Rudyard Kipling

Rudyard Kipling

1865–1936 · lived 70 years GB GB

Rudyard Kipling was a prolific English writer and poet, best known for his works on British India and his children's stories. He championed the idea of the 'White Man's Burden' and his writings often reflected imperialist sentiments. Despite controversy surrounding his political views, his imaginative storytelling and mastery of language continue to be recognized, with works like 'The Jungle Book' and 'Kim' remaining popular.

n. 1865-12-30, Bombaim · m. 1936-01-18, Londres

137,726 Views

Columns

Columns
(Mobile Columns of the Boer War)
Out o' the wilderness, dusty an' dry
(Time, an' 'igh time to be trekkin' again!)
Oo is it 'eads to the Detail Supply?
A sectioin, a pompom, an' six 'undred men.
'Ere comes the clerk with 'is lantern an' keys
(Time, an 'igh time to be trekkin 'again!)
" Surplus of everything--draw what you please
"For the section, the pompom, an' six 'unrdred men."
"What are our orders an' where do we lay? .
(Time, an 'igh time to be trekkin' again!)
"You came after dark--you will leave before day,
"You section, you pompom, you six' undred men!"
Down the tin street, 'alf awake an 'unfed,
'Ark to 'em blessin' the Gen'ral in bed!
Now by the church an' the outspan they wind--
Over the ridge an' it's all lef' be'ind
For the section, etc.
Soon they will camp as the dawn's growin' grey,
Roll up for coffee an' sleep while they may--
The section , etc.
Read their 'ome letters, their papers an' such,
For they'll move after dark to astonish the Dutch
With a section, etc.
'Untin' for shade as the long hours pass--
Blankets on rifles or burrows in grass,
Lies the section, etc.
Dossin' or beatin' a shirt in the sun,
Watching chameleons or cleanin' a gun,
Waits the section, etc.
With nothin' but stillness as far as you please,
An' the silly mirage stringin' islands an' seas
Round the section, etc.
So they strips off their hide an' they grills in their bones,
Till the shadows crawl out from beneath the pore stones
Toward the section, etc.
An' the Mauser-bird stops an' the jacals begin
A the 'orse-guard comes up and the Gunners 'ook in
As a 'int the pompom an' six 'undred men . . . .


Off through the dark with the stars to rely on---
(Alpha Centauri an' somethin' Orion)
Moves the section, etc.
Same bloomin' 'ole which the ant-bear 'as broke,
Same bloomin' stumble an' same bloomin' joke
Down the section, etc.
Same "which is right?" where the cart-tracks divide,
Same "give it up" from the same clever guide
To the section, etc.
Same tumble-down on the same 'idden farm,
Same white-eyed Kaffir 'oo gives the alarm--
Of the section, etc.
Same shootin' wild at the end o' the night,
Same flyin'-tackle an' same messy fight,
By the section, etc.
Same ugly 'iccup an' same 'orrid squeal,
When it's too dark to see an' it's too late to feel
In the section, etc.
(Same batch of prisoners, 'airy an' still,
Watchin' their comrades bolt over the 'ill
From the section, etc.)
Same chilly glare in the eye of the sun
As 'e gets up displeasured to see what was done
By the section, etc.
Same splash o' pink on the stoep or the kraal,
An' the same quiet face which 'as finished with all
In the section, the pompom, an' six 'undred men.
Out o' the wilderness, dusty an' dry
(Time, an' 'igh time to be trekkin' again!)
' Oo is it 'eads to the Detail Supply ?
A section, a pompom, an 'six' 'undred men.
Read full poem
Bio

Identification and basic context

Joseph Rudyard Kipling was an English writer and poet. He is widely known by his middle name, Rudyard. Born in Bombay, British India, he spent much of his formative years there and later in England. His father was an artist and principal of an art school in India. Kipling was a British national and wrote in English.

