Showing posts with label guy fawkes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guy fawkes. Show all posts

Friday, November 09, 2007

Because I'm Sure you Wanted to Know...

Me: Holy Cow! Molly's interviewing me for her blog!
Dan: Um, shouldn't you be interviewing her?
Me: Probably, but I'm saving that for when her book comes out and she's all famous and everyone wants a piece of her. Because they will. And then I can be all "Hey Molly! You interviewed me! My turn!"

So, here's my interview over at Bittersweet.

And, now, onto the Poetry Friday portion of our event.

"Luke, you will find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view."

-Obi wan Kenobi

When I lived in Manchester, I spent Guy Fawkes day in the Darwin Forest, drinking cider by a large bonfire and pretending I knew the words the various songs being sung around me. Living in the North, Guy Fawkes day was a day to celebrate "The last good man sent to Parliament." Whereas, traditionally, especially in the South, it is a day to celebrate catching a Catholic traitor who tried to blow up Parliament.

Harpers had an interesting article on Guy Fawkes and his modern role in Monday's Harpers.

Literary connections: I'm assuming that Fawkes the Phoenix in Harry Potter is named after Guy Fawkes. Also, the day play a big role in V for Vendetta. (Do I lose all street cred when I mention I haven't read this, but only seen the movie? The movie was pretty awesome!)

So, here I give you:

Remember, remember the fifth of November,
The gunpowder, treason and plot,
I know of no reason
Why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, ’twas his intent
To blow up the King and Parliament.
Three score barrels of powder below,
Poor old England to overthrow;
By God’s providence he was catch’d
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, make the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!
Hip hip hoorah!

A penny loaf to feed the Pope.
A farthing o’ cheese to choke him.
A pint of beer to rinse it down.
A faggot of sticks to burn him.
Burn him in a tub of tar.
Burn him like a blazing star.
Burn his body from his head.
Then we’ll say ol’ Pope is dead.
Hip hip hoorah!
Hip hip hoorah hoorah!