IF - Kipling, a century later, still striking a chord

[David48atTD]

MEN'S MENTAL HEALTH

How a 19th-century poem by Rudyard Kipling is helping men's mental health

Considering the suicide rate for men in Thailand, the concept does have some relevance.

It's an issue we don't talk about because we are 'men' ... but it's relevant.

The Australian Actor Jack Thompson does the voice over for this memorable poem.
Been ages since I've read/heard it ... forgot how good it was.

Watch up to 2.45min ... the balance of the vid is a promo for crowdfunding for an anti-suicide app.

[Klondyke]

IF
Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make a heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you'll be a Man, my son!

[Begbie]

[DrB0b]

Chord

[CaptainNemo]

Shit poem, really; excerpts of which get pinned up by the desks of gluten-free effete public-sector pseudo-intellectuals. Reminds me of people who go on about Stevie Wonder and him starting the trend of afroyodelling in R&B. Yeah, it's technically good, and songs are well structured, but the message is somehow morbidly shit cod wisdom.

[cyrille]

Poetry for people who don't get poetry.

Is the second favourite by AA Milne?

[blue]

IF - Bread

[Looper]

Shit poem

But exceedingly good cakes

[DrB0b]

Shit poem

But exceedingly good cakes

If (By Mr. Kipling)
If you can bake a cake when all about you
Are burning theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust your buns when bakers doubt you,
Then make allowance for their doubting too.
If you can bake and not be tired by baking,
Get your jam-tarts out, don't make rhubarb-pies.
Don't make toast or give way to brown bread-making,
And yet don't burn your scones, and you'll be wise.

If you can make one heap of all your fine buns
And turn them into one huge wedding-cake,
Fine-sprinkle the top with hundreds and thousands,
Then that would be the best cake you could make.
If you can force your dough into a huge pan
To serve your turn long after you are gone,
Then maybe you would rather make a big flan?
And don't forget to make the odd croissant.

If you can bake with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or bake with kings, don't lose the common touch.
If neither cake nor bun-eaters can hurt you,
Then fill their tums with toffee, jam and fudge.
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of baking, run…
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And—which is more—you'll bake a cake, my son!

[David48atTD]

Does no-one focus on the Men's mental health issue?

BTW ... I still like the poem

Signed ...

Proud member of the official gluten-free effete public-sector pseudo-intellectuals society

[DrB0b]

Does no-one focus on the Men's mental health issue?

BTW ... I still like the poem

Signed ...

Proud member of the official gluten-free effete public-sector pseudo-intellectuals society

I'm afraid Kipling is a bit of a laughing stock in his homeland these days. You're not going to get a positive response from most British people, that's for sure. Most of his work is now seen as pretty embarrassing, especially all that Gor-Blimey Barrack Room Ballad dialect stuff. Still, Recessional was good and I've always had a secret liking for Stalky and Co. and Puck of Pooks Hill. "If" is excruciatingly bad Christmas Cracker doggerel but I do love Recessional;

God of our fathers, known of old,
Lord of our far-flung battle line,
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies;
The Captains and the Kings depart:
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

Far-called our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,
Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard,
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not Thee to guard,
For frantic boast and foolish word-
Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!

[stroller]

It's an issue we don't talk about because we are 'men'

Speak for yourself.

A Kipling poem is just about the last thing I would turn to when in a suicidal mood.

[BaitongBoy]

Well, looky here...It's Memorable Sausages, all over again...

[David48atTD]

Well, looky here...It's Memorable Sausages, all over again...

Before my time.

Background? I assume it's not a positive?

[BaitongBoy]

^ It's on page 3...

[Switch]

Well, looky here...It's Memorable Sausages, all over again...

Before my time.

Background? I assume it's not a positive?

The reference is older than you David.

"Do you like Kipling?"

'I don't know, I've never Kippled.'

[DrB0b]

^ It's on page 3...

Which is traditionally where the British place tits.

[Looper]

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Just right with a nice pot of tea.

[cyrille]

That seems to be an exceedingly popular joke.

