Beer in poetry, song and film

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Feldon

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I was researching some old Australian newspapers recently and came across a poem on beer that was published in the Perth Sunday Times on 14 December 1924.

So I thought I'd kick off a thread for people to post beer-related poems, quotations from books, films, or even your own original compositions. They do not have to be as long as this initial post - some things are best said in a few pithy lines.

The poem below, simply called Beer, was written by a man who went by the nom de plume Dry Blower. He was a prolific contributor of poetry to the WA newspapers during the' between-the-wars' years and covered a wide range of topics, but he seemed to have frequently focused on beer.

This seems to be his longest beer-related poem and contains some verses he used in earlier shorter versions. It takes you on a journey through history and literature with a frothy glass in hand. Rollicking good stuff.

I think that printed out and framed it would make a fine adornment to any bar or brew shed. But that's just me.

Have a read for yourself and raise a glass to old Dry Blower, whoever he was, and celebrate his praise of ...

Beer

The world has sung of whisky since the days of Bobby Burns,
The juice of jocularity for which a Scotsman yearns,
And further back to Scripture days within the Book Divine,
Even the ancient wowsers drank exhilerating wine.
The poet Omar sang of it in Persia’s garden fair;
It flowed in pillaged Paris through the squalid steets and square.
But until we read the writings of our Stratford-on Avon seer,
We meet no panegyrics on ubiquitarian beer.

There’s the battle beer and the tattle beer of fat Falstaffian times;
The home-brewed beer, the foam-brewed beer, the beer of Shakespeare’s rhymes.
The beer in “As You Like It” and the beer in good “King John” –
The laughing, quaffing kind kind of beer King Charles was raised upon.
The beer drank before Harfluer when Henry V was King –
The quarts of Queen Elizabeth, when Raleigh had his fling.
The drugged beer Richard drank that brought annihillation near,
And the ghost of Hamlet’s father that was brought about by beer.

The hops of Kent and barley grown within the Saxon shires
Wove history in tapestry that all the world admires:
The butts of Battle Abbey where the troops victorious drank;
The beer of Bath and Bristol brewed at lovely Avonbank.
Then, coming down to modern times, the beer they brewed in Cork,
And the liquor from the Liffey where no Orangeman may talk.
Also the beer that makes you sing, tell stories and recite,
With beer that turns the clock around and changes day to night.

There’s the beer they sell in bottles and in barrels, pails and pots;
There’s beer that gargles throttles of the thirsty seers and sots;
There’s beer that makes you miss a tram, a motor car or ‘bus.
And beer that snarls a stranger off, or makes him one-of-us.
The tanglefoot they gave to troops when on their London leave –
The nauseous near-beer substitute no digger would believe;
There was Blighty beer and flighty beer and beer that made them flirt,
Spooning and honeymooning beer with pommy petlets pert.

We’ve also got some brands of beer out here in W.A. –
Beer that holds a groan a glass and beer that makes ‘em gay,
There’s beer that tangles up the toes and beer that blurs the brain ;
Beer that makes ‘em climb a cliff or decorate a drain.
There’s beer that makes ‘em talk about the girls they haven’t got ;
There’s beer that’s pugilistic, with a punch in every pot ;
There’s the fighting beer, the skiting beer, the beer that makes ‘em boast.
And beer that makes ‘em lean against the pub verandah post.

There’s cheery beer and weary beer and beer that makes you brave ;
There’s beer that saves a bathing belle from out the briny wave.
There’s the sorrowing and the borrowing beer whenever they quest a quid ;
And the beer that’s merely a beverage and the beer that’s just a tid.
There’s beer they drink and beer they think to drown a carking care,
And the beer they gulp in deep disgust when their girl has bobbed her hair :
But men may come and men may go, as Tennyson made it clear.
And perhaps his rhyme would have rippled more if his Brook had been made of beer!

