POETRY IN CEMETERY !

Posted on March 9, 2009 by Jatinder Pal Singh Broca
POETRY IN CEMETERY !
 
Readers must be wondering about  the title of this piece :” Poetry in Cemetery” ? Yes, I am not talking about “Symmetry in Poetry”. Bear with me,dear readers.I”ll come to the point in a short while.  
 
When I was in Class 7th or so in school, I fell in love with a genre of fiction,popularly called Detective Fiction.In Hindi it was labelled as ” Jasoosi  Novels.”.These were cheap paperbacks with gaudy multicoloured  covers and enticing titles, seen displayed on almost all bookstalls of A H Wheelers’ on railway stations.
 
Some of these titles were like :”Shamshan Ghat Ka Darinda”, ” Khooni Haveli Ka Raaz”, ” Kabristan Ka Rehsya”, ” Insaan Ya Haiwaan ?” and so on.They were a good read and gave value for money. They kept you enthralled with mysterious happenings and horror stories.They were a good “time-pass” material.
 
Quite a few of the plots of such fiction were based on happenings in a graveyard or a cemetery.( Now,as we all know,a cemetery is a place in which dead bodies and cremated remains are buried.The term cemetery – from a Greek word meaning “sleeping place”- implies that the land is specifically designated as a burying ground. Cemeteries in the Western world are the places where the final ceremonies of death are observed. These ceremonies or rites differ according to cultural practice and religious beliefs.At a tender age of 13 or so then, it was quite puzzling for me to understand about death rituals and ceremonies etc.) 
 
I was gradually fascinated with the word “cemetery” and longed to at least once see or visit a real cemetery. My wish was soon fulfilled.There was a big cemetery on the main road,quite near to our school.One day while I was returning home from school,I saw a procession going to the cemetery.There were many people dressed mostly in black or white,which I presumed were the relatives of the dead person,a vehicle carrying the dead body, some priests and some flower sellers etc. 
 
Out of curiosity,I followed the procession and somehow managed to enter the cemetery along with the crowd.That day for the first time in my life,I witnessed the entire death ceremony of a person belonging to the catholic christian faith.Later on, I went for a stroll around the entire cemetery.I saw various types and sizes of  graves with tombstones with the names of the dead.Most of these tombstones just narrated the name of a person,who was so and so and the” loving ” husband/wife/mother/father/son/daughter etc of so and so and wished that “may he/she rest eternally in peace” there.On quite a few of these tombstones were engraved small poems or a few lines in praise of the dead person.On some days on my way back home I used to jump over a broken portion  of the boundary wall of the cemetery and  take a leisurely stroll. I used to read those lines and the ones I liked,I used to note them down on a piece of paper from my notebook. 
 
In this way,I gradually started liking poetry written in a cemetery.The readers will now understand why I chose the afore-mentioned title to this piece.I started collecting such poetry from books and other sources like news papers,magazines etc.My collection which started in a small way sometime in 1964-65 or so  started growing from around 1972 onwards.( I am still an avid collector.)     
 
I also slowly learnt about “Epitaphs” from various books and visits to the local library.Most of the readers must be aware of what an epitaph is.
 
An epitaph ( from a Greek word meaning “at,over-tomb” — literally: “on the gravestone”) is a short text honoring a deceased person, strictly speaking that inscribed on their tombstone or plaque, but also used figuratively. Some are specified by the dead person beforehand, others chosen by those responsible for the burial. An epitaph may be in verse; poets have been known to compose their own epitaphs prior to their death, as W.B. Yeats did.Most epitaphs are brief records of the family, and perhaps the career, of the deceased, often with an expression of love or respect – “beloved father of …” – but others are more ambitious.As gathered by me from various sources over a period of time,from the Renaissance to the 19th century in Western culture, epitaphs for notable people became increasingly lengthy and pompous descriptions of their family origins, career, virtues and immediate family.However, the Laudatio Turiae, the longest known Ancient Roman epitaph exceeds almost all of these at 180 lines; it celebrates the virtues of a wife, probably of a consul.Some are quotes from holy texts, or aphorisms. An approach of many successful epitaphs is to ‘speak’ to the reader and warn them about their own mortality. A wry trick of others is to request the reader to get off their resting place, as often it would require the reader to stand on the ground above the coffin to read the inscription. Some record achievements, (e.g. past politicians note the years of their terms of office) but nearly all (excepting those including the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, where this is impossible) note name, year or date of birth and date of death.Some epitaphs are in praise of the deceased or quotations from religious texts. In a few instances the inscription is in the form of a plea, admonishment, testament of faith, claim to fame or even a curse !
 
