Analysis of The Black Dudeen
Humping it here in the dug-out,
Sucking me black dudeen,
I'd like to say in a general way,
There's nothing like Nickyteen;
There's nothing like Nickyteen, me boys,
Be it pipes or snipes or cigars;
So be sure that a bloke
Has plenty to smoke,
If you wants him to fight your wars.
When I've eat my fill and my belt is snug,
I begin to think of my baccy plug.
I whittle a fill in my horny palm,
And the bowl of me old clay pipe I cram.
I trim the edges, I tamp it down,
I nurse a light with an anxious frown;
I begin to draw, and my cheeks tuck in,
And all my face is a blissful grin;
And up in a cloud the good smoke goes,
And the good pipe glimmers and fades and glows;
In its throat it chuckles a cheery song,
For I likes it hot and I likes it strong.
Oh, it's good is grub when you're feeling hollow,
But the best of a meal's the smoke to follow.
There was Micky and me on a night patrol,
Having to hide in a fizz-bang hole;
And sure I thought I was worse than dead
Wi' them crump-crumps hustlin' over me head.
Sure I thought 'twas the dirty spot,
Hammer and tongs till the air was hot.
And mind you, water up to your knees.
And cold! A monkey of brass would freeze.
And if we ventured our noses out
A "typewriter" clattered its pills about.
The Field of Glory! Well, I don't think!
I'd sooner be safe and snug in clink.
Then Micky, he goes and he cops one bad,
He always was having ill-luck, poor lad.
Says he: "Old chummy, I'm booked right through;
Death and me 'as a wrongday voo.
But . . . 'aven't you got a pinch of shag? --
I'd sell me perishin' soul for a fag."
And there he shivered and cussed his luck,
So I gave him me old black pipe to suck.
And he heaves a sigh, and he takes to it
Like a babby takes to his mammy's tit;
Like an infant takes to his mother's breast,
Poor little Micky! he went to rest.
But the dawn was near, though the night was black,
So I left him there and I started back.
And I laughed as the silly old bullets came,
For the bullet ain't made wot's got me name.
Yet some of 'em buzzed onhealthily near,
And one little blighter just chipped me ear.
But there! I got to the trench all right,
When sudden I jumped wi' a start o' fright,
And a word that doesn't look well in type:
I'd clean forgotten me old clay pipe.
So I had to do it all over again,
Crawling out on that filthy plain.
Through shells and bombs and bullets and all --
Only this time -- I do not crawl.
I run like a man wot's missing a train,
Or a tom-cat caught in a plump of rain.
I hear the spit of a quick-fire gun
Tickle my heels, but I run, I run.
Through crash and crackle, and flicker and flame,
(Oh, the packet ain't issued wot's got me name!)
I run like a man that's no ideer
Of hunting around for a sooveneer.
I run bang into a German chap,
And he stares like an owl, so I bash his map.
And just to show him that I'm his boss,
I gives him a kick on the parados.
And I marches him back with me all serene,
Wiv, tucked in me grup, me old dudeen.
Sitting here in the trenches
Me heart's a-splittin' with spleen,
For a parcel o' lead comes missing me head,
But it smashes me old dudeen.
God blast that red-headed sniper!
I'll give him somethin' to snipe;
Before the war's through
Just see how I do
That blighter that smashed me pipe.
Scheme | ABXBCXDDX EEXXBBBBFFGGHH IIJJKKLLAAMM NNOXPPQQRRSS TTUUXXVVWW BBXXBBBBUUOOYYXCBB XBJBXWOOW |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1110011 10111 1111001001 11011 1101111 11111101 111101 11011 11111111 1111101111 101111111 1100101101 0011111111 110101111 110111101 1011101110 011110101 010010111 0011100101 0111100101 1111101111 11111111010 10110101110 11100110101 101100111 011111111 111111011 11110101 100110111 011101111 010101111 0111010101 01011101 011101111 110110101 1101101111 111101111 111101111 1011011 1011110111 11111101 011100111 1111111111 0110101111 10111111 1110111101 110101111 1011110111 1111101101 01110101101 1010111111 1111111 011011111 111110111 1101110111 0011101101 110101111 11111111001 10111101 110101001 10111111 1110111001 1011100111 1101101101 101111111 1101001001 10101101111 11101111 11001101 111010101 01111111111 011111111 11101101 01101111101 11011111 1010010 110111 10101111011 1110111 11111010 111111 01011 11111 111111 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 3,195 |
Words | 658 |
Sentences | 42 |
Stanzas | 7 |
Stanza Lengths | 9, 14, 12, 12, 10, 18, 9 |
Lines Amount | 84 |
Letters per line (avg) | 29 |
Words per line (avg) | 8 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 346 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 94 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 3:25 min read
- 74 Views
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"The Black Dudeen" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 27 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/32501/the-black-dudeen>.
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