- DRY BLOWER
 
Awesome. Incidentally at the beginning the writer is wrong to suggest beer is not in the Bible - it is, though various errors of translation and cross-cultural misunderstanding have ensured that we're not aware of it these days. "Even Yahweh, according to the Hebrew Bible, consumed at least half a hin of beer (approximately 2 liters, or a six-pack) per day through the cultic ritual of libation, and he drank even more on the Sabbath (Numbers 28:7–10)."

[SIZE=13pt]The beer that I turned out at Burton
Gave me cash, credit, fame and renown;
I’ve brewed here on the very same system,
But as ‘swipes’ it’s known over the town.
[/SIZE]

[SIZE=13pt]Capt. Cook, when he found out this island
Should have asked for some recipes grand
How to brew beer that will stand the climate,
Not ‘fret’ and go sour on your hand.
[/SIZE]

[SIZE=13pt]Wild yeasts are the curse of the country,
Bacterium sure thrives by itself;
The weather’s hot, murky and sultry,
And brewing brings very poor pelf.
[/SIZE]

[SIZE=13pt]Kangaroo ‘sheoak’s’ a very poor article,
Sugar’s the principal ingredient of same;
Hops and malt make up the smallest particle,
Chemicals, dirt, yeast, and water make poison the name.
[/SIZE]

[SIZE=13pt]‘Tanglefoot’, ‘swipes’, any name you give it,
Won’t make it smell sweet or alter its taste;
The ‘tang’ still remains, the book looks decrepit,
‘Tis of energy, time and material a waste.
[/SIZE]

The Brewers Lament - an 1857 poem about Australian brewing.
 
TimT said:
Awesome. Incidentally at the beginning the writer is wrong to suggest beer is not in the Bible - it is, though various errors of translation and cross-cultural misunderstanding have ensured that we're not aware of it these days. "Even Yahweh, according to the Hebrew Bible, consumed at least half a hin of beer (approximately 2 liters, or a six-pack) per day through the cultic ritual of libation, and he drank even more on the Sabbath (Numbers 28:7–10)."

[SIZE=13pt]The beer that I turned out at Burton
Gave me cash, credit, fame and renown;
I’ve brewed here on the very same system,
But as ‘swipes’ it’s known over the town.
[/SIZE]

[SIZE=13pt]Capt. Cook, when he found out this island
Should have asked for some recipes grand
How to brew beer that will stand the climate,
Not ‘fret’ and go sour on your hand.
[/SIZE]

[SIZE=13pt]Wild yeasts are the curse of the country,
Bacterium sure thrives by itself;
The weather’s hot, murky and sultry,
And brewing brings very poor pelf.
[/SIZE]
[SIZE=13pt]Kangaroo ‘sheoak’s’ a very poor article,
Sugar’s the principal ingredient of same;
Hops and malt make up the smallest particle,
Chemicals, dirt, yeast, and water make poison the name.
[/SIZE]

[SIZE=13pt]‘Tanglefoot’, ‘swipes’, any name you give it,
Won’t make it smell sweet or alter its taste;
The ‘tang’ still remains, the book looks decrepit,
‘Tis of energy, time and material a waste.
[/SIZE]

The Brewers Lament - an 1857 poem about Australian brewing.
A bad brewer always blames his country? :ph34r:
 
Possibly an element of that Sir Squirt. It seems to me the disadvantages of brewing in early Australia are sometimes overemphasised. By the late 19th century there were hundreds of brewers in Melbourne - why? I don't think they'd proliferate if all of them were crap.

Fact is, most of the year Melbourne and a good deal of the surrounding Victorian countryside has very fine temperatures for brewing - 10-20 degree maximums in winter, not much different around most of autumn and spring. Inside it could get much cooler. Those are good conditions for brewing - very easy to create a happy environment for the yeast. Hence the proliferation of breweries.

Got another brew poem - but going to post that in a little bit.
 
Okay - here we go. Poem by me!

http://youtu.be/XWyzZ-4qpWY

If I may be permitted a spot of self-promotion, I'm publishing this poem in my latest zine, ($3!) PM me if interested in a copy!
 
