The Self-Styled Water Poet

tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31744456.post-90166321300691202132007-07-02T13:24:00.000+01:002007-07-02T13:46:48.392+01:00The Self-Styled Water Poet<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_zfCo2BS_1qg/RojzsFZrj6I/AAAAAAAAAC4/hFt1swcRvGQ/s1600-h/0840669_200.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_zfCo2BS_1qg/RojzsFZrj6I/AAAAAAAAAC4/hFt1swcRvGQ/s320/0840669_200.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082580118177288098" /></a> The next Pen Pusher party, to mark the launch of the auspicious issue six, is at a public house called The Water Poet, in Spitalfields. Basically, we were seduced by the name (and a certain someone's claim that it was, as a rule, "full of brasses" - and not of the horsey sort neither), but in my never-ending quest for knowledge, and a desire to entice people in with literary trivia, I decided to find out more about this fella. According to my old mucker Wikipedia, John Taylor (1578-1653) was, by profession, a Thames waterman, meaning that he ferried people across the river in the days before the Millenium bridge. In his spare time, and perhaps during many hours gazing out upon the murky waves, he wrote verse, often by subscription, a method which is wonderfully at odds with the modern idea of the artist as independent from the commercial world - he'd propose an idea, and if he gathered enough advance subscriptions, he'd write it. His work seems to have mainly dwelt upon Watermen's Issues, like their dispute with the theatres when they all moved across to the north bank in 1612, depriving the ferrymen of traffic (I can't remember why they relocated - anyone?), but he also produced the wonderful sounding 'The Pennylesse Pilgrimage; or, the Moneylesse Perambulation of John Taylor, alias the Kings Magesties Water-Poet; How He TRAVAILED on Foot from London to Edenborough in Scotland, Not Carrying any Money To or Fro, Neither Begging, Borrowing, or Asking Meate, Drinke, or Lodging' in 1618, for which he had over sixteen hundred subscribers. I leave you with this piece. The title, I think, is self-explanatory - Thos Parr is alleged to have lived to the ripe old age of 152. According my in-depth research, the old goat attributed his longevity to a vegetarian diet, and an affair to celebrate his centenary, which produced an illegitimate kid. The Olde, Olde, very Olde Man; or The Age and Long Life of Thomas Parr Good wholesome labour was his exercise, Down with the lamb, and with the lark would rise: In mire and toiling sweat he spent the day, And to his team he whistled time away: The cock his night-clock, and till day was done, His watch and chief sun-dial was the sun. He was of old Pythagoras' opinion, That green cheese was most wholesome with an onion; Coarse meslin bread, and for his daily swig, Milk, butter-milk, and water, whey and whig: Sometimes metheglin, and by fortune happy, He sometimes sipped a cup of ale most nappy, Cycler or perry, when he did repair T' Whitson ale, wake, wedding, or a fair; Or when in Christmas-time he was a guest At his good landlord's house amongst the rest: Else he had little leisure-time to waste, Or at the ale-house huff-cap ale to taste; His physic was good butter, which the soil Of Salop yields, more sweet than candy oil; And garlick he esteemed above the rate Of Venice treacle, or best mithridate. He entertained no gout, no ache he felt, The air was good and temperate where he dwelt; While mavisses and sweet-tongued nightingales Did chant him roundelays and madrigals. Thus living within bounds of nature's laws, Of his long-lasting life may be some cause.Pen Pusherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06986437218590808303noreply@blogger.com1