Jungle Book herbekeken. Kipling, Disney & jeugdadaptaties. (Nienke van Son)

 

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I. Gedichten van Kipling (http://www.poetryloverspage.com/poets/kipling/kipling_ind.html)

 

1. “Recessional” (1897)

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 boasting 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!

 

2. “The White Man’s Burden” (1899)

Take up the White Man's burden--

Send forth the best ye breed--

Go, bind your sons to exile

To serve your captives' need;

To wait, in heavy harness,

On fluttered folk and wild--

Your new-caught sullen peoples,

Half devil and half child.

Take up the White Man's burden--

In patience to abide,

To veil the threat of terror

And check the show of pride;

By open speech and simple,

An hundred times made plain,

To seek another's profit

And work another's gain.

Take up the White Man's burden--

The savage wars of peace--

Fill full the mouth of Famine,

And bid the sickness cease;

And when your goal is nearest

(The end for others sought)

Watch sloth and heathen folly

Bring all your hope to nought.

Take up the White Man's burden--

No iron rule of kings,

But toil of serf and sweeper--

The tale of common things.

The ports ye shall not enter,

The roads ye shall not tread,

Go, make them with your living

And mark them with your dead.

Take up the White Man's burden,

And reap his old reward--

The blame of those ye better

The hate of those ye guard--

The cry of hosts ye humour

(Ah, slowly!) toward the light:--

"Why brought ye us from bondage,

Our loved Egyptian night?"

Take up the White Man's burden--

Ye dare not stoop to less--

Nor call too loud on Freedom

To cloak your weariness.

By all ye will or whisper,

By all ye leave or do,

The silent sullen peoples

Shall weigh your God and you.

Take up the White Man's burden!

Have done with childish days--

The lightly-proffered laurel,

The easy ungrudged praise:

Comes now, to search your manhood

Through all the thankless years,

Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,

The judgment of your peers.

 

 

II. Inventaris van de ingelaste tekstjes in The Jungle Books

1. Korte teksten aan het begin van de verhalen

The Jungle Book

Now Chil the Kite brings home the night

                               That Mang the Bat sets free –

                The herds are shut in byre and hut,

                               For loosed till dawn are we.

                This is the hour of pride and power,

                               Talon and tush and claw.

                Oh, hear the call! – Good hunting all

                               That keep the Jungle Law! (Kipling, 1986: 17)

His spots are the joy of the Leopard: his horns are the Buffalo's pride.
Be clean, for the strength of the hunter is known by the gloss of his hide.
If ye find that the Bullock can toss you, or the heavy-browed Sambhur can gore;
Ye need not stop work to inform us: we knew it ten seasons before.
Oppress not the cubs of the stranger, but hail them as Sister and Brother,
For though they are little and fubsy, it may be the Bear is their mother.
"There is none like to me!" says the Cub in the pride of his earliest kill;
But the jungle is large and the Cub he is small. Let him think and be still.
                                                                                   Maxims of Baloo (Kipling, 1986: 32)

What of the hunting, hunter bold?

Brother, the watch was long and cold.

What of the quarry ye went to kill?

Brother, he crops in the jungle still.

Where is the power that made your pride?

Brother, it ebbs from my flank and side.

Where is the haste that ye hurry by?

Brother, I go to my lair – to die! (Kipling, 1986: 50)

Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us,

               And black are the waters that sparkled so green.

The moon, o'er the combers, looks downward to find us

At rest in the hollows that rustle between.

Where billow meets billow, then soft be thy pillow,

Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!

The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee,

Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas!

                                                     Seal Lullaby (Kipling, 1986: 65)

At the hole where he went in

Red-Eye called to Wrinkle-Skin.

Hear what little Red-Eye saith:

"Nag, come up and dance with death!"
Eye to eye and head to head,

(Keep the measure, Nag.)

This shall end when one is dead;

(At thy pleasure, Nag.)

Turn for turn and twist for twist—

(Run and hide thee, Nag.)

Hah! The hooded Death has missed!

(Woe betide thee, Nag!) (Kipling 1986:80)

I will remember what I was, I am sick of rope and chain.

I will remember my old strength and all my forest affairs.
I will not sell my back to man for a bundle of sugar-cane,

I will go out to my own kind, and the wood-folk in their lairs.
I will go out until the day, until the morning break,

Out to the wind's untainted kiss, the water's clean caress:
I will forget my ankle-ring and snap my picket stake.

I will revisit my lost loves, and playmates masterless! (Kipling, 1986:93)

You can work it out by Fractions or by simple Rule of Three,

But the way of Tweedle-dum is not the way of Tweedle-dee.

