Fourfront, page 13
BLONDE (chewing gum): Are you into Elphin Grot?
JOHN: They’re OK. But they’re not as good as Celtic Phlegm, I think.
BLONDE: I wouldn’t call that thinking. Nobody’s as good as Elphin Grot. At least they live up to their reputation.
JOHN: And you should know?
BLONDE (emphatically): I know everything. They don’t say anything for a while but John snuggles in closely to her as the music gets softer and slower.
JOHN (speaking into her ear): Do you have an apartment or did you come with a friend?
BLONDE (into his ear also): Did you have cabbage for your dinner?
JOHN (puzzled): Not as far as I know. Why do you ask?
BLONDE: I just thought I felt the stump.
And on the sixth day it came to pass that there was a game in the Field and John was there. And the other boys were invited also unto the game. And the manager was there before them with anger on his countenance. And he said unto them: What is it to thee or to me if you foul forty yards out from the goal. For I say unto you that a point on the score-board is better than a goal in your net. And he ordained them to listen carefully unto him because they were like sheep without a shepherd and he began to instruct them that what was highly esteemed among men was an abomination in his sight. But he saw the cowardice in them and he said: whosoever amongst you hath a hurley also hath a hatchet, and he who hath a hatchet is able to cut down the fig tree of the enemy. For what doth it profit a man to win all the balls and to lose the game itself. And he sighed inwardly in his spirit for he knew that they were no bloody good. And the multitudes came from the two parishes unto them and they laid their cloaks upon the grass and some amongst them even did open their umbrellas as that was the kind of day it was and those who were first and those who were last and those who were on both sides were shouting and roaring and making whoopee and hosannas. And when half-time came he was still angry and the red was in his cheeks and he lifted up his eyes and he charged them saying: O you brutes of vipers, give an account of your stewardship. For how long will I have to suffer thus? He who hath ears to hear let him hear. And he spoke to them in plain bad language so that they might understand. Take heed to yourselves. Gird your lines for the winning of all is within you. Remember your wives’ lot for even thus shall it be on the day of reckoning. It is impossible but that offences will come; but woe unto him through whom they come. Between us and them there is a great gulf fixed so that they who pass to them are guilty of the abomination of execration. For verily I say unto you, this kind can be driven forth by nothing but by flailing and hacking. For he who has much, more will be given unto him and he who has nothing will be taken off the field. These things I have told you so that you would not be scandalized. He who is to be floored, floor him, and he who is to be split, split him, and he who is not with you is against you. And I have many more things to tell you which I cannot say now. But he sent them away and charged them straight away not to disclose any part of the advice he had given them. But John knew well what had to be done and he looked at them and said: Follow me. And when he had taken the legs from under his opponent the third time and had smote him upon the right ear the referee called unto him and said: Dost thou not know that it is written that thou shalt not bear false evidence against thine opposing player? And he denied it and said: I know not what thou sayest. But he began to curse and to swear, saying, I know not this man of whom you speak. Why askest thou me? I laid neither leg nor stick on him. But the referee sent him forth from the field so that the strictures would be fulfilled that a bone of them should not be broken. But he understood not what had been said and the meaning was hidden from him. And when the chief cheese and the elders sat down to discuss his case they suspended him for six months and he went off alone unto the mountain to throw his guts up.
HATCHETMAN, WHAT OF THE NIGHT?
So then the night is dark and the air is black and the wood is creaking, the bats are abroad hunting the blue moon, the sailors are drinking, the cat is chewing its fur, the horse is in the field yawning metaphorically, powder with a woman inside it is stalking the streets, the thief is waiting her chance, the yuppie is yuppieing in the night club, the priest is thinking of the great sins of the past, the waves are saying farewell to the wind, the international terrorist is tending his bomb, the teacher is tetchy, the painted lady is pounding the pavement, the cars are smoking their pipes, the rust is doing its worst on the broaches of breasts, the pig’s tail is curling its wee, the contaminated water is waiting in the taps for the morning, the window-blind is swallowing the shadows, the gooseberry bushes are sticking out their tongues at the garden, the child is teaching wisdom to the psychologist, the lamb is lying down with the lion but is keeping his options open, the stairs is on the way up, the train is setting the night on fire, the seal is blowing his nose on the beach, the clouds are bustle pinching the mountains, the flashes of inspiration are leaving people’s heads, the children have at last shut up, the sidewalks are beginning to stir, wisdom is gathering in the brains of fools, trees are wrestling with the stars, cats are howling on their beat, whorls of sleep are coming in on the west wind, somebody out there is dying, somebody out there is knitting the garment of horror, somebody out there is smashing his car, somebody out there is kissing a lamp-post, somebody out there is spreading dew on the grass, somebody out there is turning candles in the dark, somebody out there is making sandwiches for the morning, somebody out there is trying to read Freud, somebody out there is putting salt in the buttermilk, somebody out there frankly doesn’t give a damn, somebody out there is murdering the Musak, this young man knows what he’s made of, this young man has the right stuff, this young man is acting the mick, this young man is doodling the dandy, this young man is hugging the mugger, this young man is kneading the dough, this young man is plucking the fig, this young man is tapping the column, this young man is stirring the stew, this young man is flaking the flint, this young man is venting the venison, this young man is besting the beaver, this young man is hauling the ashes, this young man is dunking the pumpkin, this young man is honking the donkey, this young man is tooting the rootie, this young man is happening the stance, this young man is wobbling the colly, this young man is jollying the roger, this young man is humouring the hubris, this young man is porking the beans, this young man is burning the bush, this young man is abrogating the absolute, this young man is reintegrating himself with the basic stuff of the universe, this young man has the poof of the pudding, this young man has had enough, this young man is going asleep.
