Analysis of Accordion
Robert William Service 1874 – 1958
Some carol of the banjo, to its measure keeping time;
Of viol or of lute some make a song.
My battered old accordion, you're worthy of a rhyme,
You've been my friend and comforter so long.
Round half the world I've trotted you, a dozen years or more;
You've given heaps of people lots of fun;
You've set a host of happy feet a-tapping on the floor . . .
Alas! your dancing days are nearly done.
I've played you from the palm-belt to the suburbs of the Pole;
From the silver-tipped sierras to the sea.
The gay and gilded cabin and the grimy glory-hole
Have echoed to your impish melody.
I've hushed you in the dug-out when the trench was stiff with dead;
I've lulled you by the coral-laced lagoon;
I've packed you on a camel from the dung-fire on the bled,
To the hell-for-breakfast Mountains of the Moon.
I've ground you to the shanty men, a-whooping heel and toe,
And the hula-hula graces in the glade.
I've swung you in the igloo to the lousy Esquimau,
And the Haussa at a hundred in the shade.
The Nigger on the levee, and the Dinka by the Nile
have shuffled to your insolent appeal.
I've rocked with glee the chimpanzee, and mocked the crocodile,
And shocked the pompous penquin and the seal.
I've set the yokels singing in a little Surrey pub,
Apaches swinging in a Belville bar.
I've played an obligato to the tom-tom's rub-a-dub,
And the throb of Andalusian guitar.
From the Horn to Honolulu, from the Cape to Kalamazoo,
From Wick to Wicklow, Samarkand to Spain,
You've roughed it with my kilt-bag like a comrade tried and true. . . .
Old pal! We'll never hit the trail again.
Oh I know you're cheap and vulgar, you're an instrumental crime.
In drawing-rooms you haven't got a show.
You're a musical abortion, you're the voice of grit and grime,
You're the spokesman of the lowly and the low.
You're a democratic devil, you're the darling of the mob;
You're a wheezy, breezy blasted bit of glee.
You're the headache of the high-bow, you're the horror of the snob,
but you're worth your weight in ruddy gold to me.
For you've chided me in weakness and you've cheered me in defeat;
You've been an anodyne in hours of pain;
And when the slugging jolts of life have jarred me off my feet,
You've ragged me back into the ring again.
I'll never go to Heaven, for I know I am not fit,
The golden harps of harmony to swell;
But with asbestos bellows, if the devil will permit,
I'll swing you to the fork-tailed imps of Hell.
Yes, I'll hank you, and I'll spank you,
And I'll everlasting yank you
To the cinder-swinging satellites of Hell.
Scheme | ABABCDCD EFEFGHGH IJAJKLKL MNMNOPOQ AIAIRFRF SPSQTUTU OOU |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1101011110101 111111101 11010100110101 1111010011 11011101010111 1101110111 11011101010101 0111011101 11110111010101 10101010101 01010100010101 1101110100 11100111011111 1111010101 111101010110101 10111010101 11110101010101 00101010001 111001010101 0011010001 0101010001101 1101110001 1111001001010 010101001 1101100010101 010100011 11111011101 001101001 10110101011001 11111011 1111111101101 1111010101 11111010110101 0101110101 101000101011101 10101010001 10010101010101 1011010111 10110111010101 11111010111 111010100111001 111101011 01010111111111 11011010101 11011101111111 0101110011 11010101010101 1111011111 11110111 0101011 1010101011 |
Closest metre | Iambic hexameter |
Characters | 2,494 |
Words | 463 |
Sentences | 31 |
Stanzas | 7 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 3 |
Lines Amount | 51 |
Letters per line (avg) | 38 |
Words per line (avg) | 9 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 277 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 67 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:30 min read
- 102 Views
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"Accordion" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 27 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/31968/accordion>.
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