Lament for John Barleycorn
In the sweet black earth,
where the plow split her open,
was born wee wind-waltzing John.
Light was his butter and bread.
In wet-whiskered fullness waxed he.
The greenest of green men.
Goldest of golden men.
Cut down he was, winnowed and parched.
Swam he with the sweet and mellow maidens.
Bade he the bitterest widow dance and sing.
In the arms of the oak he took his ease.
In death, he waxes. Lingers he by the fireside.
Ne'er will he scorn to shake the horned hand.
Shop-girls, milkmaids, housewives, all press lips on him.
In solace and song, he gives the grey head sleep.
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This poem is my own take on a very old story. To hear more of Brother John, fetch a glass of something dark and malty and join me in the snug below the fold.
An old English folk ballad celebrates the cycle of birth, death and rebirth in the person of John Barleycorn. The ballad has dozens of variations in melody and lyrics. The earliest extant written versions date to the 16th century. The story at the root of the ballad is probably much older, with connections to the Anglo-Saxon Beowa , a deity associated with barley and agriculture.
The hero of the ballad is, of course, beer. Like allegorical heroes, beer always comes back around. The ancient Egyptians drank a sort of barley-wine that is cited by many as the earliest beer. In medieval Europe, the addition of hops (Humulus lupulus) led to a beverage that resisted spoilage longer and had the bitter tingle we associate with beer. Water, grain, sugar and hops is a recipe with more variations than the many ballads of John Barleycorn.
Why John? Why not Karl or Fred or Louise?
Damned if I know.
Our boy John goes round and round. The name John may very well be as old as beer. Versions of the name span Europe and the Near East: Juan (Spanish), Joan (Portuguese), Jean (French), Sean (Gaelic), Johann (German), Jan (Norse), Ivan (Russian), Jonas (Lithuanian), Gian (Italian), Ioannes (Greek), Yochanan (Hebrew) and Yahya (Arabic) to name but a dozen.
Bonus poem! You win!
Drink up, Johnny
Drink up, Johnny.
It's harvest time,
when malt and hops are toasting.
October's here,
there's ale, there's beer
there's pork and apples roasting.
Be hale, be strong.
Live well, live long.
Raise up your glass of porter
As this day fades
in streaks and shades
our lives are one day shorter.
Drink up Johnny.
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If you were to parse out all the metaphors and allusions in Lament for John Barleycorn, you would certainly be rewarded with a free glass of beer in a just world. In this world, you would have my admiration and make me grin a bit.
Please feel free to post your own verses in the comments below.