The Poetry of
Farmer B. Gosh
(Joseph Rosenquist)
1869-1940

This article  appeared in the Farmer's Independent
(Bagley, Minn.)

When in der days of youth I met
  My beautiful Kathrina
She took me captive there and then
  Und never set me free again.
Her heart was light, her eyes bright,
  I lost my heart right at the sight
  Of beautiful Kathrina.

Und when der preacher made us one
  Myself und my Kathrina,
There was no end to all my pride,
  I thought der feeling bust by hide,
For down der aisle right by my side,
  There walked the only perfect bride
  My beautiful Kathrina.

We started in to meet the world
  Myself und my Kathrina.
No roses fate threw in our path,
  We fought our way through this and that.
Der children came and healthy grew
  Und mit their joys and sorrows flew,
  To mutter theirs, Kathrina.

But through it all mit joy I see
  My dear old pal Kathrina,
Her girls will step mit double pride
  When walkin' by their mutter's side
Der boys will kiss her on der mouth
  Und say, old pa we'll cut you out.
  Mit dear old Ma Kathrina.

 Und still another lot will hail
  Their grandma theirs Kathrina.
Und at her coming you will see
  These kiddies run and shout mit glee
Und every rosy little chap
  Will scamper to fill her lap,
  Of Grandma theirs, Kathrina.

When by der fireside I sit
  I dream of my Kathrina.
She steps not quite as lively 'bout
  She's getting old and might stout
Mit locks of silver, heart of gold
  She is my sweetheart as of old,
  My beautiful Kathrina.

One day last week when evening came
  Und all der chores were ended,
I struck a match and mit der flame
  I lit myien pipe contented,
Und then Kathrina say to me
  I'd like some information
Tell me what all that noise can be
  That daily dunderation.

I know der weather has been hot
  Twas almost just like summer
But has old Thor der dunder got
  Already found his hammer
Und mit his goats be driving hard
  Der throlls to smitteration
Just tell me that min dear old pard
  Is that der dunderation?

I blew der smoke and blew it far
  I started in a thinking
To me it sounds more like a war
  Mit all big Berthas blinking.
We'd better drive to Bagley down
  It may be General D. Pression
That's shooting up der good old town
  Mit all that dunderation.

Next day I cranked our Lizzie up,
  Kathrina done der steering,
We went to look der dunder up,
  What be that bombardeering.
Der Kaiser in der bank we found
  He gave us information.
To east of town you'll find that sound
  That daily dunderation.

So close to highway where we go
  We found a cat a digging
Und there we found a blasting crew
  That made a hill go gigging
To lay a spur to gravel pit
  Was their determination.
So the smaller is der job that's it
  Der greater dunderation.

1.   What is the most important town you people ever knew?
      Where they load the bank deposits with steam shovel crew -
      Where there are two elevators changing grain to dough
      When spuds are rolling, keep 'em strolling into Tom and Joe.


Chorus:

      Town of Downer, is the best place in the State -
      Town of Downer, Main Street running three miles straight.
      Mayor strictly up to date
      is both Cop and Magistrate
      Town of Downer is the best place in the State.

2.  We've got the best Community Club you'll find in any State
     And a big Odd Fellows Lodge that's strictly up to date -
     Then there's the Lodge Rebecca that you all ought to know
     When floor is creaking, roof a leaking, tell to Lund your woe.
     Mr. Shorty he is running now the store
     Where Ot Kelting was the only guy before -
     He will sell you merchandise, if you only pay the price
     Mr. Shorty at the Downer General Store.

3.  We've got the swiftest baseball team that ever went to bat,
     A pitcher that just makes you wonder what they're hitting at.
     And there isn't any secret that you cannot hide a smile
     Or dare to bet yer that the catcher can just reach a mile.
     Johnny Deesing is the captain of the nine
     Johnny Deesing got 'em all into the line.
     He put Bob on second base, giving Ray a fielder's place
     Johnny Deesing's the captain of the nine.

4.  We've got a sheriff for banker and his humor never fails -
     Then there's the good old town clerk buying gopher tails;
     There's nothing that the blacksmith wouldn't do for kale;
     We're proud to own modern Jonah - never sailed a whale.

