The Undertaker’s Horse
Rudyard Kipling

The eldest son bestrides him,
And the pretty daughter rides him,
And I meet him oft o’ mornings on the course;
And there wakens in my bosom
An emotion chill and gruesome
As I canter past the Undertaker’s Horse.

Neither shies he nor is restive,
But a hideously suggestive
Trot, professional and placid, he affects;
And the cadence of his hoof-beats
To my mind, this grim reproof beats:
“Mend your pace, my friend, I’m coming.
Who’s the next?”

Ah! Stud-bred of ill-omen,
I have watched the strongest go-men
Of pith and might and muscle-at your heels,
Down the plantain bordered highway,
(Heaven send it ne’er be my way!)
In a lacquered box and jetty upon wheels.

Answer somber beast and dreary,
Where is Brown, the young, the cheery,
Smith, the pride of all his friends and half the force?
You were at that last dread dak
We must cover at a walk
Bring them back to me, O Undertaker’s Horse!

With your mane unhogged and flowing
And your curious way of going,
And that business-like black crimping of your tail,
E’en with Beauty on your back, Sir,
Pacing as a lady's hack, Sir,
What wonder when I meet you I turn pale?

It may be you wait your time, Beast,
Till I write my last bad rhyme, Beast,
Quit the sunlight, cut the rhyming, drop the glass,
Follow after with the others,
Where some dusky heathen smothers
Us with marigolds in lieu of English grass.

Or, perchance in years to follow,
I shall watch your plump sides hollow,
See Carnifex (gone lame) become a corse,
See old age at last o’erpower you,
And the station pack devour you,
I shall chuckle then, O Undertaker’s Horse!

But to insult, gibe, and quest I’ve
Still the hideously suggestive
Trot that hammers out the grim and warning text,
And I hear it hard behind me,
In what place soe’er I find me:
“Sure to catch you sooner or later.
Who’s the next?”

Have not read that much by Ragyard Drippling, didn't much care for what I did read, but do sorta like this particular poem - must be the equusnecros factor, son of Revelation's pale horse taking a human fare to where that sullen twerp Charon is awaiting (hope he at least offers such a horse as this a drink of better than that Lethe'swill he poles and rudders through!!).

Find that the rime-ing does not use the rest of the poem as stall-dressing.

Like the scrubbadub mordent attitude the poem takes about death - allows a pedestrian stance to be taken between instinct's orgasm and the sexton all shoveled-up. Sometimes the ignorance of flesh succeeds in offsetting that fist full of stars that death is sure to throw against our elements, if not in our face. "We'll see", sed d'Zingmeistr...

Carpe verve all.

Thanks for another horse poem this week, Busta G.

Kipling has definitely fallen out of favor for lots of poetry readers, but I was reminded this afternoon just how popular he was at one time.

In 1907, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, making him the first English language writer to receive the prize, and to date he remains its youngest recipient. (He was 42 at the time.)

And this newspaper article from 1909 even makes a reference to the very poem you have posted --

LITTLE WHITE MARE IS DEAD. Arabian Funeral Horse Died on Way to Cemetery. Kansas City Journal, March 10, 1909

There was a little tragedy in a funeral procession on its way to Union cemetery at the corner of Forty-second street and Brooklyn avenue, yesterday afternoon. It was when Ella, a pure white Arabian mare, belonging to the J. W. Wagner undertaking firm, toppled over in her harness and fell dead almost beneath the wheels of the vehicle in which at the closest estimate she has hauled 2,800 bodies to the grave.

Scarcely anyone but the driver, George Wagner, paid more than a passing glance to the dead animal. It was hastily cut loose from its trappings and a team of black horses took the place of the white ones on the hearse.

Ella was imported from Cuba by the undertaking firm, twenty years ago. Her mate, John, cost $700 exclusive of transportation charges. She was a pedigreed Arabian with glistening white hair, through which could be seen her pink skin. Her mate died two years ago. Since then she had been harnessed with a white horse of mongrel stock, but years younger than herself.

Members of the firm say that Ella has the undertaker's horse of Kipling's poem beaten in many ways as a tractable animal, and that her professional experience exceeds anything of the kind on record.

Hi, Busta,

I had never read this poem before and appreciated it for its contrasts to the Tuesday offering. MaryAnn said Kipling has fallen into disfavor, but I think it would also be accurate to say rhyming poems have fallen into disfavor (there may even be some connection there). I was reminded of how hard it is to make a poem truly rhyme -- Kipling, for instance, resorts to bosom/gruesome and I've/suggestive (which don't actually rhyme when they are pronounced my way). On the other hand, there are some truly creative pairings, such as restive/suggestive and o'erpower/devour, that do seem to rhyme.

There's also a bit of humor to the poem, since I can't imagine the horse truly struck terror into Kipling's heart. And his suggestion that a time will come when he writes his "last bad rhyme" is a wry touch.

