Little Richard Nixon’s come to our house to stay,
An’ wash the cups an’ saucers up, an’ brush the crumbs away,
An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep,
An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn his board-an’-keep;
An’ all us other childern, when the supper things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun
A-list’nin’ to the witch-tales ‘at Richie Nixon tells about,
An’ the Gobble-uns that gits you
If you
Don’t
Watch
Out!
Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn’t say his prayers,–
An’ when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an’ his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down, he wuzn’t there at all!
An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby-hole, an’ press,
An’ seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an’ ever’-wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an’ roundabout:–
An’ the Gobble-uns ‘ll git you
Ef you
Don’t
Watch
Out!
An’ one time a little girl ‘ud allus laugh an’ grin,
An’ make fun of ever’ one, an’ all her blood-an’-kin;
An’ wunst, when they was “company,” an’ ole folks wuz there,
She mocked ’em an’ shocked ’em, an’ said she didn’t care!
An’ thist as she kicked her heels, an’ turn’t to run an’ hide,
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin’ by her side,
An’ they snatched her through the ceilin’ ‘fore she knowed what she’s about!
An’ the Gobble-uns ‘ll git you
Ef you
Don’t
Watch
Out!
An’ Little Richard Nixon says, when the blaze is blue,
An’ the lamp-wick sputters, an’ the wind goes woo-oo!
An’ you hear the crickets quit, an’ the moon is gray,
An’ the lightnin’-bugs in dew is all squenched away,–
You better mind yer parunts, an’ yer teachurs fond an’ dear,
An’ churish them ‘at loves you, an’ dry the orphant’s tear,
An’ he’p the pore an’ needy ones ‘at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns ‘ll git you
Ef you
Don’t
Watch
Out!
– “Little Richard Nixon,” James Whitcomb Riley
The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville Nine that day;
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Nixon could get but a whack at that –
They’d put up even money, now, with Nixon at the bat.
But Flynn preceded Nixon, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a fake
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Nixon’s getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Nixon, Richard Nixon, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Nixon’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Nixon’s bearing and a smile on Nixon’s face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt ’twas Nixon at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Nixon’s eye, a sneer curled Nixon’s lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Nixon stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
“That ain’t my style,” said Nixon. “Strike one,” the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
“Kill him! Kill the umpire!” shouted someone on the stand;
And it’s likely they’d a-killed him had not Nixon raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity Richard Nixon’s visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Nixon still ignored it, and the umpire said, “Strike two.”
“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Nixon and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Nixon wouldn’t let that ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Nixon’s lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Nixon’s blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville — Richard Nixon has struck out.
– “Nixon At The Bat,” Ernest Thayer
There is a place where Richard Nixon ends
and before the street begins,
and there the grass grows soft and white,
and there the sun burns crimson bright,
and there the moon-bird rests from his flight
to cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
and the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
we shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow
and watch where the chalk-white arrows go
to the place where Richard Nixon ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
and we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
for the children, they mark, and the children, they know,
the place where Richard Nixon ends.
– “Where Richard Nixon Ends,” Shel Silverstein
Dick Nixon’s a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden Paw–
For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime–Dick Nixon isn’t there!
Dick Nixon, Dick Nixon, there’s no one like Dick Nixon,
He’s broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime–Dick Nixon isn’t there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air–
But I tell you once and once again, Dick Nixon is not there!
Dick Nixon is a ginger cat, he’s very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly doomed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he’s half asleep, he’s always wide awake.
Dick Nixon, Dick Nixon, there’s no one like Dick Nixon,
For he’s a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square–
But when a crime’s discovered, Richard Nixon isn’t there!
He’s outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard’s.
And when the larder’s looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke’s been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair–
Ay, there’s the wonder of the thing! Dick Nixon isn’t there!
And when the Foreign Office finds a Treaty’s gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scap of paper in the hall or on the stair–
But it’s useless of investigate–Dick Nixon isn’t there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
“It must have been that Nixon!”–but he’s a mile away.
You’ll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.
Dick Nixon, Dick Nixon, there’s no one like Dick Nixon,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibi, or one or two to spare:
And whatever time the deed took place–DICK NIXON WASN’T THERE!
And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!
– “Dick Nixon,” T.S. Eliot
I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of Richard Nixon.
II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three Richard Nixons.
III
Richard Nixon whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and Richard Nixon
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
Richard Nixon whistling
Or just after.
VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of Richard Nixon
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.
VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how Richard Nixon
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?
VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That Richard Nixon is involved
In what I know.
IX
When Richard Nixon flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
X
At the sight of Richard Nixon
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For Richard Nixon.