[Begbie]

There's a green eyed yellow idol to the north of Kathmandu

Parodies of Kipling are often more amusing than the man's own work. Plus he makes exceedingly good cakes.

[DrB0b]

Although in reality Mr Kiplings cakes are bloody awful. Nasty, dry, tasteless crap. Truly awesome advertising campaigns though.

[Begbie]

Although in reality Mr Kiplings cakes are bloody awfull. Nasty, dry, tasteless crap. Truly awesome advertising campaigns though.

Very true, dust with some sweet filling. Mr Kipling makes exceedingly large amounts of money.

[BaitongBoy]

Maybe Loy Toy is related?...But his pies are very good, I hear...

[katie23]

"You'll be a man, my son!"

Kipling was sexist! But then he was a product of his time. Many scholars, poets, politicians, philosophers & scientists were. Even up to now, even in this board.

Not looking for a fight, just making an observation.

In a way, I consider myself lucky to be live in a country which values women's rights. We've had two female presidents! Not good ones, but still a milestone, as other countries have none.

Back to Kipling, I studied one or two of his short stories way back in high school. Wee Willy Winky, I think. I didn't know of double meanings of the name at that time. Now, I chuckle at it. 55

I didn't know that Kipling is also a brand of cakes. Cheers!

[DrB0b]

"You'll be a man, my son!"

Kipling was sexist! But then he was a product of his time.

Yes, but what about this? What does the last verse here say to you?


When the Himalayan peasant meets the
he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster,
who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends
the peasant tooth and nail.
For the female of the species is more
deadly than the male.

When Nag the basking cobra hears the
careless foot of man,
He will sometimes wriggle sideways and
avoid it if he can.
But his mate makes no such motion where
she camps beside the trail.
For the female of the species is more
deadly than the male.

When the early Jesuit fathers preached
to Hurons and Choctaws,
They prayed to be delivered from the
vengeance of the squaws.
‘Twas the women, not the warriors,
turned those stark enthusiasts pale.
For the female of the species is more
deadly than the male.

Man’s timid heart is bursting with the
things he must not say,
For the Woman that God gave him
isn’t his to give away;
But when hunter meets with husbands,
each confirms the other’s tale –
The female of the species is more
deadly than the male.

Man, a bear in most relations –
worm and savage otherwise, –
Man propounds negotiations,
Man accepts the compromise.
Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact
To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.
Fear, or foolishness, impels him,
ere he lay the wicked low,
To concede some form of trial even
to his fiercest foe.

Mirth obscene diverts his anger –
Doubt and Pity oft perplex
Him in dealing with an issue –
to the scandal of The Sex!
But the Woman that God gave him,
every fibre of her frame
Proves her launched for one sole issue,
armed and engined for the same,
And to serve that single issue,
lest the generations fail,
The female of the species must be
deadlier than the male.

She who faces Death by torture
for each life beneath her breast
May not deal in doubt or pity –
must not swerve for fact or jest.
These be purely male diversions –
not in these her honour dwells.
She the Other Law we live by,
is that Law and nothing else.
She can bring no more to living than
the powers that make her great
As the Mother of the Infant and the
Mistress of the Mate.

And when Babe and Man are lacking and
she strides unclaimed to claim
Her right as femme (and baron),
her equipment is the same.
She is wedded to convictions –
in default of grosser ties;
Her contentions are her children,
Heaven help him who denies! –
He will meet no suave discussion,
but the instant, white-hot, wild,
Wakened female of the species warring
as for spouse and child.

Unprovoked and awful charges –
even so the she-bear fights,
Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons –
even so the cobra bites,
Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw
And the victim writhes in anguish –
like the Jesuit with the squaw!

So it comes that Man, the coward,
when he gathers to confer
With his fellow-braves in council,
dare not leave a place for her
Where, at war with Life and Conscience,
he uplifts his erring hands
To some God of Abstract Justice –
which no woman understands.

And Man knows it! Knows, moreover,
that the Woman that God gave him
Must command but may not govern –
shall enthral but not enslave him.
And She knows, because She warns him,
and Her instincts never fail,
That the Female of Her Species is more
deadly than the Male.