Monday's Poetry: "Pullman Porter"

 

by Pa Rock

Poetry Appreciator

Over the years I have featured the earthy and colorful narrative poetry of the English-born Canadian poet Robert W. Service in this space at least a half-dozen times.   Service's tales told of hard lives, well-lived, and often used the Alaskan "gold rush" of the late 1890's as the backdrop for his humorous character studies.  

The poem which I have selected to highlight today is "Pullman Porter," a self-deprecatory piece in which the poet's ego bubble is popped by a porter whom he encounters on a train.   It not only shows how our tastes change as we age, it also gives some insight into train travel back during its heyday.

Today would have been the 149th birthday of Robert W. Service.  Please enjoy this travel back in time as we prepare to disembark the train in Montreal.

Pullman Porter

by Robert W. Service

The porter in the Pullman car

Was charming, as they sometimes are.

He scanned my baggage tags: “Are you

The man who wrote of Lady Lou?”

When I said “yes” he made a fuss —

Oh, he was most assiduous;

And I was pleased to think that he

Enjoyed my brand of poetry.

He was forever at my call,

So when we got to Montreal

And he had brushed me off, I said:

“I’m glad my poems you have read,

I feel quite flattered, I confess,

And if you give me your address

I’ll send you (autographed, of course)

One of my little books of verse.”

He smiled — his teeth were white as milk;

He spoke — his voice was soft as silk.

I recognized, despite his skin,

The perfect gentleman within.

Then courteously he made reply:

“I thank you kindly, Sir, but I

With many other cherished tome

Have all your books of verse at home.

“When I was quite a little boy

I used to savour them with joy;

And now my daughter, aged three,

Can tell the tale of Sam McGee;

While Tom, my son, that’s only two,

Has heard the yarn of Dan McGrew ....

Don’t think your stuff I’m not applaudin’ —

My taste is Eliot and Auden.”

So as we gravely bade adieu

I felt quite snubbed — and so would you.

And yet I shook him by the hand,

Impressed that he could understand

The works of those two tops I mention,

So far beyond my comprehension —

A humble bard of boys and barmen,

Disdained, alas! by Pullman carmen.