Childhood and education

Kipling's early childhood in India deeply shaped his worldview and literary output. After returning to England for his education, he attended the United Services College in Westward Ho!, Devon, which provided the setting for his novel 'Stalky & Co.'. His time there was marked by a harsh but formative experience. He received a practical education rather than a formal university degree, returning to India to begin his career in journalism.

Literary trajectory

Kipling began his literary career as a journalist in Lahore, India, in the 1880s. His early stories, often published in periodicals, showcased his keen observation of Indian life and his developing narrative skill. He gained significant fame with collections like 'Plain Tales from the Hills' and 'Soldiers Three'. His move to London in the 1890s further cemented his international reputation. He also wrote novels, essays, and songs, demonstrating a remarkable versatility.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Kipling's major works include 'The Jungle Book' (1894), 'Kim' (1901), 'The Just So Stories' (1902), and numerous poems like 'If—' and 'The White Man's Burden'. His dominant themes often revolve around India, the British Empire, the lives of soldiers, the relationship between humans and animals, and the complexities of loyalty and duty. His style is characterized by vivid imagery, a strong narrative drive, and a colloquial yet precise use of language. He mastered various forms, from short stories and novels to ballads and epic poems. His poetic voice is often didactic, authoritative, and nationalistic. He employed powerful metaphors and rhythms, making his works highly memorable.

Cultural and historical context

Kipling was a prominent voice during the height of the British Empire, and his work is inextricably linked to the imperialist project. He lived through periods of expansion, conflict, and colonial administration, which heavily influenced his perspective. He was part of a generation of writers grappling with themes of empire, race, and cultural encounter. His strong espousal of the 'White Man's Burden' placed him at the center of contemporary debates about colonialism.

Personal life

Kipling's personal life was marked by his experiences in India and his strong sense of duty and patriotism. His marriage to Caroline Starr Balestier provided a stable partnership. He experienced personal tragedies, including the early death of his daughter Josephine, which deeply affected him and is thought to have influenced some of his later works, such as 'Kim'. He was a complex figure, deeply devoted to his family and his work.

Recognition and reception

Kipling achieved immense fame and recognition during his lifetime. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1907, becoming the first English-language recipient. His works were widely translated and celebrated internationally. However, his strong imperialist views also drew criticism, and his reception has been complex, with ongoing discussions about the political implications of his writings.

Influences and legacy

Kipling was influenced by his experiences in India, classical literature, and the journalistic tradition. His legacy is significant, though debated. He is credited with profoundly shaping the adventure story genre and children's literature. His influence can be seen in subsequent generations of writers who explored themes of empire, adventure, and the wilderness. His poems, particularly 'If—', remain widely quoted. His work continues to be adapted into films and other media.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Kipling's work is often analyzed through the lens of colonialism, examining his portrayal of indigenous peoples and his support for British imperial rule. Critical interpretations highlight his narrative skill and imaginative power while also scrutinizing his problematic political stances. Debates continue regarding the extent to which his stories can be separated from their imperialist context.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Despite his fame, Kipling was notoriously private and sometimes irascible. He had a deep fascination with machinery and technology, which sometimes found its way into his stories. He was also known for his meticulous attention to detail in his writing. A lesser-known aspect is his significant contribution to the development of the short story form.

Death and memory

Rudyard Kipling died in London. His memory is preserved through his vast literary output, which continues to be read and studied, albeit often with critical commentary on his political views. His home, Batemans, is now a National Trust property and museum, offering insights into his life and work.

