Grattis Strickland!

 SAYIN' HOWDY

SAYIN'  "Howdy," all th' day

To th' folks along th' way!

Thats's the method he pursued

Whether glum or glad his mood.

Know 'em? Not by face or name,

But he knowed 'em just th' same.

Knowed that they was human things

Just as hoboes are, an' kings.

​

Sayin' "Howdy," when he met

Josey Smith, as black as jet,

Sayin' it in that same tone

When he met big Sam Malone,

With a dozen farms or so;

Chucklin' "Sam's as good as Joe

If he's careful" — just that way,

Sayin' "Howdy," all th' day.

​

"When I git t' heaven," he 'lows,

"Where they' crowns on all th' brows,

If they's any kin rise

With 'is right hand t' th' skies

An' declare I ever rode

'Long apast 'im on th' road

An' left out that 'Howdy' thing,

I'll give up my crown, by jing!"

Sayi'n "Howdy," all th' day

To th' folks along th' way!

Him nor us will never know

How he helped folks down below

By th' friendliness he showed

To th' folks beside th' road.

You can't find no better way

Than just Howdyin' folks all day!

                                      Strickland W. Gillilan 

Strickland W. Gillilan 

21 september 1869 - 25 april 1954

Det är inte länge sedan jag upptäckte Strickland, och jag får erkänna att jag först var osäker på vad jag egentligen tyckte om det han skrev. Humor är svårt, och det verkar som mycket av det publicerade materialet är hämtat från framträdanden — kanske var han rent av en ståuppare. Än så länge har jag bara läst en bråkdel av hans verser, vars innehåll tycks skifta rejält. En av hans mest omtyckta, och ofta publicerade verser är "The Reading Mother" vars budskap jag högeligen uppskattar, även om jag har lite svårt för formen. 

Så sägs det att han skrivit världens kortaste poem: 

Lines on the Antiquity of Microbes (också känd som "fleas")

Adam

Had 'em 

Du hittar en del av hans böcker hos InternetArchive och LibriVox.

The Reading Mother  

I had a mother who read to me 

Sagas of pirates who scoured the sea, 

Cutlasses clenched in their yellow teeth, 

"Blackbirds" stowed in the hold beneath.   

I had a Mother who read me lays 

Of ancient and gallant and golden days; 

Stories of Marmion and Ivanhoe, 

Which every boy has a right to know.   

I had a Mother who read me tales 

Of Gelert the hound of the hills of Wales, 

True to his trust till his tragic death, 

Faithfulness blent with his final breath.   

I had a Mother who read me the things 

That wholesome life to the boy heart brings— 

Stories that stir with an upward touch, 

Oh, that each mother of boys were such!   

You may have tangible wealth untold; 

Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold. 

Richer than I you can never be— 

I had a Mother who read to me.

                                   Strickland W. Gillilan 

 

 "Mother and child reading" 

Will Barnet