     Town of Downer, when a stranger passes by -
     Town of Downer, finds no building reaching sky
     Yet we rather like to boast
     Of the splendid blocks at Kost
     Town of Downer is the place for you and I.

We Wandered away from the path dear Lord,
   And caught the gleam of gold.
We borrowed from the rich man's hoard,
   And gave him a mortgage hold.
We followed the mass production lure
   And we dressed of great estates.
We planned for a future bright and sure,
   Of peace and plenty within our gates.

We counted old dobbin to slow a steed,
   And harnessed the tractor and truck.
We plowed in the daytime and plowed with speed.
   We plowed in the night and chanced to luck,
We reaped with combine and motor power,
   While idle workmen were walking by
We worked with a whim not counting the hour,
   And raised a crop that one would buy.

We planted potatoes in the two row way,
   And bought the machines on time.
When our ship came in was the time to pay,
   For we had no time to whine.
To double production; so we were told
   Was the only way to succeed,
To cut the cost in the field and fold,
   Was the philosophy of the creed.

We are renting our homesteads now dear Lord,
   Our heads are bowed with grief.
Our future hangs like Damocles sword,
   And the end may be short and brief.
But we pray that the land of the pilgrim's pride,
   Be the homeland of happy men
Who will fall in line with the freemens stride,
   And banish serfdom forever again.

Last week I took mien Fran mit Me.
Some Things we wanted buy
We Trade in Bagley so you see.
Kathrina Mien and I.
A load of pulp was on der sleigh
We had it piled quite high
Und so we drove to Town that day
Kathrina Mien und I.

We made der Trip without no slips
Der horses feeling spry.
We sold the pulp und got some chips
Kathrina mien und I.

Und Mister Lee way up in der coop.
He caught der money on the fly
We bought of Wilson There a scoop
Kathrina Mien und I.
Of Elliatt The hotel man
We got some coffee and some pie.
Than at the Bagley Cream Co. Op.
Where all our cream they buy
Our journey next came to a stop
Kathrina Mien und I.
When told the price had gone kerplunk
We heaved a mighty sigh
We lost about just half our spunk
Kathrina Mien und I.

I can not tell you any more
Mien English seems to pie
Next time we'll visit every store
Kathrina mien und I.
But if The sun keeps on, we're stuck
The sleighing will boy by
We'll have to load our pulp on truck
Kathrina mien und I.

I am no Poet Laureate,
I cannot reach those climes,
Where poets songs they elevate,
I only write some rhymes.
My hands are hard from daily toil,
My life is full of chores,
I am a tiller of the soil
Far from Elysian shores.

From Wittenburg no L.L.D.
I have no such fame,
And Oxford never wrote D.P.
On sheepskin with my name.
I passed through Lund with railroad speed,
The train stayed on the rail.
And as a lawabiding Swede
I never vos in Yale.

I watched the waves a summer's day
I sat beside a lake,
I heard their murmur all the way . . .
The breeze was in their wake.
You hear that music sweet, divine
What say they as they rush?
I asked a nearby friend of mine,
He answered, "Slush be Gosh."

So when you read my 'Slush be Gosh'
Perhaps you'll wonder why
The world is full of worthless trash
From writers such as I.
But when the spirit moves again
its only to obey,
And simply get my pad and pen
I hope you will O.K.

With the Grand Old Party at the pilot wheel,
   The ship Agriculture is out of keel.
Our banks are busted, our products cheap,
   And the question is, "does the party sleep?"
They give us a promise and lemon pill,
   It is tariff mixed and it's sure to kill.
With their snoot in the trough, it's hard to believe
   That the G.O.P. will ever give farm relief.

When the jackass warbles like a nightingale,
   And the eagle mates with flickertail,
When the family dog will forget to bark,
   At the passing auto when the night is dark.
When the peacock crows and the tulips wink,
   When the mermaids folic in the kitchen sink.
When the fox is caught and the chicken's grieve,
   Then look for the G.O.P. Farm Relief.