You can twist it, you can turn it, you can plait it till you drop,

But the way of Pilly Winky's not the way of Winkie Pop! (Kipling, 1986:108)

The Second Jungle Book

The stream is shrunk--the pool is dry,

And we be comrades, thou and I;

With fevered jowl and dusty flank

Each jostling each along the bank;

And by one drouthy fear made still,

Forgoing thought of quest or kill.

Now 'neath his dam the fawn may see,

The lean Pack-wolf as cowed as he,

And the tall buck, unflinching, note

The fangs that tore his father's throat.

The pools are shrunk--the streams are dry,

And we be playmates, thou and I,

Till yonder cloud--Good Hunting!--loose

The rain that breaks our Water Truce. (Kipling, 1986:125)

The night we felt the earth would move

  We stole and plucked him by the hand,

Because we loved him with the love

  That knows but cannot understand.

And when the roaring hillside broke,

  And all our world fell down in rain,

We saved him, we the Little Folk;

  But lo! he does not come again!

Mourn now, we saved him for the sake

  Of such poor love as wild ones may.

Mourn ye! Our brother will not wake,

  And his own kind drive us away!

                        Dirge of the Langurs. (Kipling, 1986:139)

Veil them, cover them, wall them round--

Blossom, and creeper, and weed--

Let us forget the sight and the sound,

The smell and the touch of the breed!

 

Fat black ash by the altar-stone,

         Here is the white-foot rain,

And the does bring forth in the fields unsown,

         And none shall affright them again;

And the blind walls crumble, unknown, o'erthrown

         And none shall inhabit again! (Kipling, 1986:151)

When ye say to Tabaqui, "My Brother!" when ye call the Hyena to meat,

Ye may cry the Full Truce with Jacala--the Belly that runs on four feet.

                                                                                    Jungle Law (Kipling, 1986:172)

These are the Four that are never content, that have never

    been filled since the Dews began--

Jacala's mouth, and the glut of the Kite, and the hands of the

    Ape, and the Eyes of Man.

                                      Jungle Saying. (Kipling, 1986:189)

The People of the Eastern Ice, they are melting like the snow--

They beg for coffee and sugar; they go where the white men go.

The People of the Western Ice, they learn to steal and fight;

"They sell their furs to the trading-post: they sell their soul  to the white.

The People of the Southern Ice, they trade with the whaler's crew;

Their women have many ribbons, but their tents are torn and few.

But the People of the Elder Ice, beyond the white man's ken--

Their spears are made of the narwhal-horn, and they are the  last of the Men!

                                                                                            Translation (Kipling, 1986:203)

For our white and our excellent nights---for the nights of swift running.

    Fair ranging, far seeing, good hunting, sure cunning!

For the smells of the dawning, untainted, ere dew has departed!

For the rush through the mist, and the quarry blind-started!

For the cry of our mates when the sambhur has wheeled and is standing at

bay,

          For the risk and the riot of night!

          For the sleep at the lair-mouth by day,

          It is met, and we go to the fight.

                            Bay! O Bay! (Kipling, 1986:220)

Man goes to Man! Cry the challenge through the Jungle!

  He that was our Brother goes away.

Hear, now, and judge, O ye People of the Jungle,--

  Answer, who shall turn him--who shall stay?

 

Man goes to Man! He is weeping in the Jungle:

  He that was our Brother sorrows sore!

Man goes to Man! (Oh, we loved him in the Jungle!)

  To the Man-Trail where we may not follow more. (Kipling, 1986:238)

 

2. Liederen aan het einde van elk kortverhaal, die fungeren als illustratie, uitbreiding en/of nabeschouwing

The Jungle Book

“Hunting-Song of the Seeonee Pack”

As the dawn was breaking the Sambhur belled

Once, twice and again!

And a doe leaped up, and a doe leaped up

From the pond in the wood where the wild deer sup.

This I, scouting alone, beheld,

Once, twice and again!
As the dawn was breaking the Sambhur belled

Once, twice and again!

And a wolf stole back, and a wolf stole back

To carry the word to the waiting pack,
And we sought and we found and we bayed on his track

Once, twice and again!
As the dawn was breaking the Wolf Pack yelled

Once, twice and again!

Feet in the jungle that leave no mark!
Eyes that can see in the dark--the dark!

Tongue--give tongue to it! Hark! O hark!

Once, twice and again! (Kipling, 1986:31)

“Road-Song of the Bandar-Log”

Here we go in a flung festoon,

Half-way up to the jealous moon!

Don't you envy our pranceful bands?

Don't you wish you had extra hands?