I  came across the epitaph of William Shakespeare at one place.This famous inscription goes thus:
 
Good friend, for Jesus’ sake forbear,
To dig the dust enclosèd here.
Blest be the man that spares these stones,
And cursed be he that moves my bones.
 
I have also read  about a Persian poem carved on an ancient tombstone in a place called Tajiki,capital of Duhanbe.This poem warns the reader about mortality.It goes like this:
 
I heard that mighty Jamshed the King
Carved on a stone near a spring of water these words:
“Many – like us – sat here by this spring
And left this life in the blink of an eye.
We captured the whole world through our courage and strength,
Yet could take nothing with us to our grave.”
 
There are several other examples of  poetry in cemetery :Here’s one about a simple warning of inevitability of death:
 
Remember me as you pass by,
As you are now, so once was I,
As I am now, so you will be,
Prepare for death and follow me.
 
Over the years,I have now managed to have a huge collection.
 
One more thing that I could realise was that its never too late to be clever.Read how some souls continue to amuse us even after their demise !  
 
                                 Here lays Butch,
                                 We planted him raw.
                                 He was quick on the trigger,
                                 But slow on the draw. 

                                 Sir John Strange:
                                 Here lies an honest lawyer,
                                 And that is Strange. 

                                 I was somebody.
                                 Who, is no business
                                 Of yours. 

                                  Here lies Lester Moore
                                  Four slugs from a .22
                                  No Les No More.

                                  She always said her feet were killing her
                                  but nobody believed her. 
                                  On the 22nd of June
                                  – Jonathan Fiddle –
                                  Went out of tune. 

                                  Here lies the body of our Anna
                                  Done to death by a banana
                                  It wasn’t the fruit that laid her low
                                  But the skin of the thing that made her go. 

                                  Here lies Ezekial Aikle
                                  Age 102
                                  The Good Die Young. 

                                  Here lies Ann Mann,
                                  Who lived an old maid
                                  But died an old Mann.

                                  Here lies an Atheist
                                  All dressed up
                                  And no place to go. 

                                  Here lies 
                                  Johnny Yeast 
                                  Pardon me
                                  For not rising.

                                  Here lies the body 
                                  of Jonathan Blake 
                                  Stepped on the gas 
                                  Instead of the brake. 

                                 Here lies the body 
                                 Of Margaret Bent
                                 She kicked up her heels
                                 And away she went.

                                  She drank good ale, 
                                  good punch and wine
                                  And lived to the age of 99.

                                 Here lies the father of 29.
                                 He would have had more
                                 But he didn’t have time.

She lived with her husband for 50 years
And died in the confident hope of a better life.

Tears cannot restore her — 
therefore I weep.

I plant these shrubs upon your grave dear wife
That something on this spot may boast of life.
Shrubs must wither and all earth must rot.
Shrubs may revive, but you thank heaven will not.

Here I lie
It’s no wonder I’m dead,
For the wheel of a semi
Rolled over my head.

Lived a life of stress and worry
Rushing through it in a hurry
Didn’t stop to smell the roses
But now he feeds them as he decomposes

She was a suicide blonde –
Dyed by her own hand.

“Checkmate!” was the call 
To dear old Jon
On the chessboard of life,
He was just a pawn.

Here are some more Funny Epitaphs:

Here lies my wife
Here let her lie 
Now she has peace 
And so do I 

She caught a chill
while picking peas
in the rain and died.

In loving memory of Ellen Shannon, aged 25, 
Who was accidentally burned March 21, 1870, 
By the explosion of a lamp filled with R.E.