The Beer Gods are looking kindly upon me. I must be doing something right.
 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oEGAdEGnqKA

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-GJpdDU7ps
 
and of course this classic with its multitude of variations:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Op_Q8P9ocWc

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Barleycorn

From a version:

And they put him in to the kiln boys
Thinking to dry his bones
And when he came out, John Barleycorn
Was crushed between two stones

And they put him in to the mashing tubs
Thinking to burn his tail
And when he came out, John Barleycorn
They called him home-brewed ale

Put your wine in to glasses
And your cider in to pewter cans
Put Barleycorn in the old brown jug
For he's proved the strongest man
 
Cheers, Not For Horses. Was quite proud of that one.
 
Manticle - one of my favourite poets, George Mackay Brown, wrote a fine version of John Barleycorn -

As I was ploughing in my field
The hungriest furrow ever torn
Followed my plough and she did cry
"Have you seen my mate John Barleycorn?"

Says I "Has he got a yellow beard?
Is he always whispering night and morn?
Does he up and dance when the wind is high?"
Says she "That's my John Barleycorn.

One day they took a cruel knife-
Oh I am weary and forlorn!
They struck him at his golden prayer!
They killed my priest, John Barleycorn.

They laid him on a wooden cart,
of all his summer-glory shorn,
and threshers broke with stick and stave
the shining bones of Barleycorn.

The miller's stone went round and round,
they rolled him underneath with scorn;
the miller filled a hundred sacks
with the crushed pride of Barleycorn.

A baker came and bought his dust-
that was a madman I'll be sworn!
He burned my hero in a rage of twisting flames
John Barleycorn.

A brewer came by a stole his heart-
alas that ever I was born!
He thrust it in a brimming vat
and drowned my dear John Barleycorn.

And now I travel narrow roads,
my hungry feet are dark and worn,
but no-one in this winter world
has seen my dancer, Barleycorn."

I took a bannet from my bag-
Lord how our empty mouths did yawn!
Says I "Your starving days are done
for here's your lost John Barleycorn."

I took a bottle from my pouch,
I poured out whiskey in a horn.
Says I "Put by your grief, for here
is the merry blood of Barleycorn."

She ate, she drank, she laughed, she danced,
and home with me she did return.
By candle-light in my ingle-nook
she wept no more for Barleycorn.

Robbie Burns also did a fine version:
http://www.robertburns.org/works/27.shtml
 
One of the most used internet abbreviations on this forum is SWMBO.

(‘She Who Must Be Obeyed’, which originated in the story She–a History of Adventure by Henry Haggard (which I haven’t read, but must) published in the 1880s, and the phrase was popularised in modern times by the TV series (and earlier books) Rumpole of the Bailey. Horace Rumpole used it to refer to his overbearing and suffering wife, Hilda - but not to her face).

An earlier SWMBO was the headstrong Katherina in Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew. Which leads me to the play’s drunk, Christopher Sly.

Sly appears at the beginning of the play. He is a former bear-keeper, oppressed by women, and is broke and blind drunk. After filling his belly with ale at a tavern he is thrown out for not paying the bill (the “score”) of 14 pence. And poor old Sly falls asleep outside.

A noble lord then appears on the scene, and for a joke he decides to trick Sly into thinking he is a wealthy, well-bred lord himself. He has the blotto Sly carried to his mansion, has his servants dress him up in fine clothes (“raiment”) and tells them to fawn over Sly when he wakes up to make him believe he really is a noble lord.

Sly is a robust character of simple pleasures, a knockabout who just wants to get back on the piss and chew some dried beef rather than accept the bullshit adornments of lordship. The world was once full of Slys, but our ‘aspirational’ society sees less of them. Nevertheless, his character is as real today as he was to audiences in England back in the 1590s.

So, Sly wakes up in a drunken haze in a fine house…


Enter aloft Sly, with attendants; some with apparel,
basin and ewer, and other appurtenances


Sly
For God's sake, a pot of small ale.