Wouldn't you like if your tails were--so—

Curved in the shape of a Cupid's bow?

Now you're angry, but--never mind,

Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!
Here we sit in a branchy row,

Thinking of beautiful things we know;

Dreaming of deeds that we mean to do,

All complete, in a minute or two—

Something noble and wise and good,

Done by merely wishing we could.

We've forgotten, but--never mind,

Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!
All the talk we ever have heard

Uttered by bat or beast or bird—

Hide or fin or scale or feather—

Jabber it quickly and all together!

Excellent! Wonderful! Once again!
Now we are talking just like men!

Let's pretend we are ... never mind,

Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!

This is the way of the Monkey-kind.
Then join our leaping lines that scumfish through the pines,

That rocket by where, light and high, the wild grape swings.

By the rubbish in our wake, and the noble noise we make,

Be sure, be sure, we're going to do some splendid things! (Kipling, 1986:49)

 

“Mowgli's Song, that he sang at the Council Rock when he danced on Shere Khan’s hide”
The Song of Mowgli--I, Mowgli, am singing. Let the jungle listen to the

things I have done.
Shere Khan said he would kill--would kill! At the gates in the twilight he

ould kill Mowgli, the Frog!
He ate and he drank. Drink deep, Shere Khan, for when wilt thou drink

again? Sleep and dream of the kill.

I am alone on the grazing-grounds. Gray Brother, come to me! Come to me,

Lone Wolf, for there is big game afoot!
Bring up the great bull buffaloes, the blue-skinned herd bulls with the angry

eyes. Drive them to and fro as I order.
Sleepest thou still, Shere Khan? Wake, oh, wake! Here come I,and the

bulls are behind.
Rama, the King of the Buffaloes, stamped with his foot. Waters of the

Waingunga, whither went Shere Khan?
He is not Ikki to dig holes, nor Mao, the Peacock, that he should fly. He is

not Mang the Bat, to hang in the branches. Little bamboos that

creak together, tell me where he ran?
Ow! He is there. Ahoo! He is there. Under the feet of Rama lies the Lame

One! Up, Shere Khan!Up and kill! Here is meat; break the necks

of the bulls!
Hsh! He is asleep. We will not wake him, for his strength is very great. The

kites have come down to see it. The black ants have come up to know

it. There is a great assembly in his honor.
Alala! I have no cloth to wrap me. The kites will see that I am

naked. I am ashamed to meet all these people.
Lend me thy coat, Shere Khan. Lend me thy gay striped coat that I may go

to the Council Rock.
By the Bull that bought me I made a promise--a little promise. Only

thy coat is lacking before I keep my word.
With the knife, with the knife that men use, with the knife of thehunter,

I will stoop down for my gift.
Waters of the Waingunga, Shere Khan gives me his coat

for the love that he bears me. Pull, Gray Brother! Pull, Akela! Heavy is the hide of Shere Khan.

The Man Pack are angry. They throw stones and talk child's talk. My

mouth is bleeding. Let me run away.
Through the night, through the hot night, run swiftly with me, my brothers.

We will leave the lights of the village and go to the low moon.
Waters of the Waingunga, the Man-Pack have cast me out. I did them no

harm, but they were afraid of me. Why?
Wolf Pack, ye have cast me out too. The jungle is shut to me andthe village

gates are shut. Why?
As Mang flies between the beasts and birds, so fly I between the village

and the jungle. Why?

I dance on the hide of Shere Khan, but my heart is very heavy. My mouth is

ut and wounded with the stones from the village, but my heart is very light, because I have come back to the jungle. Why?

These two things fight together in me as the snakes fight in the spring.

The water comes out of my eyes; yet I laugh while it falls. Why?
I am two Mowglis, but the hide of Shere Khan is under my feet.
All the jungle knows that I have killed Shere Khan. Look – look well, O

Wolves!
Ahae! My heart is heavy with the things that I do not understand.       (Kipling, 1986:63-64)

 

“Lukannon”

[This is the great deep-sea song that all the St. Paul seals sing when they are heading back to their beaches in the summer. It is a sort of very sad seal National Anthem.]
I met my mates in the morning (and, oh, but I am old!)

Where roaring on the ledges the summer ground-swell rolled;

I heard them lift the chorus that drowned the breakers' song—

The Beaches of Lukannon--two million voices strong.

The song of pleasant stations beside the salt lagoons,

The song of blowing squadrons that shuffled down the dunes,

The song of midnight dances that churned the sea to flame—

The Beaches of Lukannon--before the sealers came!

I met my mates in the morning (I'll never meet them more!);

They came and went in legions that darkened all the shore.

