter Guy - December, 1903
Take off the Black Man's Burden, this boon we humbly crave.
Have we not served you long enough?
Been long enough your slave?
Cut loose the bands that bind us, bid us like men be strong.
Think of the brave deeds we have done; look not for all the wrong.
Take off the Black Man's Burden, it is this that we demand; think not of all the crimes you've heard, but that march up San Juan.
Oh, South, can't you remember when you fought to hold our lives?
How loyal was the Black Man to your daughters and your wives?
Take off the Black Man's Burden, you men of power and might.
Wait not one for another but dare to do the right.
The blood, the smoke, the ashes, of martyred men that's slain; comes wafted to you from the south but for another's gain.
Take off the Black Man's Burden, his mind can then expand.
He'll prove your equal in the race, stand every whit a man.
We'll wait till the burden's lifted, and to those who crush us down, will come the words of God to Cain, “Your brother's blood cries from the ground."
The Black Man’s Burden - (Version Three)
By Hubert Harrison - 1920
Take up the Black Man’s Burden—send forth the worst you breed, and bind our sons in shackles to serve your selfish greed; to wait in heavy harness be-deviled and beguiled until the Fates remove you from a world you have defiled. Take up the Black Man’s Burden—your lies may still abide to veil the threat of terror and check our racial pride; your cannon, church and courthouse may still our sons constrain to seek the White Man’s profit and work the White Man’s gain. Take up the Black Man’s Burden---reach out and hog the earth, and leave your workers hungry in the country of their birth; then, when your goal is nearest, the end for which you fought watch others trained efficiency bring all your hope to naught. Take up the Black Man’s Burden—reduce their chiefs and kings to toil of serf and sweeper the lot of common things: sodden their soil with slaughter, ravish their lands with lead; go, sign them with your living and seal them with your dead. Take up the Black Man’s Burden---and reap your old reward; the curse of those you cozen, the hate of those you barred from your Canadian cities and your Australian ports; and when they ask for meat and drink go, girdle them with forts. Take up the Black Man’s Burden—you cannot stoop to less.
Will not your fraud of "freedom" still cloak your greediness?
But, by the gods you worship, and by the deeds you do, these silent, sullen peoples shall weigh your gods and you. Take up the Black Man’s Burden—until the tail is told, until the balances of hate bear down the beam of gold.
And while you wait remember, the justice though delayed, will hold you as her debtor, till the Black Man’s debt is paid.
Ping for later
My favorite Kipling
Perhaps the gentle modern tongue would give it more light
But I doubt it
The Gods of the Copybook Headings
AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.
We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “Stick to the Devil you know.”
On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “The Wages of Sin is Death.”
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “If you don’t work you die.”
Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool’s bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!
Kipling
Hah … the “responses” ignore the obvious.
Squalid conditions are created by squalid people. One cannot lift squalid people out of squalor by giving them free stuff. They have to do it themselves … They have to quit being squalid.
You left out Kipling’s salient warning.
“Take up the white mans burden,
The savage wars of peace
Fill full the mouth of famine
And bid the sickness cease
And when your goal is nearest, your hope for others sought,
Watch sloth and heathen folly
Bring all your works to nought.
Good post.
I hope you are doing well.
5.56mm
Gods of the Copybook Headings has the most original premise of any poetry that comes to mind and ranks, to me, with Shelley’s Ozymandias.
My major screw up.
By bad luck, I chose a half text version of the poem.
I’ll rectify that.
My major screw up.
By bad luck, I chose a half text version of the poem.
I’ll rectify that.
Mark
No tears here
Okay
Here’s the complete version.
The White Man’s Burden
by Rudyard Kipling - February, 1899
Take up the White Man’s Burden—send forth the best you breed—go send your sons to exile to serve your captives’ need to wait in heavy harness on fluttered folk and wild—your new-caught, sullen peoples, half devil and half child.
Take up the White Man’s Burden in patience to abide to veil the threat of terror and check the show of pride; by open speech and simple a hundred times made plain to seek another’s profit and work another’s gain.
Take up the White Man’s Burden—the savage wars of peace—fill full the mouth of famine and bid the sickness cease; and when your goal is nearest the end for others sought, watch sloth and heathen folly bring all your hopes to nought.
Take up the White Man’s Burden—no tawdry rule of kings, but toil of serf and sweeper—the tale of common things.
The ports you shall not enter, the roads you shall not tread, go mark them with your living, and mark them with your dead.
Take up the White Man’s Burden—and reap his old reward: the blame of those you better, the hate of those you guard—the cry of hosts you humor (Ah slowly) to the light: “Why brought you us from bondage, our loved Egyptian night?”
Take up the White Man’s Burden—you dare not stoop to less—nor call too loud on freedom to cloak your weariness; by all you cry or whisper, by all you leave or do, the silent, sullen peoples shall weigh your gods and you.
Take up the White Man’s Burden - have done with childish days - the lightly proffered laurel, the easy, ungrudged praise.
Comes now, to search your manhood through all the thankless years, cold-edged with dear-bought wisdom, the judgment of your peers!
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