Homo Podunkensis
As the poor ass that from his paddock strays
Might sound abroad his field-companions' praise,
Recounting volubly their well-bred leer,
Their port impressive and their wealth of ear,
Mistaking for the world's assent the clang
Of echoes mocking his accurst harangue;
So the dull clown, untraveled though at large,
Visits the city on the ocean's marge,
Expands his eyes and marvels to remark
Each coastwise schooner and each alien bark;
Prates of 'all nations,' wonders as he stares
That native merchants sell imported wares,
Nor comprehends how in his very view
A foreign vessel has a foreign crew;
Yet, faithful to the hamlet of his birth,
Swears it superior to aught on earth,
Sighs for the temples locally renowned
The village school-house and the village pound
And chalks upon the palaces of Rome
The peasant sentiments of 'Home, Sweet Home!'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Related quotes
Foreign Lands
You may roam the wide seas over, follow, meet, and cross the sun,
Sail as far as ships can sail, and travel far as trains can run;
You may ride and tramp wherever range or plain or sea expands,
But the crowd has been before you, and you’ll not find ‘Foreign Lands;’
For the Early Days are over,
And no more the white-winged rover
Sinks the gale-worn coast of England bound for bays in Foreign Lands.
Foreign Lands are in the distance dim and dreamlike, faint and far,
Long ago, and over yonder, where our boyhood fancies are,
For the land is by the railway cramped as though with iron bands,
And the steamship and the cable did away with Foreign Lands.
Ah! the days of blue and gold!
When the news was six months old—
But the news was worth the telling in the days of Foreign Lands.
Here we slave the dull years hopeless for the sake of Wool and Wheat
Here the homes of ugly Commerce—niggard farm and haggard street;
Yet our mothers and our fathers won the life the heart demands—
Less than fifty years gone over, we were born in Foreign Lands.
When the gipsies stole the children still, in village tale and song,
And the world was wide to travel, and the roving spirit strong;
When they dreamed of South Sea Islands, summer seas and coral strands—
Then the bravest hearts of England sailed away to Foreign Lands,
‘Fitting foreign’—flood and field—
Half the world and orders sealed—
And the first and best of Europe went to fight in Foreign Lands.
Canvas towers on the ocean—homeward bound and outward bound—
Glint of topsails over islands—splash of anchors in the sound;
Then they landed in the forests, took their strong lives in their hands,
And they fought and toiled and conquered—making homes in Foreign Lands,
Through the cold and through the drought—
Further on and further out—
Winning half the world for England in the wilds of Foreign Lands.
Love and pride of life inspired them when the simple village hearts
Followed Master Will and Harry—gone abroad to ‘furrin parts’
By our townships and our cities, and across the desert sands
Are the graves of those who fought and died for us in Foreign Lands—
Gave their young lives for our sake
(Was it all a grand mistake?)
Sons of Master Will and Harry born abroad in Foreign Lands!
Ah, my girl, our lives are narrow, and in sordid days like these,
I can hate the things that banished ‘Foreign Lands across the seas,’
But with all the world before us, God above us—hearts and hands,
I can sail the seas in fancy far away to Foreign Lands.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Inspired by Issa - My Home Village
my home village
the virgin mary still stands
young as ever
my home village
old friends like me
away from home
my home village
old friends live in
new homes
inspired by
my home village-
the winter rain targets
a standing Buddha
-Issa,1816
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Global Village
Global village
Though we are all human
we are made to be different
by forces beyond our clout
Yet they want remake us
in a new image of their choice
in a village too big to be safe
The world they now call
a single village in the globe
with a big brother to match
As long as we are second class
within that large village fashioned
we would be subjected to
someone’s standards
someone’s culture
someone’s technology
someone’s understanding
someone’s world view
someone’s theories and concepts
They try hard in harder ways
to make us part of that village
but we know we are different
and shall strive to leave outside
that fashioned unsafe village
poem by Yusuf Adamu
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Why are we, as a nation so obsessed with foreign things? Is it a legacy of our colonial years? We want foreign television sets. We want foreign shirts. We want foreign technology. Why this obsession with everything imported?
quote by Abdul Kalam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Goody for Our Side and Your Side Too
Foreigners are people somewhere else,
Natives are people at home;
If the place you’re at
Is your habitat,
You’re a foreigner, say in Rome.