Poems

275

To the Unknown Goddess

To the Unknown Goddess
Will you conquer my heart with your beauty; my sould going out from afar?
Shall I fall to your hand as a victim of crafty and cautions shikar?
Have I met you and passed you already, unknowing, unthinking and blind?
Shall I meet you next session at Simla, O sweetest and best of your kind?
Does the P. and O. bear you to meward, or, clad in short frocks in the West,
Are you growing the charms that shall capture and torture the heart in my breast?
Will you stay in the Plains till September -- my passion as warm as the day?
Will you bring me to book on the Mountains, or where the thermantidotes play?
When the light of your eyes shall make pallid the mean lesser lights I pursue,
And the charm of your presence shall lure me from love of the gay "thirteen-two";
When the peg and the pig-skin shall please not; when I buy me Calcutta-build clothes;
When I quit the Delight of Wild Asses; foreswearing the swearing of oaths ;
As a deer to the hand of the hunter when I turn 'mid the gibes of my friends;
When the days of my freedom are numbered, and the life of the bachelor ends.
Ah, Goddess! child, spinster, or widow -- as of old on Mars Hill whey they raised
To the God that they knew not an altar -- so I, a young Pagan, have praised
The Goddess I know not nor worship; yet, if half that men tell me be true,
You will come in the future, and therefore these verses are written to you.
484

To Wolcott Balestier

To Wolcott Balestier
Beyond the path of the outmost sun through utter darkness hurled --
Further than ever comet flared or vagrant star-dust swirled --
Live such as fought and sailed and ruled and loved and made our world.
They are purged of pride because they died, they know the worth of their bays,
They sit at wine with the Maidens Nine and the Gods of the Elder Days,
It is their will to serve or be still as fitteth our Father's praise.
'Tis theirs to sweep through the ringing deep where Azrael's outposts are,
Or buffet a path through the Pit's red wrath when God goes out to war,
Or hang with the reckless Seraphim on the rein of a red-maned star.
They take their mirth in the joy of the Earth --
they dare not grieve for her pain --
They know of toil and the end of toil, they know God's law is plain,
So they whistle the Devil to make them sport who know that Sin is vain.
And ofttimes cometh our wise Lord God, master of every trade,
And tells them tales of His daily toil, of Edens newly made;
And they rise to their feet as He passes by, gentlemen unafraid.
To these who are cleansed of base Desire, Sorrow and Lust and Shame --
Gods for they knew the hearts of men, men for they stooped to Fame,
Borne on the breath that men call Death, my brother's spirit came.
He scarce had need to doff his pride or slough the dross of Earth --
E'en as he trod that day to God so walked he from his birth,
In simpleness and gentleness and honour and clean mirth.
So cup to lip in fellowship they gave him welcome high
And made him place at the banquet board -- the Strong Men ranged thereby,
Who had done his work and held his peace and had no fear to die.
Beyond the loom of the last lone star, through open darkness hurled,
Further than rebel comet dared or hiving star-swarm swirled,
Sits he with those that praise our God for that they served His world.
453

To T. A.

To T. A.
I have made for you a song,
And it may be right or wrong,
But only you can tell me if it's true;
I have tried for to explain
Both your pleasure and your pain,
And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you!
O there'll surely come a day
When they'll give you all your pay,
And treat you as a Christian ought to do;
So, until that day comes round,
Heaven keep you safe and sound,
And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you!
407

To the Companions

To the Companions
How comes it that, at even-tide,
When level beams should show most truth,
Man, failing, takes unfailing pride
In memories of his frolic youth?
Venus and Liber fill their hour;
The games engage, the law-courts prove;
Till hardened life breeds love of power
Or Avarice, Age's final love.
Yet at the end, these comfort not--
Nor any triumph Fate decrees--
Compared with glorious, unforgot--
Ten innocent enormities
Of frontless days before the beard,
When, instant on the casual jest,
The God Himself of Mirth appeared
And snatched us to His heaving breast
And we--not caring who He was
But certain He would come again--
Accepted all He brought to pass
As Gods accept the lives of men...
Then He withdrew from sight and speech,
Nor left a shrine. How comes it now,
While Charon's keel grates on the beach,
He calls so clear: "Rememberest thou?"
470

Tiger--Tiger!

