DESERT ISLAND POEM 4

If continually tops favourite poem polls in the UK and I believe its popularity has much to do with the proverbial British stiff upper lip and our renowned sense of fair play. Also, it is about coming of age so it has universal appeal which is further helped by the fact its wisdom is irrefutable and the language is plain throughout - although I believe the combination of plain language and perfect metre is an art in itself. Also, in this particular poem a glut of esoteric metaphors would only confuse the clear message from a father to his son.

If is also a particularly pleasurable poem to read aloud. The combination of feminine/masculine rhyme diverts emphasis on the end rhyme for the last beat of the odd lines is not the cymbal crash expected at the end of a five beat drum roll. The hypermetric lines also seem to allow for a natural pause after the last unstressed beat despite the fact they are mostly enjambed – this is a master of his craft at work and demonstrates the precision of the poet’s word selection despite the rhyming constraints.
 

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

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