Danforth’s Non-explosive burning fluid. 

In Memory of Beza Wood 
Departed this life Nov. 2, 1837 Aged 45 yrs.
Here lies one Wood 
Enclosed in wood 
One Wood within another.
The outer wood is very good:
We cannot praise the other.

Sacred to the memory of my husband John Barnes who died January 3, 1803 
His comely young widow,aged 23, has many qualifications of a good wife, 
and yearns to be comforted.

Harry Edsel Smith
Born 1903–Died 1942 
Looked up the elevator shaft 
to see if the car was on 
the way down. 
It was.

Honey you don’t know 
what you did for me, 
Always playing the lottery.
The numbers you picked
came in to play, 
Two days after you passed away.
For this, 
a huge monument I do erect,
For now I get a yearly check.
How I wish you were alive,
For now we are worth 8.5
(Actual epitaph of Elizabeth Rich,
Eufala, Alabama)

Under the sod, 
Under the trees, 
Lies the body of 
Bolivar Peas, 
Peas ain’t here, 
Only the pod, 
Peas shelled out 
and went home to God.

Readers,here is yet another collection of some of the funniest epitaphs:

 
It was a Cough
That carried him Off
It was a Coffin
They Carried him Off In

On an attorney’s tombstone:
Goembel
John E.
1867-1946
“The defense rests”

Jedediah Goodwin
Auctioneer
Born 1828
Going!
Going!!
Gone!!!
1876

Stranger tread
This ground with gravity.
Dentist Brown
Is filling his last cavity.

Here Lies Jane Smith
Wife of Thomas Smith
Marble Cutter:
This Monument Erected
By Her Husband
As A Tribute
To Her Memory.
Monuments of this style
are 250 Dollars.

Effie Jean Robinson
1897-1922
Come blooming youths,
as you pass by ,
And on these lines do cast an eye.
As you are now, so once was I;
As I am now, so must you be;
Prepare for death and follow me.

Upon the above epitaph,someone scribbled: To follow you
                                                                I am not content,
                                                                How do I know

                                                                Which way you went.

Here lies Johnny Cole.
Who died upon my soul
After eating a plentiful dinner.
While chewing his crust
He was turned into dust
With his crimes undigested –
poor sinner.

Bill Blake
Was hanged by mistake.

Here lies a man named Zeke.
Second fastest draw
in Cripple Creek.

Here lies the body of Arkansas Jim.
We made the mistake, But the joke’s on him.

He got a fish-bone
in his throat
and then he sang
an angel note.

She was not smart,
she was not fair,
But hearts with grief
for her are swellin’;
All empty stands
her little chair:
She died of eatin’
water-mellon.

Beneath this stone,
a lump of clay,
Lies stingy Jimmy Wyatt.
Who died one morning just at ten
And saved a dinner by it.

Here he lies, James T. Carson
He blew up his wife
and was hung for arson.

Here lies the body
of John Round.
Lost at sea
and never found.

And now here’s an epitaph with a funny double meaning-you might have to think about it…

Here lies Barnard Lightfoot
Who was accidentally killed
in the 45th year of his age.
This monument was erected
by his grateful family.

 
Some more livlier ones :
 
On a hypochondriac’s grave:
See. I told you 
I was SICK!
The children of Israel wanted bread
And the Lord sent them manna,
Old clerk Wallace wanted a wife,
And the Devil sent him Anna.
 
Reader if cash thou art
In want of any
Dig 4 feet deep
And thou wilt find a Penny.
Gone away Owin’ more
Than he could pay
(Owen Moore in Battersea, London) 

Famous Epitaphs:
“My Jesus, mercy” –Al Capone 
 
“The best is yet to come.” –Frank Sinatra 

“This is the last of Earth! I am content!” –John Quincy Adams  

“A tomb now suffices him for whom the world was not enough”–Alexander the Great 

“Well this was fun, let’s dit again sometime.” –Quniaron Bellthing  

“Truth and History. 21 Men. The Boy Bandit King. He Died As He Lived.
–William H. Bonney ‘Billy the Kid'”
 
