If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;
If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son! |
I did not sleep last night.
The falling snow was beautiful and white.
I dressed, sneaked down the stairs
And opened wide the door.
I had not seen such snow before.
Our grubby little street had gone.
The world was brand-new, and everywhere
There was a pureness in the air.
I felt such peace.
Watching every flake
I felt more and more awake.
I thought I had learned all there was to know
About the trillion million different kinds
Of swirling frosty flakes of snow.
That was not so.
I did not know how vividly it lit
The world with such a peaceful glow.
Upstairs my mother slept.
I could not drag myself away from that sight
To call her down and have her share
The mute miracle of the snow.
It seemed to fall for me alone.
How beautiful our grubby little street had grown!
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Brian Patten was born in Liverpool in 1946. In the 1960s, he was one of a group of young poets from Liverpool whose poems became very popular and widely read. It is easy to understand why – the poems are direct, simple and often funny. Brian Patten is today one of Britain’s leading poets, and he has written lots of poems both for adults and for children. So here it is,
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As soon as Wolf began to feel
That he would like a decent meal,
He went and knocked on Grandma's door.
When Grandma opened it, she saw
The sharp white teeth, the horrid grin,
And Wolfie said, 'May I come in?'
Poor Grandmamma was terrified,
'He's going to eat me up!' she cried.
And she was absolutely right.
He ate her up in one big bite.
But Grandmamma was small and tough,
And Wolfie wailed, 'That's not enough!
I haven't yet begun to feel
That I have had a decent meal!'
He ran around the kitchen yelping,
'I've got to have a second helping!'
Then added with a frightful leer,
'I'm therefore going to wait right here
Till Little Miss Red Riding Hood
Comes home from walking in the wood.'
He quickly put on Grandma's clothes,
(Of course he hadn't eaten those).
He dressed himself in coat and hat.
He put on shoes, and after that,
He even brushed and curled his hair,
Then sat himself in Grandma's chair.
In came the little girl in red.
She stopped. She stared. And then she said,
'What great big ears you have, Grandma.'
'All the better to hear you with,'
the Wolf replied.
'What great big eyes you have, Grandma.'
said Little Red Riding Hood.
'All the better to see you with,'
the Wolf replied.
He sat there watching her and smiled.
He thought, I'm going to eat this child.
Compared with her old Grandmamma,
She's going to taste like caviar.
Then Little Red Riding Hood said, '
But Grandma, what a lovely great big
furry coat you have on.'
'That's wrong!' cried Wolf.
'Have you forgot
To tell me what BIG TEETH I've got?
Ah well, no matter what you say,
I'm going to eat you anyway.'
The small girl smiles. One eyelid flickers.
She whips a pistol from her knickers.
She aims it at the creature's head,
And bang bang bang, she shoots him dead.
A few weeks later, in the wood,
I came across Miss Riding Hood.
But what a change! No cloak of red,
No silly hood upon her head.
She said, 'Hello, and do please note
My lovely furry wolfskin coat.'
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- ‘I've been upstairs', she said.
‘Oh yes?’ I said.
‘I found a hair,’ she said.
‘A hair?’ I said.
‘In the bed,’ she said.
‘From a head?’ I said.
‘It’s not mine,’ she said.
‘Was it black?’ I said.
‘It was,’ she said.
‘I’ll explain,’ I said.
‘You swine,’ she said.
‘Not quite,’ I said.
‘I’m going,’ she said.
‘Please don’t,’ I said.
‘I hate you!’ she said.
‘You do?’ I said.
‘Of course!’ she said.
‘But why?’ I said.
‘That black hair,’ she said.
‘A pity,’ I said.
‘Time for truth,’ she said.
‘For confessions?’ I said.
‘Me too,’ she said.
‘You what?’ I said.
‘Someone else,’ she said.
‘Oh dear,’ I said.
‘So there!’ she said.
‘Ah well,’ I said.
‘Guess who?’ she said.
‘Don’t say,’ I said.
‘I will,’ she said.
‘You would,’ I said.
‘Your friend,’ she said.
‘Oh damn,’ I said.
‘And his friend,’ she said.
‘Him too?’ I said.
‘And the rest,’ she said.
‘Good God!’ I said.
‘What’s that?’ she said.
‘What’s what?’ I said.
‘That noise?’ she said.
‘Upstairs?’ I said.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘The new cat,’ I said.
‘A cat?’ she said.
‘It’s black,’ I said.
‘Black?’ she said.
‘Long-haired,’ I said.
‘Oh no,’ she said.
‘Oh yes,’ I said.
‘Oh shit!’ she said.
‘Goodbye,’ I said.
‘I lied,’ she said.
‘You lied?’ I said.
‘Of course,’ she said.
‘About my friend?’ I said.
‘Y-ess,’ she said.
‘And the others?’ I said.
‘Ugh,’ she said.
‘How odd,’ I said.
‘I’m forgiven?’ she said.
‘Of course,’ I said.
‘I’ll stay?’ she said.
‘Please don’t,’ I said.
‘But why?’ she said.
‘I lied,’ I said.
‘About what?’ she said.
‘The new cat,’ I said.
‘It’s white,’ I said.
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АНГЛИЯ
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