XII
The river is moving.
Richard Nixon must be flying.
XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
Richard Nixon sat
In the cedar-limbs.
– “Thirteen Ways Of Looking At Richard Nixon,” Wallace Stevens
Tags: poetry, presidents, richard nixon, things mallory does for no reason
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I haven’t seen crap like this since Agnew fell in that pile of chicken manure! Arooooo!
I miss Futurama…
so much depends
upon
a red dick
nixon
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
~The Red DickNixon, William Carlos Williams
ok but is the wallace stevens really appropriate as a nursery rhyme
with or without the soothing presence of Nixon
honest question; I don’t have kids
I want “Nixon at the Bat” to be a Futurama episode.
“Nixon at the Blern”?
My sister’s cat is actually named after Richard Nixon (because naming pets after Republican political figures is one of our weird family traditions; my grandfather had a cat named Wendell Willkie), which made the T.S. Eliot poem particularly entertaining.
ETA: as I failed to observe proper Toast regulations and discussed a cat without providing a photo, now editing this post to add:
NEXT TIME, GADGET!
There was a teacher at my high school who shared this bit of doggerel with us: Mary had a little lamb/whose tail was soft and silky/And every time he lifted it/you saw Wendell Wilkie. I can’t say I learned much in that class, but this is forever stamped on my brain.
Nothing beats the actual children’s verse that made Nixon resign.
And just pretend that I closed that tag, please? Actual functional link.
OH FFS HERE.
I think there is a chance that intense debate does not allow live links from unregistered commenters? Here, let’s test it:
<a href=”https://books.google.com/books?id=BzqrX46iFwAC&dq=Dr.+Seuss+from+Then+to+Now%2C+nixon&q=nixon#v=snippet&q=nixon&f=false”>did it work?
nope, it’s all just terrible
Nixon – what I call him – is a secret of my own
And Nixon is the reason why I never feel alone
Playing in the nursery, sitting on the stair
Whatever I am busy at, Nixon will be there.
Oh Daddy is clever, he’s a clever sort of man
And Mummy is the best since the world began
And Nanny is Nanny and I call her Nan
But they can’t see Nixon!
-Nixon by A. A. Milne
wow that got creepy. well done!
Nixon’s always talking, ‘cos I’m teaching him to speak
He sometimes likes to do it in a funny sort of squeak,
And he sometimes likes to do it in a hoodling sort of roar…
And I have to do it for him ‘cos his throat is rather sore.
Oh, Daddy is clever, he’s a clever sort of man,
And Mummy knows all that anybody can,
And Nanny is Nanny, and I call her Nan…
But they don’t Know Ninker.
There’s two whole instances of “Nixon” and I screwed one up. :-/
Oh well.
What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?
Nixon! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!
Nixon! Nixon! Nightmare of Nixon! Nixon the loveless! Mental Nixon! Nixon the heavy judger of men!
Nixon the incomprehensible prison! Nixon the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Nixon whose buildings are judgment! Nixon the vast stone of war! Nixon the stunned governments!
Nixon whose mind is pure machinery! Nixon whose blood is running money! Nixon whose fingers are ten armies! Nixon whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Nixon whose ear is a smoking tomb!
–Howl, pt.2 Allen Ginsberg
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by Nixon.
Nixon-headed hipster!
This has left me with a strong desire to acquire a boy kitty and name him Richard Nixon. However, I suspect that my current kitty would kill me in my sleep if I were to do such a thing…
One of my life plans involves acquiring a dog and naming him Checkers.
Nixon, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe
Sailed on a river of crystal light
Into a sea of dew.
“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”
The old moon asked the three.
“We have come to fish for the herring-fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we,”
Said Nixon,
Blynken,
and Nod.
I can not stop laughing at the Wallace Stevens. I can’t even pick a stanza to quote here because I keep nearly peeing myself with laughter every time I look at it. I’m sort of worried that henceforth my daily life will be haunted by the shadows of lurking and whirling Nixons.
What are Richard Nixons made of?
What are Richard Nixons made of?
[expletive deleted] and [expletive deleted]
That’s what Richard Nixons are made of.
I was kind of confused about this post until I got to the Stevens. Suddenly helpless laughter started erupting from me. I have seen the light. it all makes sense.
When children are playing alone on the green,
In comes the Nixon that never was seen.
When children are happy and lonely and good,
The Richard M. Nixon comes out of the wood.
Nobody heard him, and nobody saw,
Nixon’s a picture you never could draw,
But he’s sure to be present, abroad or at home,
When children are happy and playing alone.