But the scales of Justice balance true,
And tit leads into tat,
So the man who’s at home
When he stays in Rome
Is abroad when he’s where you’re at.
When we leave the limits of the land in which
Our birth certificates sat us,
It does not mean
Just a change of scene,
But also a change of status.
The Frenchman with his fetching beard,
The Scot with his kilt and sporran,
One moment he
May a native be,
And the next may find him foreign.
There’s many a difference quickly found
Between the different races,
But the only essential
Differential
Is living different places.
Yet such is the pride of prideful man,
From Austrians to Australians,
That wherever he is,
He regards as his,
And the natives there, as aliens.
Oh, I’ll be friends if you’ll be friends,
The foreigner tells the native,
And we’ll work together for our common ends
Like a preposition and a dative.
If our common ends seem mostly mine,
Why not, you ignorant foreigner?
And the native replies
Contrariwise;
And hence, my dears, the coroner.
So mind your manners when a native, please,
And doubly when you visit
And between us all
A rapport may fall
Ecstatically exquisite.
One simple thought, if you have it pat,
Will eliminate the coroner:
You may be a native in your habitat,
But to foreigners you’re just a foreigner.
poem by Ogden Nash
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Evening In Paradise
Evening in the village it is about nine o'clock nothing on TV except
men in nice suits and cuff links talking about the economy, they all
are experts yet disagree about everything banging hands on table,
getting red faced and angry, so I switched off. A motorbike is making
its unsteady progress through the village, Joao home from the bar,
dogs don't bark, know the sound it is only when he is trying to get
off and fall they bark a little, angry voices, and then utter stillness.
I stroll through the village only street every window is shuttered not
letting out light it is like they think they have to pay extra if it does.
I walk down to the main road and hope anything would come to pass
enveloped as I'm by tediousness. A car drives past I spend minutes,
wondering where it is going. Back home I switch the TV back on,
a drone attack an important terrorist has been killed, as have eleven
other mostly children, collateral damage, but we fight a global war.
I wished for and found my Paradise on earth and it is bloody boring.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Home, sweet home is home with daddy!
I look at the familiar house I call home
I am back home, sweet home after the journey
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!
Home, sweet home is home with daddy!
I look at Daddy's children, full of expectations
The young man with soiled hands, still jumping on Daddy
The young lady wanting to tell Daddy all the stories of school
It does not matter that Daddy is tired! Daddy is always daddy
Home, sweet home is home with daddy!
I know I have to travel again from home tomorrow
I may go to the nice places, be they palaces or hotels
Marble floors sparkling with reflections of cleanliness
But they are not as homely as home with daddy
Home, sweet home is home with daddy!
I look at everybody wanting to know about the trip of daddy
Everybody wants to know what daddy has brought
Everybody is happy to see daddy home
Daddy is always strong, no tiredness even when tired
Home, sweet home is home with daddy!
poem by Nyota Yasulwe
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Joe Fabulous
don't play my music on mtv
play it on the radio
we are the street kings and we don't care
yeah we really don't wanna know
i'm joe fabulous
life is my school
joe fabulous
and we are the merchants of cool
we do our thing
we believe in no sin
we are beyond your control
if you look closely
you'll find that were mostly
machines looking for a soul
im joe fabulous
life is my school
the next joe fabulous
and we are the merchants of cool
we aim to analyze
everything you say and do
so we can sell it back to you
joe fabulous
life is my school
joe fabulous
and we are the merchants of cool
there are no nations
just large corporations
flying the flag of the day
from dawn of creation
to civilisation
please don't take my music away
joe fabulous
life is my school
joe fabulous
play by my rules
joe fabulous
and we are the merchants of cool
thats all
bye bye everybody
bye bye
song performed by by Bad Company
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Village Green
Out in the country,
Far from all the soot and noise of the city,
Theres a village green.