And o'er the foam-flecked offing as far as voice could reach

We hailed the landing-parties and we sang them up the beach.

The Beaches of Lukannon--the winter wheat so tall—

The dripping, crinkled lichens, and the sea-fog drenching all!

The platforms of our playground, all shining smooth and worn!

The Beaches of Lukannon--the home where we were born!

I met my mates in the morning, a broken, scattered band.

Men shoot us in the water and club us on the land;

Men drive us to the Salt House like silly sheep and tame,

And still we sing Lukannon--before the sealers came.

Wheel down, wheel down to southward; oh, Gooverooska, go!

And tell the Deep-Sea Viceroys the story of our woe;

Ere, empty as the shark's egg the tempest flings ashore,

he Beaches of Lukannon shall know their sons no more! (Kipling, 1986:79)

 

“Darzee’s Chaunt, Sung in honour of Rikki-Tikki-Tavi”

Singer and tailor am I—

Doubled the joys that I know—

Proud of my lilt to the sky,

Proud of the house that I sew—

Over and under, so weave I my music--so weave I the house that I sew.

Sing to your fledglings again,

Mother, oh lift up your head!

Evil that plagued us is slain,

Death in the garden lies dead.

Terror that hid in the roses is impotent--flung on the dung-hill and dead!

 

Who has delivered us, who?

Tell me his nest and his name.

Rikki, the valiant, the true, Tikki, with eyeballs of flame,

Rikk-tikki-tikki, the ivory-fanged, the hunter with eyeballs of flame!


Give him the Thanks of the Birds,

Bowing with tail feathers spread!

Praise him with nightingale words—

Nay, I will praise him instead.

Hear! I will sing you the praise of the bottle-tailed Rikki, with eyeballs of red!
(Here Rikki-tikki interrupted, and the rest of the song is lost.) (Kipling, 1986:92)

 

“Shiv and the Grasshopper, The song that Toomai's mother sang to the baby”
Shiv, who poured the harvest and made the winds to blow,

Sitting at the doorways of a day of long ago,

Gave to each his portion, food and toil and fate,

From the King upon the guddee to the Beggar at the gate.

All things made he--Shiva the Preserver.

Mahadeo! Mahadeo! He made all,--

Thorn for the camel, fodder for the kine,

And mother's heart for sleepy head, O little son of mine!

Wheat he gave to rich folk, millet to the poor,

Broken scraps for holy men that beg from door to door;

Battle to the tiger, carrion to the kite,

And rags and bones to wicked wolves without the wall at night.

Naught he found too lofty, none he saw too low—

Parbati beside him watched them come and go;

Thought to cheat her husband, turning Shiv to jest—

Stole the little grasshopper and hid it in her breast.


So she tricked him, Shiva the Preserver.

Mahadeo! Mahadeo! Turn and see.

Tall are the camels, heavy are the kine,

But this was Least of Little Things, O little son of mine!

 

When the dole was ended, laughingly she said,

Master, of a million mouths, is not one unfed?"

Laughing, Shiv made answer, "All have had their part,

Even he, the little one, hidden 'neath thy heart."

From her breast she plucked it, Parbati the thief,

Saw the Least of Little Things gnawed a new-grown leaf!

Saw and feared and wondered, making prayer to Shiv,
Who hath surely given meat to all that live.

 

All things made he--Shiva the Preserver.

Mahadeo! Mahadeo! He made all,--

Thorn for the camel, fodder for the kine,

And mother's heart for sleepy head, O little son of mine! (Kipling, 1986:107)

 

“Parade Song of the Camp Animals”

ELEPHANTS OF THE GUN TEAMS
We lent to Alexander the strength of Hercules,

The wisdom of our foreheads, the cunning of our knees;

We bowed our necks to service: they ne'er were loosed again,--

Make way there--way for the ten-foot teams

Of the Forty-Pounder train!

GUN BULLOCKS
Those heroes in their harnesses avoid a cannon-ball,

And what they know of powder upsets them one and all;

Then we come into action and tug the guns again—

Make way there--way for the twenty yoke

Of the Forty-Pounder train!

 

CAVALRY HORSES
By the brand on my shoulder, the finest of tunes

Is played by the Lancers, Hussars, and Dragoons,

And it's sweeter than "Stables" or "Water" to me—

The Cavalry Canter of "Bonnie Dundee"!

Then feed us and break us and handle and groom,

And give us good riders and plenty of room,

And launch us in column of squadron and see

The way of the war-horse to "Bonnie Dundee"!