When the cocoanut cow will write the name,
   Of Conrad Selvig in the book of fame.
When Coolidge stars at the wildwest show,
   And wins a prize at the rodeo.
When Mrs. Gann forsakes her domain,
   And hands her crown to the Queen of Spain.
When Curtis forgets his Heap Big Chief,
   Then look for the G.O.P. Farm Relief.

When Alfred Smith plays the Volstead flute,
   And Hoover will fail to substitute.
When Andrew Mellon will get the can,
   And the Pope of Rome heads the Ku Klux Klan
When you make a man of a college snob,
   And will give a hobo a banker's job.
When you treat an oil king like a common thief,
   Then look for the G.O.P. Farm Relief.

Last week I pushed mien Ford to town,
I rode between the snowdrifts.
Mien temper went both up and down,
Between the bumps and Ford-lifts,
Und then I meet, upon der street,
Mien good old landsman Shorty,
He says to me, "B'Gosh you be",
Just like one ten cent sporty.

He took mien mitts and shook 'em hard,
To blooming cold without them.
I miss your poems, good old pard,
Just tell me all about 'em.
You used to write mit all your might,
Such heavenly inspirations,
I thought you lie, right down und die
Just like them politicians.

I scratched mien head and scratched it well.
Got fingers full of splinters,
I'm living yet, I want to tell,
No doubt for many winters.
Und politic, not even sick,
Those boys, they are not quitters,
Und if they die, an other guy,
will surely ride the critters.

Our Knud is still in Washington,
We hate to see him leave it.
Und Archie smokes his pipe be gum
You ought to see him heave it.
Und John his son, he up and done,
The stunt for all his life,
For as you know, he spent some dough
Und got himself a wife.

Und shipstead down in Washington
He keeps der pot a boiling.
Interest for our farmer John,
Und all der boys that's toiling.
At beck und call in Santa Paul,
Is Elmer und McCubrey.
Der tempest pot, is boiling hot,
in Mex und Niccaraugy.

For Huerta mit his rebel hand,
Has crossed the Mexy border.
Und Oil Pull down in Niccaland,
Demanding law and order.
So careful Cal, his Kellog pal,
Have started on the warpath.
Und Senate boys, are making noise,
They want 'em on der carpet.

I cannot tell you anymore,
Mien English seems to fail me,
Und if I open Knowledge store,
Der Sheriff sure would jail me.
Mit pen in hand I'll take mien stand,
More might than swords together.
For sunny peace, is sure to please,
For more than donnerwetter.

Farmer-Labor billy goat
   Is a vicious little brute,
And his knockout blows are coming swift and tart.
   He will always use his head,
As on Erskine day he did,
   When he smashed that A. C. Townley applecart.

Chorus:

Wait, wait, for Billy's waiting.
   He is waiting for the fray,
And the applecart will spin,
   When he hits the thing again
On the coming primary election day.
 

'Twas a sorry sight to see,
   All their plans had gone aglee,
And the dream of Washington to fade away.
   Then the tears they filled the eyes
Of those true and faithful guys,
   As they looked upon the wreckage of the day.
 

Now he's fixing up the cart,
   And his friends will do their part,
For to pick those precious apples up again,
   And the chances are they will
Try to lasso little Bill -
   Try to tame him so he won't be butting in.
 

I will bet my last year's hat,
   It's a holey one at that;
That Art Townley will not stay on Billy's back.
   If you like to see some sport,
You can get your money' worth,
   When that applecart will get the final whack.

A cowboy went and roped a baldfaced bronc,
He saddled and he mounted him with care.
Then with a snort, just like an auto honk,
That Piefaced nag, some circles made in air.
Hi capers busted up the girth
The cowboy found his way to earth.
Then from that pile of saddle rips and bruises
Was heard a voice you old cayuse!
I like to know who's boss?

A vikings son a native of the fjord,
While lit with moon he loaded up with booze.
His viking ship the remnant of a Ford,
He steered for home upon a zigzag cruise.
In port his 'berserk rage' did flare,
But 'shieldmaid' wife he did not scare,
With strength of arm she cuffed him in to bed,
When Ole got his wind, he said
I like to know who's boss?