The other good parts of the poem are the reminders that he writes in a foreign country -- the word "dak," which one can fairly well guess the meaning of from context, and the reminder that the corpse will be covered with layers of marigolds -- watch any Bollywood movie and you will realize the filmmakers' marigold budget must be huge! Of course, the "dusky heathen" comment might well have been deleted in our more politically correct times.

Kipling’s poetry comes from an age of English empire and colonization. He of course lived in India, etc. - I am sure most know the background. I find Kipling playful in rhyming and language choice. His stories and some poetry were read to me as a child so I hold a certain sentimental attachment. I still think that Kipling is at it's best when read aloud.

He is, of course, no longer politically correct in today's world. I think he loses favor with poetry readers because:
A. They don't give a whit anymore about colonial India.
B. They consider themselves "above" rhyming poetry.
C. They enjoy the poetry until they slam into a glaringly obvious politically incorrect statement.

Off you go, swept away by the clever language, the timing of the verse and then bam! You are full fronted by a condescending remark regarding a non-English person native to India. It doesn't really work anymore for most readers, especially beacause he is best known for his childrens stories. I make no excuses for Kipling except to say that he wrote his world through the lenses of his place and society at large of the time. It is sort of like reading Huckleberry Finn - a great story, but there is some extremely politically incorrect language. Do we bury it in a hole with Kipling, etc. or do we air it out as a teachable history lesson. Uncomfortable - it should be, but I don't think we should run and hide from the material. If you don't like Kipling because of reasons A. or B., you are excused. If it is because of reason C. you are not excused - my humble opinion is that you need to look it in the face.

Hi, Busta, I made the comment about political correctness not because I agree with the concept but because it seems to be an unavoidable fact of life any more. If I'm reading poetry written in another age, I don't get offended by things said that were not offensive (or not intended to be offensive) at the time they were written. And I like the idea of poetry as time travel -- the whole thought of colonial India, marigolds, horses, burials is fascinating.

I'm sure there are things poets are putting in their poetry today that will be equally offensive in another couple of centuries; I just don't know yet what they are.

Hi, IT. Please don't think my post was directed at you - that would have been fairly rude, and I try to avoid being rude. By the time I had written my post, it seems as though you had also posted - actually thought they worked well together and might have had some of the same direction of thought.

He is, of course, no longer politically correct in today's world. I think he loses favor with poetry readers because:
A. They don't give a whit anymore about colonial India.
B. They consider themselves "above" rhyming poetry.
C. They enjoy the poetry until they slam into a glaringly obvious politically incorrect statement.

Well, I didn't like this particular poem because it didn't say anything fresh about dying and because I thought it was wordy. After reading the OPP, however, I discovered his "Recessional" and decided to use it next week in my religion + poetry class as an example of religious Victorian poetry (along with Arnold's "Dover Beach," Hardy's "Hap" and "The Oxen," and 3 poems by Hopkins).

I think the poem that got Kipling most in trouble was his "White Man's Burden." However, one could read it as satire rather than literal. What do you think, BustaG?

THE WHITE MAN’S BURDEN by Rudyard Kipling

Take up the White Man's burden --
Send forth the best ye breed --
Go bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives' need;
To wait in heavy harness,
On fluttered folk and wild --
Your new-caught, sullen peoples,
Half-devil and half-child.

Take up the White Man's burden --
In patience to abide,
To veil the threat of terror
And check the show of pride;
By open speech and simple,
An hundred times made plain
To seek another's profit,
And work another's gain.

Take up the White Man's burden --
The savage wars of peace --
Fill full the mouth of Famine
And bid the sickness cease;
And when your goal is nearest
The end for others sought,
Watch sloth and heathen Folly
Bring all your hopes to nought.

Take up the White Man's burden --
No tawdry rule of kings,
But toil of serf and sweeper --
The tale of common things.
The ports ye shall not enter,
The roads ye shall not tread,
Go mark them with your living,
And mark them with your dead.

Take up the White Man's burden --
And reap his old reward:
The blame of those ye better,
The hate of those ye guard --
The cry of hosts ye humour
(Ah, slowly!) toward the light: --
"Why brought he us from bondage,
Our loved Egyptian night?"

Take up the White Man's burden --
Ye dare not stoop to less --
Nor call too loud on Freedom
To cloke your weariness;
By all ye cry or whisper,
By all ye leave or do,
The silent, sullen peoples
Shall weigh your gods and you.

Take up the White Man's burden --
Have done with childish days --
The lightly proferred laurel,
The easy, ungrudged praise.
Comes now, to search your manhood
Through all the thankless years
Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,
The judgment of your peers!

In this case I think the attitude towards Indian people is an intentional representation of the speaker's outlook, not the poet's. The speaker is not Kipling. But Kipling was a colonialist, while recognizing the pettiness of colonials. I expect that his attitudes were offensive to many people - millions - in his day, though those people might be dismissed as not his intended audience. Oh well, those people have a deep, ancient poetic tradition and their own poets, I suppose - some far greater than Kipling.