SCREW-GUN MULES
As me and my companions were scrambling up a hill,

The path was lost in rolling stones, but we went forward still;

For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, and turn up everywhere,

Oh, it's our delight on a mountain height, with a leg or two to spare!

Good luck to every sergeant, then, that lets us pick our road;

Bad luck to all the driver-men that cannot pack a load:

For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, and turn up everywhere,

Oh, it's our delight on a mountain height, with a leg or two to spare!

COMMISSARIAT CAMELS
We haven't a camelty tune of our own

To help us trollop along,
But every neck is a hair trombone

(Rtt-ta-ta-ta! is a hair trombone!)

And this our marching-song:
Can't! Don't! Shan't!

Won't! Pass it along the line!
Somebody's pack has slid from his back,

Wish it were only mine!
Somebody's load has tipped off in the road—

Cheer for a halt and a row!
Urrr! Yarrh! Grr! Arrh!
Somebody's catching it now!


ALL THE BEASTS TOGETHER
Children of the Camp are we,
Serving each in his degree;
Children of the yoke and goad,

Pack and harness, pad and load.

See our line across the plain,

Like a heel-rope bent again,
Reaching, writhing, rolling far,

Sweeping all away to war!
While the men that walk beside,

Dusty, silent, heavy-eyed,
Cannot tell why we or they
March and suffer day by day.


Children of the Camp are we,

Serving each in his degree;

Children of the yoke and goad,

Pack and harness, pad and load! (Kipling, 1986:120-121)

 

The Second Jungle Book

 

“The Law of the Jungle”

Just to give you an idea of the immense variety of the Jungle

Law, I have translated into verse (Baloo always recited them in

a sort of sing-song) a few of the laws that apply to the wolves.

There are, of course, hundreds and hundreds more, but these will

do for specimens of the simpler rulings.

 

Now this is the Law of the Jungle--as old and as true as

   the sky;

And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf

   that shall break it must die.

 

As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth

   forward and back--

For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength

   of the Wolf is the Pack.

 

Wash daily from nose-tip to tail-tip; drink deeply, but  never too deep;

And remember the night is for hunting, and forget not  the day is for sleep.

 

The jackal may follow the Tiger, but, Cub, when thy whiskers are grown,

Remember the Wolf is a hunter--go forth and get food  of thine own.

 

Keep peace with the Lords of the Jungle--the Tiger, the Panther, the Bear;

And trouble not Hathi the Silent, and mock not the Boar in his lair.

 

When Pack meets with Pack in the Jungle, and neither will go from the trail,

Lie down till the leaders have spoken--it may be fair words shall prevail.

 

When ye fight with a Wolf of the Pack, ye must fight him alone and afar,

Lest others take part in the quarrel, and the Pack be diminished by war.

 

The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, and where he has made him his home,

Not even the Head Wolf may enter, not even the Council may come.

 

The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, but where he has digged it too plain,

The Council shall send him a message, and so he shall change it again.

 

If ye kill before midnight, be silent, and wake not the woods with your bay,

Lest ye frighten the deer from the crops, and the brothers go empty away.

 

Ye may kill for yourselves, and your mates, and your cubs as they need, and ye can;

But kill not for pleasure of killing, and seven times never kill Man..

 

If ye plunder his Kill from a weaker, devour not all in thy pride;

Pack-Right is the right of the meanest; so leave him the head and the hide.

 

The Kill of the Pack is the meat of the Pack. Ye must eat where it lies;

And no one may carry away of that meat to his lair, or he dies.

 

The Kill of the Wolf is the meat of the Wolf. He maydo what he will,

But, till he has given permission, the Pack may not eat of that Kill.

 

Cub-Right is the right of the Yearling. From all of his Pack he may claim

Full-gorge when the killer has eaten; and none may refuse him the same.

 

Lair-Right is the right of the Mother. From all of her year she may claim

One haunch of each kill for her litter, and none may deny her the same.

 

Cave-Right is the right of the Father--to hunt by himself for his own.

He is freed of all calls to the Pack; he is judged by the Council alone.

 

Because of his age and his cunning, because of his gripe and his paw,

In all that the Law leaveth open, the word of the Head Wolf is Law.

 

Now these are the Laws of the Jungle, and many and mighty are they;

But the head and the hoof of the Law and the haunch and the hump is--Obey! (Kipling, 1986:137-138)

 

·         “The Miracle of Purun Bhagat”

“A Song of Kabir”

                    Oh, light was the world that he weighed in his hands!

                    Oh, heavy the tale of his fiefs and his lands!

                    He has gone from the guddee and put on the shroud,

                    And departed in guise of bairagi avowed!