The old standpatters built a fence so tight;
With care they strung their lines from stake to stake.
Yet in the recent Farmer-Labor fight,
Their fence was shot, and all their plans went Jake.
Their men they loose in every bout,
And one by one they're counted out.
Yet from their perch upon the highest tree
Those leaders of the G.O.P.
Would like to know who's boss?

How dear to our hearts are the farm homes we builded,
Where the tangled woods grew, and the prairie was wide.
Where we broke the sod, and then carefully tilled it,
Where we built the red barn, and the lean-to beside,
Where we planted the grove, and the wheat field nigh it,
That yielded its bounty, when the thresher-men came.
But our hearts grow heavy, for the prices that buy it,
The prices they set at the grain gamblers game.
The grain gambler's prices, the ruinous prices,
The prices they set at the grain gamblers game.

2

And, still we remember the day when we landed,
On the spot where we lived, these numerous years.
Those hard working years where we toiled and we planned,
Where our joys we mingled with sorrow and tears.
We pointed with pride at the calves in the pasture,
That grew to be steers that were heavy and fine.
And even the piggies, we watched them with pleasure.
Yet steers and porkers goes to packers combine.
We sell for those prices, the packers own prices.
The prices they set, when the packers combine.

3

We loved the old church, with a heart that is yearning,
To meet with our neighbors to worship in peace.
We love the old school, where the children are learning,
And the Star Spangled Banner waves in the breeze.
We have built the roads and the rivers, we spanned them.
We have earned our homes, where we peacefully dwell,
Can we hold our homesteads? The doubts we must ban them,
But prices they spread, and the mortgages swell.
The buyer's own prices, the sellers own prices,
The prices we pay, and the price when we sell.

Last Sunday to the fair we went,
Katrina mien and I.
Four bit at gate we promptly spent
Before they let us by.
A young guy stamped our hands mit ink
In case ourselves we loose.
Und than they let us go by jink
Whereever we would choose.

Und then I spy der ferris wheel
It simply took mien eye
I wondered how that it would feel
For once be scooting high.
But than Katrina says "you'll not",
Old folks stay on der ground
Suppose we would fall out, "Than vot"
When that thing goes around.

Katrina took me than in tow
Up to the cattle barn we go,
Katrina lamps a holstein cow,
That weighed a ton or so.
A few of those would fill der pail
Instead of what we got.
I says, "Suppose that powerful tail
Would hit mien snoot, than vot".

We saw the chickens and der geese,
We tramped around a lot,
We saw the sheep comparing these
Mit those at home we got.
Potatoes, cabbage, 4-H stuff
We lamped it there and then
It all was surely good enough
To suit the most of men.

We paid two bits for grandstand seat,
Der show they said was free,
The brass band music couldn't be beat,
Or so it seemed to me.
A fellow spilled some weighty beans
About us clearing stumps,
We watched der showfolks shake der jeans,
Between der leaps and jumps.

I can not tell you half the show
Mien English seems to pile,
I used up all the words I know
And Dutch is out of style.
Lizzie showed her old time spunk
Und took us home once more.
Two weeks of cream had gone ker grunk
Katrina nearly swore.

Und thus we end der perfect day,
Katrina sleeps aloud
Und I am writing this to say
That of der fair I'm proud,
So when der fair time come again
Another year gone by,
You'll find among der fraus and men,
Katrina mien and I.

Among the collections of recent elections
   There's one that surely will please.
If vision's not hazy, we're sure that old Lazy
   Will be the model Justice of Peace.

There is that much about it, we never will doubt it
   He will grind out justice galore.
The thieves he will hail 'em, and sentence and jail 'em,
   But why was he not elected before?

We make the admission that the crime commission
   Has failed in it's duty to men.
So cheer for old Lazy, criminals and crazy
   He will send to their separate pen.

And this old world of ours will gather the flowers
   That will bloom as the crime will cease.
And will hand the bouquet to hero of the day
   Farmer Lazy, the Justice of Peace.