Its been a long time
Since I last set eyes on the church with the steeple
Down by the village green.
twas there I met a girl called daisy
And kissed her by the old oak tree.
Although I loved my daisy, I saw fame,
And so I left the village green.
I miss the village green,
And all the simple people.
I miss the village green,
The church, the clock, the steeple.
I miss the morning dew, fresh air and sunday school.
And now all the houses
Are rare antiquities.
American tourists flock to see the village green.
They snap their photographs and say gawd darn it,
Isnt it a pretty scene?
And daisys married tom the grocer boy,
And now he owns a grocery.
I miss the village green,
And all the simple people.
I miss the village green,
The church, the clock, the steeple.
I miss the morning dew, fresh air and sunday school.
And I will return there,
And Ill and daisy,
And well sip tea, laugh,
And talk about the village green.
We will laugh and talk about the village green.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A life on the ocean wave
A life on the ocean wave,
A home on the rolling deep,
Where the scattered waters rave,
And the winds their revels keep!
Like an eagle caged, I pine
On this dull, unchanging shore:
Oh! give me the flashing brine,
The spray and the tempest's roar!
Once more on the deck I stand
Of my own swift-gliding craft:
Set sail! farewell to the land!
The gale follows fair abaft.
We shoot through the sparkling foam
Like an ocean-bird set free; -
Like the ocean-bird, our home
We'll find far out on the sea.
The land is no longer in view,
The clouds have begun to frown;
But with a stout vessel and crew,
We'll say, Let the storm come down!
And the song of our hearts shall be,
While the winds and the waters rave,
A home on the rolling sea!
A life on the ocean wave!
poem by Epes Sargent
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In Every City, Town And Village
In every City, Town and Village the haves and have nots reside
But even the poorest of the poor have got their sense of pride
And it must be soul destroying for them to have to beg to stay alive
But pride has to take second place to the will to survive.
The wealthy growing wealthier and the poor growing poorer in the great social divide
And sad to say the gap between the haves and the have nots has never been so wide
Millions are dying of hunger and in camps for the homeless and Stateless overseas
At least thirty million people that's a lot of refugees.
Poverty is a relative thing some have been known to say
And the poor one in a prosperous Nation would be seen as wealthy in a poor Nation far away
But to live short of money anywhere is not a pleasant thing
'Tis seldom of the homeless soul that the balladeer does sing.
In every City, Town and Village there is inequality
And even in the wealthiest of Nations there is want and poverty
And though everybody in the World cannot be a millionaire
The unequal distribution of wealth seems so very unfair.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Una
Roving, roving, as it seems,
Una lights my clouded dreams;
Still for journeys she is dressed;
We wander far by east and west.
In the homestead, homely thought;
At my work I ramble not;
If from home chance draw me wide,
Half-seen Una sits beside.
In my house and garden-plot,
Though beloved, I miss her not;
But one I seek in foreign places,
One face explore in foreign faces.
At home a deeper thought may light
The inward sky with chrysolite,
And I greet from far the ray,
Aurora of a dearer day.
But if upon the seas I sail,
Or trundle on the glowing rail,
I am but a thought of hers,
Loveliest of travellers.
So the gentle poet's name
To foreign parts is blown by fame;
Seek him in his native town,
He is hidden and unknown.
poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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The Story Of Ali Rıza And Ahmet
How strange is the story of
Ali Rıza and Ahmet
One lives in the village
The other in the city
And every morning
The one in the city goes to the village
And the one in the village to the city
poem by Orhan Veli Kanik
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Nothing Can Change You
Originally recorded by tommy keene
Yeah, its saturday night
Will I see you around?
Im comin to life
Didnt take a long, long time
Still she was comin from
Well, she took the long way round
And Ive only come this far
Now nothing can change you
When you feel foreign to love
Your world has a strange view
Can you tell me things that youre dreaming of?
