This work is in the PUBLIC DOMAIN in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1923.
The author died in 1958, so this work is in the PUBLIC DOMAIN in countries and areas (such as the internet) where longer copyright terms might be in effect but that apply the rule of the shorter term to FOREIGN WORKS.
This poem (and all other works of Robert William Service) is PUBLIC DOMAIN
not subject to any copyright my blogs and postings do NOT infringe upon anyone else's rights
and should NOT be linked to any other site.
and should NOT be linked to any other site.
Neither this blog, or any of my postings there in, should not be linked to and there is absolutely no connection between, my blogs and or anything posted by Bryant McGill.
HE DOES NOT HAVE ANY LEGAL COPYRIGHTS ON WORKS THAT ARE:
PART OF EVERY ONE'S HERITAGE.
There are many who still believe that this poem was written
by Robert W. Service (the Ayrshire Poet); while others, just as incorrectly, attribute
it to Hugh Antoine D’Arcy.
“The Face Upon the Barroom Floor” aka “The Face on the Floor”
and “The Face on the Barroom Floor, is actually revision, or re-writing, of a poem,
originally written and published, with full copyright (which was, and usually
is, automatic), by the poet John Henry Titus in 1872.
A later
version was adapted (plagiarised) from the work Titus wrote by Hugh Antoine D’Arcy
in 1887 and published in the New York Dispatch.
According to D’Arcy, “the
poem was inspired by an actual happening at Joe Smith’s saloon at Fourth Avenue
and 14th Street Manhattan”.
When it was again reprinted and
published (plagiarised) in a D’Arcy collection, he wrote a preface in which he attempted to explain the confusion created by the THREE SIMILAR BUT NON THE LESS DIFFERENT; TITLES
The Face On The Barroom Floor
'Twas a balmy summer evening and a goodly crowd was there
Which well-nigh filled Joe’s barroom on the corner of the square,
And as songs and witty stories came through the open door
A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor.
"Where did it come from?" Someone said. "The wind has blown it in."
"What does it want?" another cried, "Some whisky, rum or gin?"
"Here, Toby, seek him, if your stomach's equal to the work --
I wouldn't touch him with a fork, He's as filthy as a Turk."
This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace;
In fact, he smiled as though he thought he’d struck the proper place.
"Come, boys, I know there's kindly hearts among so good a crowd --
To be in such good company would make a deacon proud."
"Give me a drink -- that's what I want -- I'm out of funds, you know;
When I had cash to treat the gang, this hand was never slow.
What? You laugh as if you thought this pocket never held a sou:
I once was fixed as well, my boys, as anyone of you."
"There, thanks; that's braced me nicely; God bless you one and all;
Next time I pass this good saloon, I'll make another call.
Give you a song? No, I can't do that, my singing days are past;
My voice is cracked, my throat's worn out, and my lungs are going fast.
"Say, Give me another whiskey ,and I'll tell you what I'll do --
I'll tell you a funny story, and a fact, I promise, too.
That I was ever a decent man, not one of you would think;
But, I was some four of five years back. Say, give me another drink.
"Fill her up, Joe, I want to put some life into my frame--
Such little drinks, to a bum like me, are miserably tame;
Five fingers --there, that's the scheme -- and corking whisky, too.
Well, here’s luck, boys; and, landlord, my best regards to you.
"You've treated me pretty kindly, and I'd like to tell you how
I came to be the dirty sot you see before you now.
As I told you, once I was a man, with muscle , frame, and health,
And, but for a blunder, ought to have made considerable wealth.
"I was a painter -- not one that daubed on bricks and wood
But an artist, and, for my age, was rated pretty good.
I worked hard at my canvas and was bidding fair to rise,
For gradually I saw the star of fame before my eyes.
"I made a picture, perhaps you've seen, 'tis called the 'Chase of Fame.'
It brought me fifteen hundred pounds and added to my name.
And then I met a woman -- now comes the funny part --
With eyes that petrified my brain, and sunk into my heart.
"Why don't you laugh? 'Tis funny that the vagabond you see
Could ever love a woman and expect her love for me;
But 'twas so, and for a month or two her smiles were freely given,
And when her loving lips met mine it carried me to heaven.
"Did you ever see a woman for whom your soul you'd give,
With a form like the Milo Venus, too beautiful to live;
With eyes that would beat the Koh-i-noor, and a wealth of chestnut hair?
If so, 'twas she, for there never was another half so fair.
"I was working on a portrait, one afternoon in May,
Of a fair-haired boy, a friend of mine, who lived across the way,
And Madeline admired it, and much to my surprise,
Said that she’d like to know the man that had such dreamy eyes.