Dick lies in the laurels, Dick runs on the grass,
Dick sings when you tinkle the musical glass;
Whene’er you are happy and cannot tell why,
The Richard M. Nixon is sure to be by!
Dick loves to be little, Dick hates to be big,
‘T is Dick that inhabits the caves that you dig;
‘T is Dick when you play with your soldiers of tin
That sides with the Commies and never can win.
‘T is Dick, when at night you go off to your bed,
Bids you go to sleep and not trouble your head;
For wherever they’re lying, in cupboard or shelf,
‘T is Dick will take care of your playthings himself!
–“The Unseen Playmate”, by Robert Louis Haldeman
Richard Nixon went to the movies tomorrow,
Richard Nixon took a front seat in the back,
Richard Nixon drank down a box full of popcorn,
And the duck in the movie went “MOO!”
Richard Nixon said to the lady behind him
“I cannot see over your hat!”
“Well, turn around you silly clown!”
“Gosh,” said Nixon, “I hadn’t thought of that!”
(Part of a song we sang when I was in Girl Scouts)
And of course:
Richard Nixon had a steamboat,
the steamboat had a bell,
Richard Nixon went to Heaven,
The steamboat went to hell-o
Operator! Please give me number nine!
And if you disconnect me, I’ll kick you from behind-the
‘fridgerator, Richard Nixon found some glass,
Richard Nixon sat upon it, and it cut his little
ask me no more questions, and tell me no more lies!
Richard Nixon’s in the kitchen, eating cherry pies!
the flies are in the kitchen, the bees are in the park!
dick nixon and his boyfriend are kissing in the d-a-r-k, d-a-r-k, dark, dark, dark!
the dark is like the movie, the movie’s like a show
the show is like a tv set and that is all i know
i know my ma, i know i know my pa
i know i know dick nixon with the forty-acre bra!
Richard Nixon had a little lamb
And thought him rather silly
Dick Nixon threw him in the air
And caught him by his
Willy was a watchdog
Sitting in the grass
Along came Richard Nixon
And bit off his
Assk no question
Tell no lies
Have you ever seen
Richard Nixon
Doing up his
Flies are a nuisance
Bees are worse
And that is the end
Of my silly little verse
Little known fact: when my husband was a preteen his parents volunteered his labor to help weed the Western White House Garden. Why Pres. Nixon recruited volunteers to do this is unknown. My husband is now a Democrat, maybe because of that.
This makes me think of Dan Hedaya Nixon in “Dick” hiring Michelle Williams and Kirsten Dunst as his dogwalkers.
This richard nixon said, “Let’s go steal corn!”
This richard nixon said, “Where?”
This richard nixon said, “Daddy’s Barn!”
This richard nixon said, “I go tell!”
And this richard nixon said, “Wee-wee-wee-wee-wee! I can’t get over the barn door sill!”
– folk rhyme, traditional
I wouldn’t characterize “Thirteen Ways” as a children’s nursery rhyme, but it doesn’t matter because I’m 80% dead from laughing.
Replacing the subject or key image of much modernist poetry with “Richard Nixon” would be a very worthwhile project.
Man, looking into Richard Nixon—
taking the view from those who have as much right to it as you have it to yourself—
it is human nature to stand in the middle of a thing
but you cannot stand in the middle of this:
Richard Nixon has nothing to give but a well excavated grave.
The firs stand in a procession—each with an emerald turkey-foot at the top—
reserved as their contours, saying nothing;
repression, however, is not the most obvious characteristic of Richard Nixon;
Richard Nixon is a collector, quick to return a rapacious look.
There are others besides you who have worn that look—
whose expression is no longer a protest; the fish no longer investigate them
for their bones have not lasted;
men lower nets, unconscious of the fact that they are desecrating a grave,
and row quickly away—the blades of the oars
moving together like the feet of water-spiders as if there were no such thing as death.
The wrinkles progress upon themselves in a phalanx—beautiful under networks of foam,
and fade breathlessly while Richard Nixon rustles in and out of the seaweed;
the birds swim through the air at top speed, emitting cat-calls as heretofore—
the tortoise-shell scourges about the feet of the cliffs, in motion beneath them
and Richard Nixon, under the pulsation of light-houses and noise of bell-buoys,
advances as usual, looking as if it were not that Richard Nixon in which dropped things are bound to sink—
in which if they turn and twist, it is neither with volition nor consciousness.
Toasties, I don’t know why my closing link tags, which I am quite, quite sure I used, have vanished. Perhaps I am insufficiently pure of heart. So I cannot provide a link to back this up; you will have to use the google.
