Foo community and anything-you-like-ness

Re: There was this poem....

Anonymous — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 03:30:27 GMT

Miss Lynch?

Re: There was this poem....

Anonymous — Wed, 15 Oct 2008 03:55:45 GMT

Maurice Ogden. There's info on the poem in Wikipedia.

Re: There was this poem....

Anonymous — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 00:03:36 GMT

Its by Muarice Ogden called "Hangman"

Re: There was this poem....

Anonymous — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 18:38:48 GMT

The Hangman by Maurice Ogden

Re: There was this poem..

Anonymous — Fri, 02 May 2008 13:45:18 GMT

Could you possibly tell me the name of movie that was based on Hangman by Maurice Ogden?

Thanks in advance for all of your help.

Re: There was this poem..

Anonymous — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 22:03:57 GMT

are you calling me a coward? becuase, I, being the courageous person that i am would be the one to shout MURDER! SHAME! I dont like this peom and i wouldnt dare to embrace it either. so RAWR

Re: There was this poem..

Anonymous — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 20:47:10 GMT

Anonymous
I remember when I was in grade school, a teacher brought a video to class called "The Hangman". It was a cartoon, but it was very dark, disturbing, moross thng done in not quite colorless greys. The whole cartoon was done in a poem. It was all very morbid I even thought back then. I'm in my 40s now and still remember the hangman, barely more than a shadow with eyes, killing the people of this town one by one untill they were all gone except one man whom the hangman told he was going to be hanged for not stopping the hangman from killing everyone else.

Wow, what a messege for a bunch of 5th graders! Ive never seen it again since, but would like to find a copy of that cartoon.

I ran across a copy of this on a Betamax tape and digitized it. I'll encode and upload it to Youtube some time this week; search for it there some time soon.

Re: There was this poem..

Anonymous — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 03:32:43 GMT

this poem is called the "hangman" and its by Maurice Ogden i believe...lol.. i read the poem last year in 7th grade

Re: There was this poem..

Anonymous — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 22:05:34 GMT

the poem is called the hangman and its by maurice ogden.

Re: There was this poem..

Anonymous — Mon, 03 Mar 2008 15:37:56 GMT

The poem is called "The Hangman" and it was written by Maurice Ogden...though I really think your analysis is a little flawed. I don't think the poem is about the Jews in WW ll who "mostly kept their heads down..." ... more likely about about the citizens of Germany and the rest of the world (including the americans), who didn't get involved until what was happening affected them. I think it is also relevant to alot of what goes on today.

Re: There was this poem....

Anonymous — Sun, 25 Nov 2007 21:22:56 GMT

"The Hangman", and it's by Maurice Ogden.

Re: There was this poem....

Anonymous — Thu, 01 Nov 2007 21:27:34 GMT

I have a copy of this poem in a small orange booklet form that I've had since about 1957-58. I had heard an account on the radio of a school teacher in Orange County, California, who was being accused before the HUAC (House Un-American Activities Committee) as having been or having associated with Communists, knowingly or unknowingly. The radio emcee said the teacher was trying to raise money for his legal defense and towards that goal was requesting 50 cents for a copy of his poem. I sent in my 50 cents and received the Maurice Ogden poem in return. The poem had a dramatic impact on my thinking and values. I'm terribly happy to find it's still in print and still being talked about! Jan Henderson, Redwood City, CA

Re: There was this poem....

Anonymous — Wed, 10 Oct 2007 18:39:08 GMT

The hangman

Re: There was this poem....

Anonymous — Tue, 24 Apr 2007 19:37:09 GMT

The Hangman

Re: There was this poem....

Anonymous — Sun, 22 Apr 2007 20:58:15 GMT

THE HANGMAN
by MAURICE OGDEN

Into our town the Hangman came,

Smelling of gold and blood and flameâ

And he paced our bricks with a diffident air

And built his frame on the courthouse square.

The scaffold stood by the courthouse side,

Only as wide as the door was wide;

A frame as tall, or little more,

Than the capping sill of the courthouse door.

And we wondered, whenever we had the time,

Who the criminal, what the crime,

That Hangman judged with the yellow twist

Of knotted hemp in his busy fist.