“That’s all, folks!” 
Mel Blanc
(the epithaph is the trademark line of cartoon character Porky Pig, whose voice was provided by Blanc for many years) 
“Don’t Try”–Charles Bukowski 

“Here lies a man whknew how tenlist the service of better men than himself.”
–Andrew Carnegie 

“I am ready tmeet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter.”–Winston Churchill 

“She did it the hard way”–Bette Davis 

“Nothing’s So Sacred As Honor And Nothing’s So Loyal As Love”–Wyatt Earp 

“I had a lover’s quarrel with the world”–Robert Frost 

“Cast a cold eye On life, on death. Horseman, pass by!”—W. B. Yeats 

 
“Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty I’m Free At Last.”–Martin Luther King, Jr. 

“Workers of all lands unite.The philosophers have only interpreted the world in various ways; the point is to change it.”–Karl Marx 

“Never born, Never died: visited the planet earth
between December 11, 1931 and, January 19, 1990.” –Osho 

“Curiosity did not kill this cat.”–Studs Terkel 

“I told you so, you damned fools.” –H. G. Wells 

“Against you I will fling myself unvanquished and unyielding, O Death!”–Virginia Woolf 

 
So dear readers,the living have the opportunity to engrave in stone some thought appropriate to the character, or circumstances surrounding the death, of the deceased individual. It is difficult to find anything entertaining about a death, but on occasion, death can be humorous and bizarre. Sometimes, humor can be found where least likely.In cemeteries, for example, can be startlingly funny to the uninitiated. Many epitaphs are unintentionally, and sometimes, intentionally, amusing. Conceivably, the stonecutter or the family members did not realize how future generations would look upon their attempt to memorialize the deceased loved one. 

Toothless Nell (Alice Chambers)
Killed 1876 in a Dance Hall brawl.
Her last words: “Circumstances led me to this end.”

On a hanged man:
Rab McBeth
Who died for the want
of another breath.

On a hanged sheep stealer:
Here lies the body of 
Thomas Kemp.
Who lived by wool 
and died by hemp.

Here lies old Rastus Sominy
Died a-eating hominy
In 1859 anno domini

He got a fish-bone in his throat
and then he sang an angel note.

Here lie the bones of Joseph Jones
Who ate while he was able.
But once overfed, he dropt down dead
And fell beneath the table.
When from the tomb, to meet his doom,
He arises amidst sinners.
Since he must dwell in heaven or hell,
Take him – whichever gives the best dinners.

Here lies Johnny Cole.
Who died upon my soul
After eating a plentiful dinner.
While chewing his crust
He was turned into dust
With his crimes undigested – poor sinner.

Here lies cut down like unripe fruit,
The wife of Deacon Amos Shute:
She died of drinking too much coffee,
Anny Dominy — eighteen-forty.

Eliza, Sorrowing
Rears This Marble Slab
To Her Dear John
Who Died of Eating Crab.

On a Farmer’s Daughter, Letitia:
Grim Death
To Please His Palate
Has Taken My Lettice
To Put in His Sallat.

 

On a grave digger:
Hooray my brave boys
Lets rejoice at his fall.
For if he had lived
He would have buried us all.

Another one on a grave digger:

Robert Phillip, gravedigger:
Here I lie at the Chancel door;
Here lie I because I am poor;
The farther in the more you pay;
Here I lie as warm as they.

On a coroner who hung himself:
He lived
And died
By suicide

On a Coal-miner:
Gone Underground For Good

On an Architect:
Here lies Robert Trollope
Who made yon stones roll up.
When death took his soul up
His body filled this hole up.

On a brewer:
G. Winch, the brewer, lies buried here.
In life he was both hale and stout.
Death brought him to his bitter bier.
Now in heaven he hops about.

On a Painter:
A Finished Artist

On a fisherman:
Captain Thomas Coffin
Died 1842, age 50 years.
He’s done a-catching cod
And gone to meet his God.

On a waiter:
Here lies the body of 
Detlof Swenson.
Waiter.
God finally caught his eye.

On an Author:
He Has Written Finis

On a teacher:
Professor S. B. McCracken
School is out
Teacher
Has gone home.