I grew up with the Barrack-Room Ballads, and love his Plain Tales From the Hills. You'd enjoy them. He is, simply, a marvellous storyteller and writer, with a clear-eyed, understated irony and real insight into people along with his blind spots. He's the only record we have of a certain time and place. Kipling's colonialism is miles from Huckleberry Finn, though - Huck actively ponders, and rejects, the attitudes of his society.

The Clemens girls were infatuated with the exotic young man when he visited, their father tells us. Sadly, some of Kipling's characters are stereotypes. His novels are weaker for it.

Then there's the little matter of The White Man's Burden. That cost him.

Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away, folks read poetry for entertainment. No, it’s true! Stop that sniggering! They even read it to each other, out loud. I’m not making this up! Poets wrote poetry that was – what’s the word – funny but not comical – Humorous, that’s it. Look it up. It’s an archaic word. It means – like a joke but without reference to farts. The person talking here isn’t supposed to be the poet. He’s supposed to just a regular person, so he doesn’t have all deep thoughts like a poet would. It’s deep anyway, but the poem makes it seem that it’s by accident. So it’s funny and clichéd and deep all at once, like real life. The flashy rhymes are just showing off – in this case, really showing off. It’s part of that humor thing. If you say it out loud it helps. So undertakers in Kansas City, say, might refer to a poem by somebody from say India and folks reading the paper would know what they were talking about. There might even be a topical poem on the front page of the paper. OK, I can’t expect you to believe that. Anyway once upon a time there was more poetry in the world. But don't feel bad; we’ve got Google.

Hi MA. In regards to "White Man's Burden" I can see how it might have been a sensational piece intended to drum up conversation and controversy. In my gut, I get the creeping feeling that he probably, at some level, meant every word of it. At the time it was written, and within the context of his life and the general stereotypes and outlook of his society - I can understand where he was coming from. Not much unlike how many Americans see ourselves as superior to all others (the English still feel themselves superior, and so do many other countries, peoples, etc.). I don't think anyone today would be so blunt, but the underlying feeling is there- we might just insert "American People" as in "The American Peoples Burden," tone it down a bit and re-publish it today. Of course, I am no Kipling expert, so anyone is more than welcome to correct me or add more insight.

Apparently K was going to publish "White Man's Burden" for Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee, but thought better of it and substituted "Recessional." He published WM'sB a few years, after the US got its own imperialism going in the Spanish-American War.

I think another major reason many folks don't read Kipling these days is the advent of Moderism, which, among other things, rejected Victorian poets who told their readers what to think. Instead, they consciously chose a kind of poetry where individual readers would have to work out their own interpretations (as we do every Tuesday...). And such a choice led to more "difficult" poetry, as falcon and others have lamented.

I have in front of me 2 college poetry anthologies, and although both contain some Kipling, neither includes WM'sB.

RECESSIONAL by Rudyard Kipling
God of our fathers, known of old --
Lord of our far-flung battle line
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine --
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget -- lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies;
The captains and the kings depart:
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget -- lest we forget!

Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget -- lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe --
Such boasting as the Gentiles use
Or lesser breeds without the law --
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget -- lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard --
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding, calls not Thee to guard --
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord!

“Recessional” was composed on the occasion of Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee (60th) in 1897. The poem expresses pride in the British Empire but also an underlying sadness that the Empire might go the way of all previous empires. Kipling recognizes that boasting and jingoism (extreme nationalism) -- faults of which he was often accused -- were inappropriate and vain in light of God’s dominion over the world.

It's hard to imagine Modernism without Pound or Eliot - hardly guys who thought chumps like us could get by without cool dudes like themselves telling us what to think. I see Kipling as having an element of fiction or drama in that he creates characters and reports what they think, regardless of whether he agrees. Maybe I just miss Ballads - in the Frank Proffitt/Robert Burns as opposed to Frank Sinatra/Robert Goulet sense. Tell me a story. Kipling is truly a populist - something Pound or Eliot could never be accused of being.

I love difficult poetry, among other things. If I lament the loss of popular poetry, I'm likely ignoring Eminem. Thanks so much for the story of The Little White Mare. That's the sort of thing that really catches my imagination. It is a picture from another world.

I think Kipling was bright enough to recognize an approaching Imperial Sunset when he saw one, yet he sees no error in colonialism. He seems to think that boasting and jingoism are just fine, if held in check by a moral order dictated by a tribal god - in his case the Lord of Hosts. The last two stanzas tell us that he has no faith in the invisible hand of the free market. That's refreshingly old-fashioned! Tellingly, he can't resist slipping something in about lesser breeds - lest we forget.

We'd call it Exceptionalism. Thanks for posting this poem.