The Green Eye of the Yellow God
There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.
He was known as "Mad Carew" by the subs at Khatmandu,
He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell;
But for all his foolish pranks, he was worshipped in the ranks,
And the Colonel's daughter smiled on him as well.
He had loved her all along, with a passion of the strong,
The fact that she loved him was plain to all.
She was nearly twenty-one and arrangements had begun
To celebrate her birthday with a ball.
He wrote to ask what present she would like from Mad Carew;
They met next day as he dismissed a squad;
And jestingly she told him then that nothing else would do
But the green eye of the little Yellow God.
On the night before the dance, Mad Carew seemed in a trance,
And they chaffed him as they puffed at their cigars;
But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone awhile,
Then went out into the night beneath the stars.
He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and tunic torn,
And a gash across his temple dripping red;
He was patched up right away, and he slept through all the day,
And the Colonel's daughter watched beside his bed.
He woke at last and asked if they could send his tunic through;
She brought it, and he thanked her with a nod;
He bade her search the pocket saying, "That's from Mad Carew,"
And she found the little green eye of the god.
She upbraided poor Carew in the way that women do,
Though both her eyes were strangely hot and wet;
But she wouldn't take the stone and Mad Carew was left alone
With the jewel that he'd chanced his life to get.
When the ball was at its height, on that still and tropic night,
She thought of him and hastened to his room;
As she crossed the barrack square she could hear the dreamy air
Of a waltz tune softly stealing thro' the gloom.
His door was open wide, with silver moonlight shining through;
The place was wet and slipp'ry where she trod;
An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew,
'Twas the "Vengeance of the Little Yellow God."
There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.
Commentary
This week’s theme - immortal narrative poems
(1911, music by Cuthbert Clarke)
This is one of those vivid, exaggerated poems that some critics would dismiss as ‘lowbrow’, but which enjoy a tremendous popularity for all of that. There is a certain combination of elements that indefinably but unmistakably lends a narrative poem the stamp of immortality - Kipling’s ‘Gunga Din’ had it, as did Service’s ‘Dan McGrew’, and so, in full measure does today’s poem.
It’s hard to pin down just what sets it apart from so many other poems. A sine qua non is, of course, a good story to tell, and almost as essentially, a larger-than-life protagonist to tell it about. A strong rhythm and good rhymes are likewise a must - anything that breaks the flow of the poem will at best distract and at worst jar upon the reader. And finally, there should be something extravagant about the imagery - this is no place for delicate subtlety. This extravagance should hold, too, for the plot - the reader expects larger-than-life situations to accompany the larger-than-life characters, and they go a long way towards making the poem memorable.
It is unsurprising that so many of these poems seem to be set along frontiers, pooling in the constant clash and swirl of wilderness and civilisation. It is precisely there that a romance-starved populace looks for its unfettered heroes, and writers are seldom slow to provide them.
Sadly, with popular taste turning away from poetry recitation as a form of entertainment, poems like today’s may well become an endangered species1 - Shakespeare and Keats may live on in a hundred thousand classrooms, but syllabi seldom stress poetry for sheer pleasure. This week’s I’ll round up a few of them that haven’t been run yet - suggestions and guest poems are as always welcome.
Links
Brief biography of Hayes:
http://www.public.iastate.edu/~jdbrus/Hayes.html
The fine art of poetry recitation:
http://www.abc.net.au/rn/arts/ling/stories/s643715.htm
Tangential but intriguing:
http://andsom.tripod.com/retrogaming/articles/retrogaming_articles_gods_eye.htm
There are touches of Barbara Allen [Poem #548]
and The Glove and the Lions [Poem #275]
in the story
There are several parodies floating about, but they all commit the cardinal sin of bad scansion; I have therefore linked to none of them.
— Martin
-
yes, I know I said ‘immortal’, but… ↩
Show 26 commentsHide comments
From the Wondering Minstrels mailing list, 1999–2008.
Davis Martin · 10 December 2002
I’m afraid my note bounced when I tried to send it to the Minstrels site, so I’ll send it to you and append the hope that perhaps Tennyson’s “The Revenge” or Macauley’s “How Horatius Held the Bridge” might creep in this week. When I was 9 or 10 I could recite both of them from beginning to end. Ripping stuff for poetry! None of your wet, soppy flower fairy verse! I don’t write to you often enough to say just how much I enjoy the work you all put into the Minstrels; I suspect I’m not alone, and there’s a lot of us getting a lot of pleasure from your efforts.