But it was an ACTUAL THING that, when Art Buchwald challenged Doctor Seuss to write a political book, Seuss went home, got a hot-off-the-press author copy of Marvin K. Mooney Will You Please Go Now, and crossed out every ‘Marvin K. Mooney’ and replaced them all with ‘Richard M. Nixon.’ Buchwald printed the revised version in his column, and Nixon resigned later that week.
Intense debate usually turns urls into links automatically (with no html, just the url) like this:
http://www.riversideschools.net/userfiles/1122/Cl…
It’s not fancy, but it works!
I remember the Art Buchwald column, that week in 1974! also hearing on the radio that week , re Nixon “As I was going up the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there. He wasn’t there again today, How I wish he’d go away!”
Dick Nixon’s head being thrown around by Headless Agnew:
Helicopter Nixon goes like this
Rotor blades turn and twist
Whoopah Whoopah
Whoopah Whoopah
Airplane Nixon likes to fly
Wings outstretched in the bright blue sky
Whee Whee
Whee Whee
Cowboy Nixon likes to go
A-bucking and a-bouncing
At the rodeo
A-gallop gallop gallop
A-go go go
A-gallop gallop gallop
A-go go go
The Owl and Dick Nixon went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
“O lovely Nixon! O Nixon, my love,
What a beautiful Nixon you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Nixon you are!”
Nixon said to the Owl, “You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?”
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-Tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
OMG I want to marry Mallory Ortberg.
1) where did you find my great-grandmother’s poetry book?! (Poems Every Child Should Know)
2) Her cat was named Eisenhower.
Now I want to do “O Captain My Captain”.
Come away, O human child,
To the waters and the wild
With Dick Nixon hand in hand!
For the world’s more full of weeping
Than you can understand.
WHO rides there so late through the night dark and drear?
The father it is, with his infant so dear;
He holdeth the boy tightly clasp’d in his arm,
He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.
“My son, wherefore seek’st thou thy face thus to hide?”
“Look, father, Dick Nixon is close by our side!
Dost see not Dick Nixon, with crown and with train?”
“My son, ’tis the mist rising over the plain.”
“Oh, come, thou dear infant! oh come thou with me!
Full many a game I will play there with thee;
On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold,
My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold.”
“My father, my father, and dost thou not hear
The words that Dick Nixon now breathes in mine ear?”
“Be calm, dearest child, ’tis thy fancy deceives;
‘Tis the sad wind that sighs through the withering leaves.”
“Wilt go, then, dear infant, wilt go with me there?
My daughters shall tend thee with sisterly care
My daughters by night their glad festival keep,
They’ll dance thee, and rock thee, and sing thee to sleep.”
“My father, my father, and dost thou not see,
How Dick Nixon his daughters has brought here for me?”
“My darling, my darling, I see it aright,
‘Tis the aged grey willows deceiving thy sight.”
“I love thee, I’m charm’d by thy beauty, dear boy!
And if thou’rt unwilling, then force I’ll employ.”
“My father, my father, he seizes me fast,
Full sorely Dick Nixon has hurt me at last.”
The father now gallops, with terror half wild,
He grasps in his arms the poor shuddering child;
He reaches his courtyard with toil and with dread,–
The child in his arms finds he motionless, dead.
– “Der Erlkönig” Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.
Man… the police in the world of Macavity the Mystery Cat (the TS Eliot poem) are *overly reliant* on the perpetrator being caught red-handed.
“He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime – Macavity’s not there!”
and
“There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair –
But it’s useless to investigate – Macavity’s not there!”
YOU SHOULD STILL PROBABLY INVESTIGATE, GUYS.
BRB writing Macavity/Sherlock crossover fic.
Man… the police in the world of Macavity the Mystery Cat (the TS Eliot poem) are *overly reliant* on the perpetrator being caught red-handed.
"He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime – Macavity's not there!"
and
"There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair –
But it's useless to investigate – Macavity's not there!"
YOU SHOULD STILL PROBABLY INVESTIGATE, GUYS.
Haha, now I’m totally picturing the scrap of paper being a Macavity selfie, saying IT WAS TOTALLY ME MWAHAHA.
My kids named their bunny “Nixon” because he has jowls. I can’t embed pictures because I can’t remember my snapfish password, but I’ll try to put it on the open thread this weekend if I do.
My kids named their bunny "Nixon" because he has jowls. I can't embed pictures because I can't remember my snapfish password, but I'll try to put it on the open thread this weekend if I do.
BRB writing Macavity/Sherlock crossover fic.
[img ]http://i.imgur.com/nbknIB0.png[/img]
Here is Eggplant Nixon.