Stop fallin in love
With everything that lets you down
Theres someone above
And I know she wears glasses
Sometimes she says it helps her move
I see her in the long ride home
I guess I never spoke too soon
Now nothing can change you
When you feel foreign to love
Your world has a strange view
Can you tell me things that youre dreaming of?
You dont wanna get left behind
You wanna find some piece of mind
You say it takes a long time there
She was there, she was in the crowd
You went rollin along
When everybody wants to ride
Now joes never home
Looking at the tableside
Where everything is chained to you know that
Youre wakin up to die inside
Now theres nowhere left to go
Now nothing can change you
When you feel foreign to love
Your world has a strange view
And you tell me things that you love
Now nothing can change you
When you feel foreign to love
Your world has a strange view
And you tell me things that youre dreaming of
song performed by by Goo Goo Dolls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rome
O thou newcomer who seek’st Rome in Rome
And find’st in Rome no thing thou canst call Roman;
Arches worn old and palaces made common
Rome’s name alone within these walls keeps home.
Behold how pride and ruin can befall
One who hath set the whole world ’neath her laws,
All-conquering, now conquered, because
She is Time’s prey, and Time conquereth all.
Rome that art Rome’s one sole last monument,
Rome that alone hast conquered Rome the town,
Tiber alone, transient and seaward bent,
Remains of Rome. O world, thou unconstant mime!
That which stands firm in thee Time batters down,
And that which fleeteth doth outrun swift Time.
poem by Ezra Pound
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I Am a Peasant
I was a peasant like the world of old nature,
Wood and bone made me a beggar for life.
The real value of a village produced animal
Feelings in my head and soul, the very drink of blood.
I was a peasant from a neighbouring village
That constructed the time of bouts and bites,
The begging became as useful as pride,
Asking me to be kinder to the world of new nature.
Carefully I resented pleasant news but good names
Were my fellows, their owners were strange, they were all
Old in the world, old on the planet I adore so well.
poem by Naveed Akram
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My Killarney Colleen
If I should ever stray from home
To roam the seven seas
Away from the green fields,
purple mountains and Dingle Bay
I will always remember my Killarney Colleen
Whose dark hair and laughing eyes
Are the most beautiful you’ve ever seen
And if in some foreign port
Someone should speak to me
Of my Erin home far across the sea
I will tell them what I’ve told no other man
All about my lovely Killarney Colleen
I will tell of this pretty girl
Who waits down by Dingle Bay
Of the candle she lights every night
In her window that faces the sea
Hoping that her wandering man
Will find a star to guide him
Back to their home to stay
I am no Irish rover
No seven seas will I see
I have no reason to wander
My home has everything I need
I may not be a rich man
For wealth is not what I need
Just the love of my Killarney Colleen
poem by David Harris
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He Never Strays Far
London to Paris
Paris to Rome:
He never strays
far from his dear
country home,
where a kind
soul is waiting;
truth shines in
her eye, and the
green dales are
calling 'neath a
pink evening sky.
He never strays
far if springtime
is nigh ~ and
early tomorrow
back home he
must fly, to a
happier life in the
sweet by-and-by.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Take The Star Out Of The Window
Robert was a sailor
For the best years of his life
His captain was his mother
And the ocean was his wife
Only fresh out of the cradle
Lifes one and only spring
He was sworn to do his duty
And got blood on his highschool ring
Chorus:
And its hello california
Hello dad and mom
Ship ahoy
Your baby boy
Is home from vietnam
Dont you ask me any questions
bout the medals on my chest
Take the star out of the window
And let my conscience take a rest
Now he sailed across the ocean
To the old far eastern war
And it was foreign to his body
It was foreign to his shore
So he traded in the present
For the better times hed seen
And made an oriental waitress
His own home comin queen
(repeat chorus)
song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalm 117
Praise to God from all nations.
O all ye nations, praise the Lord,
Each with a diff'rent tongue;
In every language learn his word,
And let his name be sung.
His mercy reigns through every land;
Proclaim his grace abroad;
For ever firm his truth shall stand
Praise ye the faithful God.
poem by Isaac Watts
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