Tiger--Tiger!
What of the hunting, hunter bold?
Brother, the watch was long and cold.
What of the quarry ye went to kill?
Brother, he crops in the jungle still.
Where is the power that made your pride?
Brother, it ebbs from my flank and side.
Where is the haste that ye hurry by?
Brother, I go to my lair to die!
421

To James Whitcomb Riley

To James Whitcomb Riley
Your trail runs to the westward,
And mine to my own place;
There is water between our lodges,
And I have not seen your face.
But since I have read your verses
'Tis easy to guess the rest,--
Because in the hearts of the children
There is neither East nor West.
Born to a thousand fortunes
Of good or evil hap,
Once they were kings together,
Throned in a mother's lap.
Surely they know that secret--
Yellow and black and white--
When they meet as kings together
In innocent dreams at night.
By a moon they all can play with--
Grubby and grimed and unshod,
Very happy together,
And very near to God.
Your trail runs to the westward,
And mine to my own place:
There is water between our lodges,
And you cannot see my face.--
And that is well--for crying
Should neither be written nor seen,
But if I call you Smoke-in-the-Eyes,
I know you will know what I mean.
527

The Young British Soldier

The Young British Soldier
When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
So-oldier ~OF~ the Queen!
Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay,
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
A soldier what's fit for a soldier.
Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .
First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts,
For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts --
Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts --
An' it's bad for the young British soldier.
Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .
When the cholera comes -- as it will past a doubt --
Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout,
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
An' it crumples the young British soldier.
Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .
But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead:
You ~must~ wear your 'elmet for all that is said:
If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead,
An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier.
Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .
If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,
Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;
Be handy and civil, and then you will find
That it's beer for the young British soldier.
Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .
Now, if you must marry, take care she is old --
A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told,
For beauty won't help if your rations is cold,
Nor love ain't enough for a soldier.
'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . .
If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath
To shoot when you catch 'em -- you'll swing, on my oath! --
Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both,
An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier.
Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .
When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck,


Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck,
Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck
And march to your front like a soldier.
Front, front, front like a soldier . . .
When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch;
She's human as you are -- you treat her as sich,
An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.
Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .
When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine,
The guns o' the enemy wheel into line,
Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine,
For noise never startles the soldier.
Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . .
If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white,
Remember it's ruin to run from a fight:
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,
And wait for supports like a soldier.
Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .
When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
So-oldier ~of~ the Queen!
541

Three Friends

Three Friends
There were three friends that buried the fourth,
The mould in his mouth and the dust in his eyes,
And they went south and east and north—
The strong man fights but the sick man dies.
There were three friends that spoke of the dead—
The strong man fights but the sick man dies—
"And would he were here with us now," they said,
"The sun in our face and the wind in our eyes."
480

The Winners

The Winners
("The Story of the Gadsbys")
What the moral? Who rides may read.
When the night is thick and the tracks are blind
A friend at a pinch is a friend, indeed,
But a fool to wait for the laggard behind.
Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne,
He travels the fastest who travels alone.
White hands cling to the tightened rein,
Slipping the spur from the booted heel,
Tenderest voices cry " Turn again!"
Red lips tarnish the scabbarded steel,
High hopes faint on a warm hearth-stone--
He travels the fastest who travels alone.
One may fall but he falls by himself--
Falls by himself with himself to blame.
One may attain and to him is pelf--
Loot of the city in Gold or Fame.
Plunder of earth shall be all his own
Who travels the fastest and travels alone.
Wherefore the more ye be helpen-.en and stayed,
Stayed by a friend in the hour of toil,
Sing the heretical song I have made--
His be the labour and yours be the spoil.
Win by his aid and the aid disown--
He travels the fastest who travels alone!
852

The Widower

The Widower
For a season there must be pain--
For a little, little space
I shall lose the sight of her face,
Take back the old life again
While She is at rest in her place.
For a season this pain must endure,
For a little, little while
I shall sigh more often than smile
Till time shall work me a cure,
And the pitiful days beguile.
For that season we must be apart,
For a little length of years,
Till my life's last hour nears,
And, above the beat of my heart,
I hear Her voice in my ears.
But I shall not understand--
Being set on some later love,
Shall not know her for whom I strove,
Till she reach me forth her hand,
Saying, "Who but I have the right?"
And out of a troubled night
Shall draw me safe to the land.
450

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