"It didn't take long to know him, and before the month had flown
My friend had stolen my darling, and I was left alone;
And, ere a year of misery had passed above my head,
The jewel I had treasured so had tarnished, and was dead.
"That's why I took to drink, boys. Why, I never saw you smile,
I thought you'd be amused, and laughing all the while.
Why, what's the matter, friend? There's a teardrop in your eye,
Come, laugh like me; 'tis only babes and women that should cry.
"Say, boys, if you give me just another whiskey, I'll be glad,
And I'll draw right here a picture of the face that drove me mad.
Give me that piece of chalk with which you mark the baseball score --
And you shall see the lovely Madeline upon the barroom floor."
Another drink, and with chalk in hand the vagabond began
To sketch a face that well might buy the soul of any man.
Then, as he placed another lock upon the shapely head,
With a fearful shriek, he leaped and fell across the picture -- dead.
©Al (Alex Alexander) D Girvan 2010
Which well-nigh filled Joe’s barroom on the corner of the square,
And as songs and witty stories came through the open door
A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor.
"Where did it come from?" Someone said. "The wind has blown it in."
"What does it want?" another cried, "Some whisky, rum or gin?"
"Here, Toby, seek him, if your stomach's equal to the work --
I wouldn't touch him with a fork, He's as filthy as a Turk."
This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace;
In fact, he smiled as though he thought he’d struck the proper place.
"Come, boys, I know there's kindly hearts among so good a crowd --
To be in such good company would make a deacon proud."
"Give me a drink -- that's what I want -- I'm out of funds, you know;
When I had cash to treat the gang, this hand was never slow.
What? You laugh as if you thought this pocket never held a sou:
I once was fixed as well, my boys, as anyone of you."
"There, thanks; that's braced me nicely; God bless you one and all;
Next time I pass this good saloon, I'll make another call.
Give you a song? No, I can't do that, my singing days are past;
My voice is cracked, my throat's worn out, and my lungs are going fast.
"Say, Give me another whiskey ,and I'll tell you what I'll do --
I'll tell you a funny story, and a fact, I promise, too.
That I was ever a decent man, not one of you would think;
But, I was some four of five years back. Say, give me another drink.
"Fill her up, Joe, I want to put some life into my frame--
Such little drinks, to a bum like me, are miserably tame;
Five fingers --there, that's the scheme -- and corking whisky, too.
Well, here’s luck, boys; and, landlord, my best regards to you.
"You've treated me pretty kindly, and I'd like to tell you how
I came to be the dirty sot you see before you now.
As I told you, once I was a man, with muscle , frame, and health,
And, but for a blunder, ought to have made considerable wealth.
"I was a painter -- not one that daubed on bricks and wood
But an artist, and, for my age, was rated pretty good.
I worked hard at my canvas and was bidding fair to rise,
For gradually I saw the star of fame before my eyes.
"I made a picture, perhaps you've seen, 'tis called the 'Chase of Fame.'
It brought me fifteen hundred pounds and added to my name.
And then I met a woman -- now comes the funny part --
With eyes that petrified my brain, and sunk into my heart.
"Why don't you laugh? 'Tis funny that the vagabond you see
Could ever love a woman and expect her love for me;
But 'twas so, and for a month or two her smiles were freely given,
And when her loving lips met mine it carried me to heaven.
"Did you ever see a woman for whom your soul you'd give,
With a form like the Milo Venus, too beautiful to live;
With eyes that would beat the Koh-i-noor, and a wealth of chestnut hair?
If so, 'twas she, for there never was another half so fair.
"I was working on a portrait, one afternoon in May,
Of a fair-haired boy, a friend of mine, who lived across the way,
And Madeline admired it, and much to my surprise,
Said that she’d like to know the man that had such dreamy eyes.
"It didn't take long to know him, and before the month had flown
My friend had stolen my darling, and I was left alone;
And, ere a year of misery had passed above my head,
The jewel I had treasured so had tarnished, and was dead.
"That's why I took to drink, boys. Why, I never saw you smile,
I thought you'd be amused, and laughing all the while.
Why, what's the matter, friend? There's a teardrop in your eye,
Come, laugh like me; 'tis only babes and women that should cry.
"Say, boys, if you give me just another whiskey, I'll be glad,
And I'll draw right here a picture of the face that drove me mad.
Give me that piece of chalk with which you mark the baseball score --
And you shall see the lovely Madeline upon the barroom floor."
Another drink, and with chalk in hand the vagabond began
To sketch a face that well might buy the soul of any man.
Then, as he placed another lock upon the shapely head,
With a fearful shriek, he leaped and fell across the picture -- dead.
©Al (Alex Alexander) D Girvan 2010
No comments:
Post a Comment