On a watchmaker:
Here lies in horizontal position the outside case of Dear George Routleight, watchmaker, whose abilities in that line were an honor to his profession — integrity was the mainspring, and prudence the regulator of all the actions of his life. Humane, generous, and liberal, his hand never stopped until he had relieved distress. So nicely regulated were all his movements that he never went wrong, except when set agoing by people who did not know his key; even then he was easily set right again. He had the art of disposing his time so well that the hours glided away in one continued round of pleasure and delight, till an unlucky moment put a period to his existence. He departed this life November 14, 1802, aged fifty-seven. Wound up in hopes of being taken in hand by his Maker and being thoroughly cleansed, repaired, and set agoing in the world to come. St Petrock’s Church, Lyford, Devon, England

On a gardener:
To the Green Memory of
William Hawkings
Gardener:
Planted Here
With Love and Care
By His
Grieving Colleagues

On a traveling salesman:
My Trip is Ended:
Send My Samples Home

On a housewife:
Mary Weary, Housewife
Dere Friends I am going
Where washing ain’t done
Or cooking or sewing:
Don’t mourn for me now
Or weep for me never:
For I go to do nothing
Forever and ever!

Friends,a few epitaphs are subtle and do not appear humorous until one thinks about them.For example :

Here lies the body of
Thomas Vernon
The only surviving son of 
Admiral Vernon

Sacred to the memory of 
Major James Brush
Royal Artillery, who was killed 
by the accidental discharge of 
a pistol by his orderly,
14th April 1831.
Well done, good and faithful servant.

Another category of epitaphs pertains to unmarried women called “Old Maids” or “spinsters”is another category that is a source of humor :

1787 – Jones – 1855
Here lie the bones of Sophie Jones;
For her death held no terrors.
She was born a maid and died a maid.

No hits, no runs, and no heirs. 

 

Beneath his silent stone is laid
A noisy, antiquated maid,
Who from her cradle talked to death,
And never before was out of breath.

Here lies, returned to clay
Miss Arabella Young,
Who on the eleventh day of May
Began to hold her tongue.
1794-1863

On a spinster postmistress:
Returned–Unopened

Here lies the body of Elred.
At least he will be when he is dead.
But now at this time he’s still alive,
14th August ’65.
Oxford, England. (Elred eventually made it.)

This Empty Urn is 
Sacred to the Memory
of John Revere
Who Died Abroad
in Finistere:
If He Had Lived
He Would Have Been
Buried Here.

 
Here lies the body of Mary Ford.
We hope her soul is with the Lord.
But if for hell she’s changed this life,
Better live there than as J. Ford’s wife.

Grieve not for me my husband dear.
I am not dead but sleeping here.
With patience wait – perforce to die
And in a short time you’ll come to I.

And the husband added:
I am not grieved, my dearest life.
Sleep on, I’ve got another wife.
Therefore, I cannot come to thee
For I must go and live with she.

I plant these shrubs upon your grave dear wife
That something on this spot may boast of life.
Shrubs must wither and all earth must rot.
Shrubs may revive, but you thank heaven will not.

Here lies the body of Ephraim Wise.
Safely tucked between his two wives.
One was Tillie and the other Sue.
Both were faithful, loyal, and true.
By his request in ground that’s hilly
His coffin is set tilted toward Tillie.

Tears cannot restore her –therefore I weep.
In a New Hampshire cemetery.

Here beneath this stone we lie
Back to back my wife and I
And when the angels trump shall trill
If she gets up then I’ll lie still!

Here lies 
Elizabeth, 
my wife for 47 years, 
and this is the first damn thing 
she ever done to oblige me.

They abounded in riches
But she wore the britches …

On an adulterous husband:
Gone, but not forgiven

I put my wife beneath this stone
For her repose and for my own.

This stone was raised by Sara’s Lord
Not Sara’s virtues to record
For they are known to all the town.
This stone was raised to keep her down.

Here lies the body of poor Aunt Charlotte.
Born a virgin, died a harlot.
For 16 years she kept her virginity 
A damn’d long time for this vicinity.