Thanks,
Martin Davis
WENPUSEY · 30 March 2003
I was taught this poem by a frequent visitor to the West African Electrical & Mechanical Engineers Serjeants Mess in Yaba,Lagos,Nigeria when I was stationed there in 1950 or perhaps a year or so later. I rarely get the chance to recite it but I must admit,that it is always very well received when I do. Thanks for the full text as there were a few errors in my received version,brought about by the fact that in those dim and distant days,we,both teacher and pupil,were working through a haze brought about by the consuming of many bottles of local lager during the instruction classes!!!!
Best wishes for the success of your efforts Bill Pusey
Cathan Shoniker · 19 May 2003
Hi
This was the first poem I ever heard.
My father recited it and I memorized but not purposely. I always thought the first line was “There’s a green eyed yellow idol” I had it wrong.
The poem has stayed with me all my life.
It brings back wonderful memories.
I am glad to see it in print.
Thank you
Cathan Shoniker
mick.martell · 25 June 2003
Hi Bill,
Don’t Know if your visitor to the REME? Sergeants Mess was a travelling man. As a young lad in Lagos and later Kaduna I spent an outrageous amount of time in Sergeants Messes with my folks in the mid 50’s where I learnt the poem, as I recall the version I was told went “There’s a little golden idol to the north of Katmandu” Just wondering if you picked up the same mistakes?
I also remember that late in the evening another version that began “There’s a little gents urinal to the North of Waterloo, There’s another for the ladies further down” at which time I was usually whisked away, never did hear the end of that one. :(
BTW My Old man and his lady were Pat and Ally (Brandy) Martell Royal Signals serving with The WWAFF.
Kind regards,
Mick.
EveStamm · 7 December 2003
Hi, I just typed in “green eyed yellow idol” in the google search because I always remembered it (wrongly) starting like that.
We had a poetry prize giving session at Carlisle and County High School in Carlisle , Cumberland every year called the Rawnsley prize - he was an old Canon of the cathedral -and a friend of mine won the prize in 1963 or 64, I am not sure any more when, with her recital of this poem. It was a hauntingly sad poem and I have remembered the first verse (only the first line wrongly) since then.
Best wishes,
Eve Brook-Stamm
MK · 22 January 2004
Oh yes indeed! I, too, remember the little yellow fellow which my father used to recite ad laudium. We loved it. Someone on radio has just asked about it and I know I have a copy of it somewhere…….somewhere my heart will break……etc. etc.
Pleased to say I found it on your site but I would MUCH rather have the OTHER version……….something about the little gents urinal ha ha h ah a….guess I shall have to have a go at a parody of the yellow fellow myself….what fun! If ever I do this, I’ll send it on to the site.
Isn’t there a copy of the gents place parody available on the net?
Cheers
Marg Dickens
IRENEASCOT · 17 April 2004
Just to say that my father taught me the poem and he spent a lot of time in various messes in Nigeria so guess he picked it up there and learned and loved it.
Irene
Bob Morrison · 16 December 2004
When I cant sleep I recite this poem in my head, by verse four I am usually a sleep. Beats counting sheep
dave · 18 January 2005
I first heard this on a vinyl single by Harry H Corbett (off Steptoe and Son!)
Never forgot it.
NORMAN BRANSBY · 2 February 2005
These poems give a real sense of the life of far flung frontiers and should be included in the literature programmes of all schools as examples of the fun that people found in their surroundings. One song I remember being sung, as late as the 30s, to very young children whilst they were being bounced on shoulders was “The Galloping Major”
David Peckham · 3 March 2005
I remember the poem as part of a theatrical music hall act!
One actor is trying to recite it on stage while two other actors, dressed as “pukka sahibs” in a box, keep interrupting him with comments & corrections.
One in particular that I remember concerned the pronunciation of “chaffed” in line 2 of verse 5 “Did he mean his comrades or his underwear?”
Regards
David Peckham
Paul Morris · 11 March 2005
Sixty years ago when a child of five, I well remember a then, elderly gentleman giving a monologue at a gathering where all adults were obliged to contribute to the evenings entertainment. The Green Eye of the Yellow God was his choice, which he recited perfectly without recourse to notes. I have never forgotten, since as a small boy hearing those words, and only recently finding them again. TV was not around in those days, thus, there was no distraction from the art of poetry and conversation. How sad to look upon the “progress” we have made, with our youth leaving the education system, some barely able to read or write.
A long time reader and writer of poetry.
jaytee · 29 April 2005
The Green eye of the Yellow God is one of those great pieces of writing that I never tire of reading again. Others have mentioned Robert Service and Kipling of course and they rate among the greatest. However have you read anything of Banjo Paterson, the greatest Australian balladeer ever. The rhythm ,cadence and the stories in the poems are brilliant. I would not know where to start but worth mentioning are Mulga Bill’s Bicycle, Saltbush Bill, Clancy of the Overflow, The Man from Snowy River ( Since made into a full length feature film and T.V. series), and of course Waltzing Matilda, the list is endless.
