Winnipeg Free Press

Winnipeg Free Press (Newspaper) - January 3, 2009, Winnipeg, Manitoba C m y k Page 15 the global warming of Sam Mcgee e easily Canadas most popular poet Robert w. Service turned 134 this year and i thought i should interview him before its Well you know too late. Last year was the 100th anniversary of publication of services first and sensationally successful Book songs of a sourdough which provides what we Call in the news Trade a Hook for this interview. Service is living in quiet affluence on the French Riviera which is a hell of a lot More sane than freezing his tush in the Yukon where he made both his name and a More prosperous future than most of the men who mailed for Gold in the great Gold Rush of 1898. Or. Service sir said i emboldened after we were into our second bottle of 1993 chateau do quem i hesitate to say so but i fear that in this age of global warming Many canadians Young people especially must find your masterpiece the cremation of Sam Mcgee to be dated even bewildering. You know All that extreme cold and stuff Mcgee freezing to death. Service reared up indignantly. You dont have to Tell me you Young whippersnapper he said which at my age makes me feel great. I know All about Polar bears in danger of extinction and so Forth. Therefore i have revised my poem to suit so that it will endure for the next 100 years. And with dramatic edwardian theatrical flourishes he recited there Are strange things done in the Midnight Sun by the men who search for Oil the Arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your red blood boil the Northern lights have seen queer sights but the Queerest they Ever did see was that night on the Marge of Lake Lebarge i air conditioned Sam Mcgee. Now Sam Mcgee was from Tennessee where the Cotton can grow no More Why he left his Home in the South to roam round the pole was foreseen by Gore. He was always hot but the mild Breeze brought Relief for the briefest spell though head often say in his homely Way that it was almost As bad As hell. On a Christmas Day we were cycling our Way Over the Dawson Trail. Talk of your heat from your head to your feet your body begged Snow or Hail. With the sweat off our brow i know not How our eyes could properly see it a snot much fun but the Only one to whimper was Sam Mcgee. And from dripping Chin As stripped to the skin we Lay that smoggy night the dogs All dead or crazed in the head or too damned tired to fight he turned to me and Cap says he ill Cash in this trip i guess and if i do ism asking that you wont refuse my last request. Well he seemed so Low that i say no then he says with a sort of moan its the cursed heat and its got me beat till ism cooked clean through to the Bone. Yet taint being dead its my awful dread of the steamy grave that pains so i want you to swear that foul or fair youll air condition my last remains. A Palms last need is a thing to heed so i swore i would not fail neither god nor Man could find a fan but i Felt i must prevail. He got on his Bike but fast took a hike Down the path of no return and his body sizzled and quickly frizzled and took on a ghastly Burn. Now a Promise made is a debt unpaid and the Trail has its own Stern code. On my Twenty one speeder i Felt As Leader i had to lash on my Load the weight made me swerve on the simplest curve and gave passersby a Good fright but sweating and straining i gave up explaining just pedalled from morning to night. In the Days to come though my lips were dumb in my heart How i cursed that Load in the Short hot night by the candlelight As i Lay at the Side of the Road i thumbed through scads of newspaper ads for a cooler in any condition and wondered if death would Stop my own breath before i completed my Mission. Till i came to the Marge of Lake Lebarge now no bigger than a Pool and eased off the heat on my blistered feet and counted myself a fool. And prayed for some storming to end this damned warming and answer immediately got for a turbulent wind As if i had sinned sprang up but of it was hot. Relief there was none for the pitiless Sun had dried every River and Rill the razors of Sand flailed that suffering land while Sam sat in blindingly still. The landfills junk which piercingly stunk blew Over a darkened sky the hurricanes Wail told the terrible tale of a planet gone All awry. So the science Kooky of the prof named Suzuki had proven to be on the Money it a snot just fiction his Baleful prediction. Of a forecast stuck firmly on sunny. There were surfing hunks in their swimming trunks who thought it a grand Way to live but clearly most notable was water once potable drained into earths cracks like a Sieve. There a snot a breath in that land of death and i cycled on horror driven Neath that pitiless sky with a Load getting High because of a Promise Given until look confusion was that an illusion that building All wreathed in steam id nothing to drink but it looked like a rink with a game going on it would seem. It was no baloney i heard the Zamboni the cries of a frenzied Home crowd and granted its Mush i confess to a Blush for i suddenly Felt terribly proud in this fetid waste there was still one last place defying All sense of the rational for the Sticks and the pads and the heroes and cads that define All our people As National. I Flung open the door As the crowd gave a Roar the Home team had scored what a shot he like a backhanded puck id bounced into the Luck of hockey night in Canaday and i heard that Brief tune As unique As the Loon that has Smi kingly risen to Par then remembered my Mission and with some contrition i bore poor old Sam to the bar. To the customers Frisky they were serving Rye whiskey while Mol songs Moose head and Labattes and a Leemans and Keith cooled the real and false Teeth of your More Down to Earth democrats. But Back to my task i thought i would ask said i to the Bow tied bartender if theress a smidge in your fridge to Cool off my Friend a hons been on a terrible Bender. The Barman looked Wise and studied Samos eyes and then threw an All knowing Wink their toil in their arts gives mixology its hearts understanding for those stiffed by drink. To Cut matters Short this compassionate sport helped lift dear old Sam to the cooler past an usher no Gusher who hard eyed looked on As if nothing could possibly fool her. There was just enough space to put Sam in his place and i repaired to the bar for a shot in this Cool Oasis the fears that can Chase us were rapidly being forgot. But after a bit i could no longer sit i had to Check out my poor Friend Whord been bold seeking cold in the North but alas encountered a hot Sticky end. So i put Down my Glass and dragged my poor ass to the room where the rink kept its brew and nervously acted while the fans were distracted by an overtime win three to two. I stole to the door and cracked it no More than enough to Peep in at the stiff and As god is my witness there sat Sam in his fitness humming a Southern Riff. Mid the stacks of ale both dark and Pale mid the Cooling fridges Roar he wore a smile you could see a mile and he said please close that door. Its Fine in Here but i greatly fear youll let in the heat you fool since i left Plumtree Down in Tennessee its the first time Ive been Cool. There Are strange things done in the Midnight Sun by the men who search for Oil the Arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your red blood boil the Northern lights have seen queer sights but the Queerest they Ever did see was that night on the Marge of Lake Lebarge i air conditioned Sam Mcgee. Thatus so now i assured service when he finished. Anything else yes said service Happy new year to All including the lady thatus known As Lou. Sheds become a grief counsellor for victims of pickpockets. Trevor Laurens lives in West Vancouver b. C. Tau tens telus. Net Winnipeg free press saturday january 3, 2009 View from the West and beyond comment editor Gerald flood 697 7269 Gerald. Flood free press. M. Ca Winnipeg repress. Com a 15 Trevor Laurens a 15_ Jan 03 09. Ind a15 1/ 2/ 09 4 59 57 pm ;