Here lies Pa.
Pa liked wimin.
Ma caught Pa in with two swimmin.
Here lies Pa.

Brigham Young
Born on this spot 1801
A man of much courage and superb equipment.

Mary Lefavour
died 1797
aged 74 years
Reader pass on and ne’er waste your time
On bad biography and bitter rhyme.
For what I am this cumb’rous clay insures,
And what I was, is no affair of yours.

Here lies the body of
Jane Gordon
With mouth almighty 
and teeth accordin!

Cold is my bed, but oh, I love it,
For colder are my friends above it.

Here lies a man who while he lived
Was happy as a linnet.
He always lied while on the earth
And now he’s lying in it.

On the four husbands of Ivy Saunders:
Here lies my husbands 1 – 2 – 3
As still as men could ever be.
As for the fourth: Praise be to God
He still abides above the sod:
Abel, Seth and Leidy were the first 3 names 
and to make things tidy I’ll add his – James.

On a miser who wanted to save money:
Thorp’s Corpse.
When his wife died, the wording was changed to:
Here lieth Thorpses Corpses.

The dust of 
Melantha Gribbling
Swept up at last 
by the Great Housekeeper

Here beneath this pile of stones
Lies all thats left of Sally Jones.
Her name was Smith, not Jones,
But Jones was used to rhyme with stones.
 
Here lie the remains of
Thomas Woodhen.
The most amiable of husbands
And excellent of men.
His real name was Woodcock
But it wouldn’t come in rhyme.

Some epitaphs were meant to warn the living from committing the same mistake as the deceased.

Beneath this stone a lump of clay
Lies Uncle Peter Dan’els
Who early in the month of May
Took off his winter flannels.

Reader, I’ve left this world, in which
I had a world to do;
Sweating and fretting to get rich:
Just such a fool as you.

Julia Newton
Died of thin shoes, 
April 17th, 1839, 
age 19 years.

Here lies the body of Mary Ann Lowder
She burst while drinking a Seidlitz powder.
Called from this world to her heavenly rest,
She should have waited till it effervesced.
 
Blown upward 
out of sight:
He sought the leak 
by candlelight

In memory of
Richard Fothergill
Who met vierlent death near this spot
18 hundred and 40 too.

He was shot by
his own pistill.
It was not one of the
new kind;
But an old fashioned brass barrell
Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.

On Joseph Crapp:
His foot is slipt 
and he did fall.
“Help; Help” he cried 
and that was all.

Dinah had a little can
‘Twas filled with kerosine
And soon among the twinkling stars
Dynamite Benzine. *
(* Dinah might been seen)

Here lies old Aunt Hannah Proctor
Who purged but didn’t call the Doctor:
She couldn’t stay, She had to go
Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

Sacred To The Remains of
Jonathan Thompson
A Pious Christian and
Affectionate Husband.
His disconsolate widow
Continues to carry on
His grocery business
At the old stand on
Main Street: Cheapest
and best prices in town.

Arthur C. Homan’s epitaph:
Once I wasn’t
Then I was
Now I ain’t again.

On babies graves:
Ope’d my eyes, took a peep;
Didn’t like it, went to sleep.
It is so soon that I am done for
I wonder what I was begun for.

Here lies Ned.
There is nothing more to be said–
Because we like to speak well of the dead.

I came into this world
Without my consent
And left in the same manner.

Here lies old Caleb Ham,

By trade a bum.
When he died the devil cried,
Come, Caleb, come. 
 
Before I sign off with a promise to post some more of this kind of poetry,I am takingyou to a site where you can write or prepare your own epitaph.Here is the link  to the tombstone generator :
 
Try it for fun.You’ll love it.I tried to fit in one on myself given the constraint over maximum number of letters that can be fitted in the given space.This is what I came out with without thinking much :
 
HERE LIES J S BROCA
FUNNY TO THE CORE
WISHED THE WORLD BE
A HAPPY PLACE. ALAS !
HE IS NO MORE.  
 
 
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21 Responses to POETRY IN CEMETERY !