Have a look!!!!!!!
NWK
peterwalsh · 1 June 2005
Just happened by your query to minstrels; to finish the parody—- “For a penny on deposit, you can hire a water closet, or a season ticket for a half-a-crown”. Now you can relax!
Claire Valvona · 1 June 2005
I love this poem. I remember it since my Grandfather used to recite it when we were kids… and that is about 35 years ago! It is still a family favourite.
Claire
Michael Mark · 14 July 2005
My grandfather, born in 1896, was in a poetry-reading club in his teens and twenties. As long as I’ve been alive (and prior to his death at 92), and for my mother’s whole life, he recited The Green Eye of the Yellow God - and Gunga Din and Dan McGrew - for anyone and everyone who would listen. I’ve been trying to interest my son in at least Hearing these poems read to him, but alas, it’s not to be.
What a profound gift his recitations were.
I found your page after listening to John Lennon’s Nobody Told Me, in which John misquotes Mr. Hayes, saying “There’s a little yellow idol to the north of Katmandu” in the second verse. I had to find the name of Lennon’s song, and one thing led to another..
Michael Mark
Designed Communications, IncFront RangeMountainsFaxToll-Free
Helen Bodenham · 28 July 2005
When I was eight years old (1954) my form teacher at Lee Street junior school Kidderminster, Worcestershire England. A Mr Perritt used to recite this poem aloud incessantly throughout the class.
It has stayed with me for over fifty years, (probably trauma). I was delighted to find it here and renew the content as I had forgotten most of the words.
Bill Bodenham.
Levana Taylor · 6 August 2005
I might add, that this isn’t really an adventure poem – the protagonist isn’t Mad Carew but rather the colonel’s daughter. Her actions and emotions are described throughout, his actions little and his emotions not at all. That might be one key to the poem’s enduring popularity; as one commenter pointed out, it can have a sad effect, and is recited by women as well as men. I think people are kept interested by the tragic question of why she baited him to do something she knew was both foolhardy and wrong, and which she knew he might actually do.
David & Rosalie Bews · 14 August 2005
My mother used to recite poems to me instead of tellling bed-time stories. This (The Green Eye …) one was sheer delight but very scary. I used to listen with the bed-clothes pulled up to my chin, in sheer horror every time, even though I had heard it many times. I am now turning sixty but I can hear it yet!
Rosalie
CatMoffat · 11 September 2005
This was my favorite poem when I was at school, I love it
Bill Bowling · 3 November 2005
This a great poem .used to recite this in front of class at school in my senior days at Gorringe park school in Mitcham Surrey,in the middle 1940s.still hav it among my collection of poems & old music hall songs,I have some 3,000 items in my collection,the yellow idaol has often been re.enacted on stage
Bill Bowling
Gordon Walker · 14 December 2006
great spoof……..can someone tell me where to find the original please……..it’s not in the Dictionary of quotations for some reason
Jeremy & Julie Walker · 29 April 2007
The version I remember and subsequently have copied involves someone behind the person reciting, being their arms and generally abusing the performer tearing their shirt etc and at the climax breaking the “eye” - an egg on the forehead of the person reciting. A wonderful comic poem!
Mike Howieson · 12 October 2007
Marvellous to read the poem again after all these years…..my father was a school teacher in a score of little outback schools around Western Australia immediately following WWII when he, and all the others returned home…he recited it often and it was always a source of wonder to me. Someone further up the list commented that the style of poem was similar to A.B.(Banjo) Paterson and I agree. Kipling and Service also come to mind as others have mentioned. The reason I typed ‘The Green Eye….’ into Google was that I had just received an email from our son who had arrived this morning in Khatmandu prior to leaving with a walking group aiming for the Everest base camp. On his return I will ensure he reads and absorbs the poem that has obviously given so many people so much pleasure over so many years. Mike H.
Jo-An Partridge · 16 October 2007
Currently I am writing the family history, and I remember my father used to recite the Green Eye of the Yellow God at many Working Men’s Clubs and music halls where it was very popular during his time. However, it used to frighten me when I heard him rehearsing as he presented it in an extremely dramatic manner.
Cheers Jo-An
Jo-An M Partridge
PO Box 1053
MOUNTAIN GATE VIC 3156
AUSTRALIA
Phone:
Haydn Inglis-orr · 2 April 2008
Surely the poem “There`s a one eyed yellow idol to the north of…..” is by Rudyard Kipling.
Haydn Inglis Orr