1st Servingman
Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack?

2nd Servingman
Will't please your honour taste of these conserves?

3rd Servingman
What raiment will your honour wear today?

Sly
I am Christopher Sly, call not me ‘ honour ’ nor ‘ lordship.’
I ne'er drank sack in my life. And if you give me
any conserves, give me conserves of beef. Ne'er ask me
what raiment I'll wear, for I have no more doublets than
backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes
than feet – nay, sometimes more feet than shoes, or such
shoes as my toes look through the overleather.

Lord
Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour!
O, that a mighty man of such descent,
Of such possessions, and so high esteem,
Should be infused with so foul a spirit!

Sly
What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher
Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath, by birth a pedlar,
by education a cardmaker, by transmutation a
bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask
Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know
me not. If she say I am not fourteen pence on the score
for sheer ale, score me up for the lyingest knave in
Christendom.

A Servingman brings him a pot of ale

etc…

(Shakespeare, being a crafty actor himself, wrote Sly’s lines leaving plenty of scope for actors to put their own stamp on the character – innocent, befuddled, philosophical, fearful, cranky, even violent, but always funny. The same words lend themselves to so many different ways to play the drunken ordinary man, just as in real life we are not all the same when drunk, IMHO)

Edit: sp.
 
A movie came out in august last year called Drinking Buddies. Its about a couple of mates who work at a brewery in the US. Worth a watch.
 
TimT said:
Manticle - one of my favourite poets, George Mackay Brown, wrote a fine version of John Barleycorn -

As I was ploughing in my field
The hungriest furrow ever torn
Followed my plough and she did cry
"Have you seen my mate John Barleycorn?"

Says I "Has he got a yellow beard?
Is he always whispering night and morn?
Does he up and dance when the wind is high?"
Says she "That's my John Barleycorn.

One day they took a cruel knife-
Oh I am weary and forlorn!
They struck him at his golden prayer!
They killed my priest, John Barleycorn.

They laid him on a wooden cart,
of all his summer-glory shorn,
and threshers broke with stick and stave
the shining bones of Barleycorn.

The miller's stone went round and round,
they rolled him underneath with scorn;
the miller filled a hundred sacks
with the crushed pride of Barleycorn.

A baker came and bought his dust-
that was a madman I'll be sworn!
He burned my hero in a rage of twisting flames
John Barleycorn.

A brewer came by a stole his heart-
alas that ever I was born!
He thrust it in a brimming vat
and drowned my dear John Barleycorn.

And now I travel narrow roads,
my hungry feet are dark and worn,
but no-one in this winter world
has seen my dancer, Barleycorn."

I took a bannet from my bag-
Lord how our empty mouths did yawn!
Says I "Your starving days are done
for here's your lost John Barleycorn."

I took a bottle from my pouch,
I poured out whiskey in a horn.
Says I "Put by your grief, for here
is the merry blood of Barleycorn."

She ate, she drank, she laughed, she danced,
and home with me she did return.
By candle-light in my ingle-nook
she wept no more for Barleycorn.

Robbie Burns also did a fine version:
http://www.robertburns.org/works/27.shtml
Poetic tale of seduction and subsequent one night stand with the help of whisky.

'Tis excellent.
 
Has anyone seen/read "Wake in Fright" (novel by Kenneth Cook, film by Ted Kotcheff?

When I read the thread title, that's what I thought of. Beer is a really significant element in the story, & is a representation of the hospitality that the main character (an indentured school teacher stranded in the outback) doesn't really know how to accept. He's broke, and unable to reciprocate when other characters buy him beer, and it's his lack of comfort at this rather than his lack of cash that alienates him from his new friends. I remember reading it as a teenager and thinking about how being able to receive a gift is a greater social skill than being able to give one.

Anyway, great film - was lost for decades and only recently found and re-released.

Great thread, particularly like the John Barleycorn poems.
 

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