Written By:
r0b - Date published:
9:11 am, March 13th, 2011 - 7 comments
Categories: climate change, Media -
Tags: poetry, roger mcgough
Apropos of nothing in particular, one of my favourite poems:
BLAZING FRUIT
(or The Role of the Poet as Entertainer)
by Roger McGough
During dinner the table caught fire.
No one alluded to the fact
and we ate on, regardless of
the flames singeing our conversation.
Unaware of the smoke
and the butlers swooning,
topics ranged from Auden
to Zefferelli. I was losing
concentration however, and being
short on etiquette, became tense
and began to fidget with the melting cutlery.
I was fashioning a spoon
into a question mark
when the Chablis began to steam
and bubble. I stood up,
mumbled something about having left the gas running
and fled blushing
across the plush terrain of the carpet.
The tut-tut-tutting could be heard above
the cra-cra-cracking of the bone china.
Outside, I caught a cab
to the nearest bus stop.
While, back at the table,
they were toying with blazing fruit
and discussing the Role of the Poet as Entertainer,
when the roof fell in.
(poem from Holiday on Death Row by Roger McGough (Jonathan Cape, 1979).
All of my posts for March will finish with this note. While life goes on as usual outside Christchurch, let our thoughts be with those who are coping with the aftermath, with the sorrow of so many who were lost, and with the challenges ahead.
.
Global capitalism tipping towards collapse? “C’mon,” goes the standard response, “don’t you know that’s been predicted for ages and it’s never happened?”
captcha – “confirms”
Another version of the “Emperor Key Who had No Clothes While Rome Burned,” by Envy Spinner.
My favourite Roger McGough is:
A Good Poem
I like a good poem
one with lots of fighting
in it. Blood, and the
clanging of armour. Poems
against Scotland are good,
and poems that defeat
the French with crossbows.
I don’t like poems that
aren’t about anything.
Sonnets are wet and
a waste of time.
Also poems that don’t
know how to rhyme.
If I was a poem
I’d play football and
get picked for England.
Yeah! Once saw McGough reading live at the Zap Club in Brighton. Quite a highlight! Here’s another:
Let me die a youngman’s death
Let me die a youngman’s death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death
When I’m 73
and in constant good tumour
may I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports car
on my way home
from an allnight party
Or when I’m 91
with silver hair
and sitting in a barber’s chair
may rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
and give me a short back and insides
Or when I’m 104
and banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
and fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
and throw away every piece but one
Let me die a youngman’s death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax and waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
‘what a nice way to go’ death
Now, that’s a cracker.
The good thing about not knowing Roger McCough exists is that one day someone shows you something he wrote.
I spread the word whenever I can!