This poem is the shizzle. I so mean it. The imagery is wondrous... and is a brilliant concoction of Elliot's inimitable palate of wit. I wish I could write like him. Each character in Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats is impossibly perfect and malignant. I am going to order the book from Flipkart as soon as I can, given the current state of my finances. The poem has just taken over my afternoon and I am ditching work to re-discover further fascinations by Elliot, in the form of one Growltiger, who is dosed his own medicine and is forced to take his last stance on board a treacherous ship.Feline melodrama, ahoy!
This poem reminds me of school and my aunt who is an English professor and once attempted teaching me Elocution. It reminds me of the extremely eventful train journey to Lucknow in school, where I did get up on a massive and blinding stage, all by myself, and vomited my version of The Listeners by Walter De La Mare, a powerful and evocative poem if there was one, wearing a leather cowboy hat, breeches, a checked shirt and ankle boots -uh uh, stirrups, if you please- and only thing missing in my attire was a lasso at the waist. The poem was meant to be eerie (maybe that was successful) and was sprinkled with innovative words like 'Spake'. Spake! Too bad I didn't have my own horsie, like the fellow in the poem had, that 'champs' on the grass. I was initially supposed to recite Macavity itself, and I am so glad that I did not (yes, did NOT), because, hold still, the school would have made me wear a tail. I'd take Eerie Cowboy over Demented Cat (me, not Macavity) any day, although, in retrospect, without the cat outfit, Macavity would have been a blast. So, I did The Listeners to a half-filled auditorium, blushed purple and got the hell out of there. For good. I have never ever recited anything else in my life. Never will. And speeches make me nervous as hell too, and I had to do a few to the school assembly even after the hideous recitation. On one particular occasion, the only thing that kept me going was the fact that I had written it off so damned well. It might have sounded lousy over the mic but in my head, it was the World's Greatest Assambly Speech. Which is where originated my belief that I think am better with the written word than the spoken, a concepy I even shoved into the faces of my current bosses, one drunken evening (too many). Also, the above mentioned assembly speech helped me win an election, yessir.
Any which way, smug as I may be right now about my fantastic speech-writing abilities, I am nowhere near writing well, as I would like to be. I am out of shape and have encountered the Block too many daunting times lately. I need practice and I need some forsaken inspiration! But it is poems like these that light some matches, and the fact that it was created by our own human kind, given that I believe everyone is born equal, I may have a shot somewhere, if only I am willing to explore the possibilities of what I may be good at. But I am too lazy for that and will possibly be bored half-way through, having the attention span of a drunken monkey. In the meantime, I present to you, and please read it, because this whole post is about how great it is, Macavity, the Mystery Cat:
-- T S Eliot
This poem reminds me of school and my aunt who is an English professor and once attempted teaching me Elocution. It reminds me of the extremely eventful train journey to Lucknow in school, where I did get up on a massive and blinding stage, all by myself, and vomited my version of The Listeners by Walter De La Mare, a powerful and evocative poem if there was one, wearing a leather cowboy hat, breeches, a checked shirt and ankle boots -uh uh, stirrups, if you please- and only thing missing in my attire was a lasso at the waist. The poem was meant to be eerie (maybe that was successful) and was sprinkled with innovative words like 'Spake'. Spake! Too bad I didn't have my own horsie, like the fellow in the poem had, that 'champs' on the grass. I was initially supposed to recite Macavity itself, and I am so glad that I did not (yes, did NOT), because, hold still, the school would have made me wear a tail. I'd take Eerie Cowboy over Demented Cat (me, not Macavity) any day, although, in retrospect, without the cat outfit, Macavity would have been a blast. So, I did The Listeners to a half-filled auditorium, blushed purple and got the hell out of there. For good. I have never ever recited anything else in my life. Never will. And speeches make me nervous as hell too, and I had to do a few to the school assembly even after the hideous recitation. On one particular occasion, the only thing that kept me going was the fact that I had written it off so damned well. It might have sounded lousy over the mic but in my head, it was the World's Greatest Assambly Speech. Which is where originated my belief that I think am better with the written word than the spoken, a concepy I even shoved into the faces of my current bosses, one drunken evening (too many). Also, the above mentioned assembly speech helped me win an election, yessir.
Any which way, smug as I may be right now about my fantastic speech-writing abilities, I am nowhere near writing well, as I would like to be. I am out of shape and have encountered the Block too many daunting times lately. I need practice and I need some forsaken inspiration! But it is poems like these that light some matches, and the fact that it was created by our own human kind, given that I believe everyone is born equal, I may have a shot somewhere, if only I am willing to explore the possibilities of what I may be good at. But I am too lazy for that and will possibly be bored half-way through, having the attention span of a drunken monkey. In the meantime, I present to you, and please read it, because this whole post is about how great it is, Macavity, the Mystery Cat:
Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw -
For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there!
Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air -
But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there!
Mcavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.
Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square -
But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there!
He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.
And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair -
Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!
And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty's gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair -
But it's useless to investigate - Mcavity's not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
`It must have been Macavity!' - but he's a mile away.
You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
Or engaged in doing complicated long-division sums.
Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibi, and one or two to spaer:
At whatever time the deed took place - MACAVITY WASN'T THERE!
And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!
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