KAREN LAND

Mushing, Running, and the Great Outdoors!

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Robert Service

Lace Up Your Mukluks,

 

Draw Tight Your Fur Ruff,

 

Prepare for Adventure!

The Rhymes of Robert Service are at the TOP of my list of favorite and fun literary masterpieces. Kids of all ages will love these arctic tales. A warning to teachers and librarians: Robert Service is a classic writer your students will devour!

To get a taste of Service, go to National Public Radio (NPR) to listen to the 2006 recording of Johnny Cash reciting "The Cremation of Sam McGee." This is one of my all-time favorite poems that I often recited to my dogs as we mushed down the Iditarod Trail. NPR also features another story about an illustrated version of the poem for children here, with a recitation by Scott Simon and Daniel Pinkwater.

WHO IS ROBERT SERVICE???

From the "Collected Poems of Robert Service" published by G.P. Putnam's Sons and first copyrighted in 1907:

Robert Service was born in England in 1874. After spending his childhood in Scotland he came to Canada and there commenced the life of wandering and adventure which has given birth to songs, rhymes, ballads, and poems that have spread over the whole world.

His vagabond career, bounded by Alaska and Turkey, by England and Mexico, has been such a diversity of odd jobs in so many places an actual chronicle of it is well nigh impossible.

Mr. Service, who escaped to America from the German invasion of France, later returned to that country where he spent the remainder of his days.

And from the wonderful and informative website, www.robertwservice.com:

The following obituary appeared in the Pittsburgh Sun-Telegraph of Sept. 16, 1958: A GREAT POET died last week in Lancieux, France, at the age of 84. 

He was not a poet's poet. Fancy-Dan dilettantes will dispute the description "great." He was a people's poet. To the people he was great. They understood him, and knew that any verse carrying the by-line of Robert W. Service would be a lilting thing, clear, clean and power-packed, beating out a story with a dramatic intensity that made the nerves tingle. And he was no poor, garret-type poet, either. His stuff made money hand over fist. One piece alone, The Shooting of Dan McGrew, rolled up half a million dollars for him. He lived it up well and also gave a great deal to help others.

"The only society I like," he once said, "is that which is rough and tough - and the tougher the better. That's where you get down to bedrock and meet human people." He found that kind of society in the Yukon gold rush, and he immortalized it.

MORE GREAT ROBERT SERVICE LINKS:

- http://www.electricscotland.com/poetry/robert_service.htm

- http://www.cowboypoetry.com/robertservice.htm#crem

 

 



The Call of the Wild

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The Call of the Wild

by Robert Service

Have you gazed on naked grandeur where there's nothing else to gaze on,
Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore,
Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon,
Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar?
Have you swept the visioned valley with the green stream streaking through it,
Searched the Vastness for a something you have lost?
Have you strung your soul to silence? Then for God's sake go and do it;
Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost.

 


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My Friends

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My Friends
 
by Robert Service

 

The man above was a murderer, the man below was a thief
And I lay there in the bunk between, ailing beyond belief;
A weary armful of skin and bone, wasted with pain and grief.

 

My feet were froze, and the lifeless toes were purple and green and gray;
The little flesh that clung to my bones, you could punch it in holes like clay;
The skin on my gums was a sullen black, and slowly peeling away.

 


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Bessie's Boil

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Bessie's Boil
 
by Robert Service
 
Says I to my Missis: "Ba goom, lass! you've something I see, on your mind."
Says she: "You are right, Sam, I've something. It 'appens it's on me be'ind.
A Boil as 'ud make Job jealous. It 'urts me no end when I sit."
Says I: "Go to 'ospittel, Missis. They might 'ave to coot it a bit."
Says she: "I just 'ate to be showin' the part of me person it's at."
Says I: "Don't be fussy; them doctors see sights more 'orrid than that."

 


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The Spell of the Yukon

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The Spell of the Yukon

by Robert Service

I wanted the gold, and I sought it,
I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.
Was it famine or scurvy -- I fought it;
I hurled my youth into a grave.
I wanted the gold, and I got it --
Came out with a fortune last fall, --
Yet somehow life's not what I thought it,
And somehow the gold isn't all.

 


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The Cremation of Sam McGee

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The Cremation of Sam McGee
 
by Robert Service

 

 

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that he'd "sooner live in hell".

 


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