h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Supplementary question:

How many seas must a white dove sail before she sleeps in the sand?

What makes a man a man? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=okXt33o40MQ

Well, doves don't sleep on the sand. They are cliff-birds.

What did Kipling say to his daughter - "a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a Smoke" - a poem inspired by a breach of promise case in a newspaper, where the man jilted a woman who told him to give up smoking:

Title: The Betrothed
Author: Rudyard Kipling [More Titles by Kipling]

"You must choose between me and your cigar."
--BREACH OF PROMISE CASE, CIRCA 1885.

Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,
For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.

We quarrelled about Havanas--we fought o'er a good cheroot,
And I knew she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.

Open the old cigar-box--let me consider a space;
In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie's face.

Maggie is pretty to look at--Maggie's a loving lass,
But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass.

There's peace in a Larranaga, there's calm in a Henry Clay;
But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away--

Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown--
But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the town!

Maggie, my wife at fifty--grey and dour and old--
With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!

And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,
And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar--

The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket--
With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and black to the socket!

Open the old cigar-box--let me consider a while.
Here is a mild Manila--there is a wifely smile.

Which is the better portion--bondage bought with a ring,
Or a harem of dusky beauties, fifty tied in a string?

Counsellors cunning and silent--comforters true and tried,
And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride?

Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,
Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close,

This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return,
With only a Suttee's passion--to do their duty and burn.

This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead,
Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.

The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main,
When they hear my harem is empty will send me my brides again.

I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal,
So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall.

I will scent 'em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides,
And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides.

For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between
The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o' Teen.

And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear,
But I have been Priest of Cabanas a matter of seven year;

And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light
Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight.

And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove,
But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o'-the-Wisp of Love.

Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged in the mire?
Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire?

Open the old cigar-box--let me consider anew--
Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you?

A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;
And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke.

Light me another Cuba--I hold to my first-sworn vows.
If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for Spouse!

What a powerful version of the song. It's so sad

>>Title: The Betrothed Author: Rudyard Kipling<<

Very amusing - he would have been about 20 when he penned that poem.

I like his,


'Being kissed by a man who didn't wax his moustache was like eating an egg without salt.'


In Edwardian times it was the norm for men to have moustaches..and I can imagine waxing it would give you an edge. Certainly I'd never eat an egg without salt.

I know what makes me a man. What makes you a man?

Are doves cliff birds? I thought they lived in cotes.

I should add that thats one of my all-time least favourite songs. Right up there with Imagine or anything by Queen.

This is more the thing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5IOou6qN1o

Yes, dear...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uy5gRxjxHtg

If it's dualling YouTubes, a tune from my wedding ...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7hNYgoeFWDQ

Links, you say?

Then Ill admit that Blowin In The Wind *can* be made to sound reasonable, in the wrong hands:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qvP7JNsX6ic

Indeed, doves do sleep - well roost, presumaby - in cotes. But before there were people and dovecotes there were cliffs. They are just white pigeons, surely?

How many seas must a white dove fly next to until she can roost in her dovecote?

(Next to, not over or across because they are land birds).

Meh.

(whisper) I think your mistake here is in expecting Dylan lyrics to make sense.

Actually, its a common Dylanological failing to analyse them to death and back. Me, I reckon their genius is that theyre all a massive joke.

>>They are just white pigeons, surely?

Ah, but are the domesticated pigeons? I wonder if the 1st chapter of The Origin of Species has anything to say about them, being chiefly concerned with pigeon fancying...

Coo!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Release_Dove

Ah. Yes. Poetry. The stuff that's lost in translation.

I don't really mind either way . They sound as if they make sense, and I guess that's all that matters.

B

I suppose Dylan's a bit like Marx then..

Actually Dylan makes sense to me..But I didn't realise there was a whole industry trying to interpret them though. How tedious.

Are you out of pre-mod?

yeah for about a week.