  1. JULIE ACHARYA RAY says:
    March 11, 2009 at 9:55 am

    Jitooji, That was an interesting read indeed!! I wouldnt know what to write in my own epitaph though! May be 🙂

    Here lies Julie

    She ate so much moolie

    That she turned into dhoolie

    Bless her soul truly

    That she may rest peacefully

    (For the likes of Atreyaji, who wouldnt understand Hindi: Moolie = raddish, dhoolie = fine dust)

    Julie Acharya Ray, Salt Lake City, Utah
    Mar 10, 2009

  2. Kumarendra Mallick says:
    March 11, 2009 at 9:56 am

    Great idea and a brave one, too. But Jatinder saheb, had you limited the epitah to 10 or so, it would have been wonderful. It is a bit too long and one can’t read through in one sitting. Therefore, your great effort faces a self defeat. Happy holi to you and family.

    Kumarendra Mallick, Hyderabad
    Mar 10, 2009

  3. J S BROCA says:
    March 11, 2009 at 9:57 am

    Dear Julieji, Thanks a lot for your heart warming response. Your creativity with a “moolie” (raddish) was indeed inspiring and indicates your sense of humour. Keep smiling. A Happy Holi …

    J S Broca , New Delhi
    Mar 10, 2009

  4. J S BROCA says:
    March 11, 2009 at 9:58 am

    Dear Mallickji,
    Thanks for your response. I took full advantage of the bank holiday and once I entered into the cemetery I could not come out easily much against my wishes. I will be posting some more interesting epitaphs in parts now, so that my effort is not self defeated You and me know that several people die daily in the world but even if a few of them leave some interesting thoughts for us, it will take us a long time to read all their views. I read such stuff again and again and every time I laugh with a better sense of understanding of the dead person’s wit and intent.
    A Happy Holi to all the MUSE-icians.

    J S Broca , New Delhi
    Mar 10, 2009

  5. LINA MISTRY says:
    March 11, 2009 at 9:59 am

    Dear Brocaji, I feel with youthful minds, they are drawn to extra ordinary things. In the states kids are interested in “Harry Potter” books and now the “Twilight” series books. And this article was quite interesting as well with the epitaphs. Regards to you,

    Lina Mistry/Tandel, Va. USA
    Mar 11, 2009

  6. Dr Pooja says:
    March 13, 2009 at 8:45 pm

    Jitoo Sir, Time please.. I read a little now.. I shall go through it in detail because it’s all about poetry in cemetry which surprised me when I read the title and next is it’s about epitaph’s. So I shall write my response tomorrow as I will be at home because a few people put very dark colour, almost black and some put snow white colour, I get scared looking at them. So I shall be at home and enjoy reading all the epitaph’s and I know the article is quite big. So please excuse me if I am tempted to frame one for myself. Best wishes.

    Dr Pooja G Bhuyar, Bijapur
    Mar 11, 2009

  7. Atreya Sarma says:
    March 13, 2009 at 8:46 pm

    Brocaji,

    What a thesis! What a rigorous preparation! You’ve made the cemetery alive and kicking. A copy to keep by. The following could be my final homage to my inimitable friend whose jocundity makes the dead spring up alive, unless in the mean time I’m lucky enough to have an epitaph written for me by him:

    Here lies Broca

    To tickle his bones

    To life

    There lies and lives

    The immortal Broca

    To tickle others’ bones

    To death

    My warmest regards and a lively longevity of life to you.

    U Atreya Sarma, Secunderabad-56
    Mar 11, 2009

  8. Dr Pooja says:
    March 13, 2009 at 8:47 pm

    Jitoo Sir,What a patient writing, my God. Great. It was nice reading a few as you have said you would still continue on this topic. I am not in a hurry to frame one for myself. I still need to select the colour of the granite stone! Thank you.

    Dr Pooja G Bhuyar, Bijapur
    Mar 12, 2009

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  18. mamta agarwal says:
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    GOOD MORNING jatinder,
    Hat’s off to you and your curiosity and sense of timimg and humour.

    some of the epitaphs are so hilarious and ridiculous. did you actually visit one, or they are figments of your fertile imagination.

    shall come again to read more

    Mamta

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