LibriVox volunteers bring you 14 recordings of “Cheese Curd for Bait” by James McIntyre (1827?-1906).
This was the Weekly Poetry project for Spetember 23rd to Spetember 30th, 2012.
James McIntyre, born in Scotland, came to Canada in 1841. He finally settled in Ingersoll (a town in central Ontario on the banks of the Thames River), the then-heart of Canadian dairy country.
He was well loved in the community, from which he often received aid in hard times, due in part to his poesy and oratorical skills — he was called on to speak at every kind of social gathering in Ingersoll. The region seems to have inspired him, and it was in celebration of the proud history of Canada, the natural beauty and industry of the region, and especially its cheese, that the majority of his oeuvre was written.
(Summary from Wikipedia)
http://www.archive.org/download/cheesecurd_1209.poem_librivox/cheesecurd_mcintyre_rn_64kb.mp3″Running time=2m 19s (mp3@64kb)
Download locations: mp3 128kb : mp3 64kb : ogg vorbis.
Catalogue pages: LibriVox, Internet Archive.
Zip of the entire book (12.1MB@64kb), featuring all 14 readers of this poem, with a total running time of 25m 12s.
In addition to the readers, this audio book was produced by:
Book Coordinator: David Lawrence
Meta-Coordinator/Cataloging: David Lawrence
Cheese Curd for Bait
(The following adventure was participated in by Mr. J. Podmore
and Mr. W. D. Grant at Matheson’s Cold Spring Cheese Factory in Zorra, 1888.)
Cheese buyers in hours of leisure
Combine business with pleasure,
And when they wish to go abroad
They take their gun and fishing rod.
This tale is true we pledge our word,
They baited hook with a piece of curd,
And let the rod hang from the boat,
While curd and hook on pond did float.
And then they start for sport and fun,
To try their luck with the shot gun,
And quick they raised from their cover,
Then brought low eight brace of plover.
Now to the pond they do return,
But loss of rod they have to mourn,
They see it rushing through the water,
And wonder what can be the matter.
But the courage of young Grant,
It did not for a moment daunt,
Though rod it now is far beyond,
He plunged into deep, cold spring pond.
And seized his rod and then drew out
A beauteous seven pound trout,
Which had grown from the seed
From spawn of California breed.
And Californian in its greed,
On the sweet curd wished to feed;
But, alas, for it’s sad fate,
It swallowed hook along with bait.
This week’s poem can be found here.