And innocent through we were, with dread

We passed those eyes of buckshot lead;

Till one cried: âHangman, who is he

For whom you raise the gallows-tree:

Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,

And he gave us a riddle instead of reply:

âHe who serves me best,â said he,

âShall earn the rope on the gallows-tree.â

And he stepped down, and laid his hand

On a man who came from another landâ

And we breathed again, for anotherâs grief

At the Hangmanâs hand was our relief.

And the gallows-frame on the courthouse lawn.

By tomorrowâs sun would be struck and gone.

So we gave him way, and no one spoke,

Out of respect for his hangmanâs cloak.

The next dayâs sun looked mildly down

On roof and street in our quiet town

And, stark and black in the morning air,

The gallows-tree on the courthouse square.

And the Hangman stood at his usual stand

With the yellow hemp in his busy hand;

With his buckshot eye and his jaw like a pike

And his air so knowing and businesslike.

And we cried: âHangman, have you not done,

Yesterday, with the alien one?â

Then we fell silent, and stood amazed:

âOh, not for him was the gallows raised.â

He laughed a laugh as he looked at us:

â. . . Did you think Iâd gone to all this fuss

To hang one man? Thatâs a thing I do

To stretch the rope when the rope is new.â

Then one cried, âMurderer!â One, cried, âShame!â

And into our midst the Hangman came

To that manâs place. âDo you hold,â he said,

âWith him that was meant for the gallows-tree?â

And he laid his hand on that oneâs arm,

And we shrank back in quick alarm,

And we gave him way, and no one spoke

Out of fear of this hangmanâs cloak.

That night we saw with dread surprise

The Hangmanâs scaffold had grown in size.

Fed by the blood beneath the chute

The gallows-tree had taken root;

Now as wide, or a little more,

Than the steps that led to the courthouse door,

As tall as the writing, or nearly as tall,

Halfway up on the courthouse wall.

The third he tookâwe had all heard tellâ

Was a usurer and infidel, And:

âWhat,â said the Hangman, âhave you to do

With the gallows-bound, and he a Jew?â

And we cried out: âIs this one he

Who has served you well and faithfully?

The Hangman smiled: âitâs a clever scheme

To try the strength of the gallows-beam.â

The fourth manâs dark, accusing song

Had scratched our comfort had and long;

And âWhat concern,â he gave us back,

âHave you for the doomedâthe doomed and black?

The fifth. The sixth. And we cried again:

âHangman, Hangman, is this the man?â

âItâs a trick,â he said, âthat we hangmen know

For easing the trap when the trap springs slow.â

And so we ceased and asked no more,

As the Hangman tailed his bloody score;

And sun by sun, and night by night,

The gallows grew to monstrous height.

The wings of the scaffold opened wide

Till they covered the square from side to side;

And the monster cross-beam, looking down,

Cast its shadow across the town.

Then through the town the Hangman came

And called in the empty streets my nameâ

And I looked at the gallows soaring tall

And although: âThere is no one left at all

For hanging, and so he calls to me

To help pull down the gallows-tree.â

And I went out with right good hope

To the Hangmanâs tree and the Hangmanâs rope.

He smiled at me as I came down

To the courthouse square through the silent town,

And supple and stretched in his busy hand

Was the yellow twist of the hempen strand.

And he whistled his tune as he tried the trap

And it sprang down with a ready snapâ

And then with a smile of awful command

He laid his hand upon my hand.

âYou tricked me, Hangman!â I shouted then,

âThat your scaffold was built for other men . . .

And I no henchman of yours,â I cried,

âYou lied to me, Hangman, foully lied!â

Then a twinkle grew in his buckshot eye;

âLied to you? Tricked you?â he said, âNot I.

For I answered straight and I told you true:

The scaffold was raised for none but you.â

âFor who has served me more faithfully

Than you with your cowardâs hope?â said he,

âAnd where are the others that might have stood

Side by your side in the common good?â

âDead,â I whispered; and amiably

âMurdered,â the Hangman corrected me;

âFirst the alien, then the Jew . . .

I did no more than you let me do.â

Beneath the beam that blocked the sky,

None had stood so alone as Iâ

And the Hangman strapped me, and no voice there

Cried âStayâ for me in the empty square.

ââMaurice Ogden