A fine young man he was, so he was, and he went off to earn his keep as I will tell you know. He was going off now and always and was getting no good of it at all until he came to this club as the dark twilight of night was coming down. It was the last of the day then and there was neither soul nor sinner in the club, so he thought. And so he betook himself into the back room and who should he meet there but three fine women on whom he pitched his fancy. He asked them was there any chance of a bit of sport or what or could he stop the night until the morrow. They told him that there was not indeed to be sure and to be off with himself and to make out somewhere else and to be annoying other bodies. He was a distance from the club and the black of night upon him when he met another woman.
“Isn’t it late you’re out gallivanting?” he said to the woman. “Were you in that club down there below?” he said.
“I was,” she said.
“Who was before you within?” he said.
“There were some men,” she said.
“And they wouldn’t give you lodgings for the night?” he said.
“They would not,” he said.
“Nor me neither,” says he, he said.
“Success and benison to you for you’re one after my own art,” she said. “Come along you blasted man and maybe you’ll get lodgings for the night yet.”
Well and good. They rose and bestirred themselves and went on their way. And when they were a while along the road there was nobody for them to see and nothing for them to notice only fine tall mansions with big gardens and fancy cars which would gladden your heart. They did not stop nor shorten the journey until they came to a neat cottage beside the road. Anyway they went in and she put down a big pot of stew and a big pot of potatoes to boil.
“Ah well, upon my soul,” said the woman, “sit down or do something useful.”
“It’s early days yet,” he said, “to be stopping the night.”
“There is no man the likes of you who passes this way that I do not keep for the duration of the whole night,” she said.
Well then! He took off his coat anyway. She had a big fire blazing and she produced a pack of cards.
“Will you play a game with me?” she said.
“I will why not,” he said.
They started to play, herself and himself, and when they did she won the game against him at the very first go.
“Aha,” she said, “I put as a judgement and binding spells on you, and under the great displeasure of the year not to eat two meals at the same table nor to sleep twice on one bed until you do the job with me!” she said.
Well then this was bad news for him but it is as well for me to shorten the story. Well he rose up with a leap and they went at it hammer and tongues, sally and forth, blazes and boiling, curry and fervour, cods and wallop, box and cox, derry and down, nonny and know, lute and nail, snatch and berry, milk and cunny, rump and stake, peak and boo, rod and sinker, smullet and stern, rattle and roll, storm and drang, hokey and pokey, gammon and baking, what and knot, jimmy and joys, willie and sing, whoops and daisy, dick and cavet, jackall and hide, fan and winkle, hock and pintle, whole and shebang, needle and anchor, frankly and further, knead and gnashing, hairs and aces, yin and yang, excal and burr, gung and ho, yank and oodle, cannon and ball, bracket and hinge, amoor and priap, mills and boom, jigerry poker crackling baloney tickula tickulorum for ovur and ovum onan.
“Well that’s over now and anyhow, my man above,” she said. “You must marry me now,” she said, “that’s the law of the land. Are you willing?” she said.
Well and good and not otherwise and he gave her a long look.
“Wisha, is that the way it is?” he said, rubbing a palm to his eyes, to his forelock, to his brows. “Wel,” he said, the young man said, “that’s not bad at all, by dad. What I want is what you want as long as the day rises on the morrow and the sap rises in the marrow.”
And it is whats he said, “Here,” she said, “take that for now,” throwing him his clothes. “Great stuff and God’s greeting to you,” she said, “we’ll be knocking good times out of the hard times for many times to come.”
It is reported that is how John married the red woman and it was said that they were often seen abroad among the cocks of hay making their sport for themselves in joy and happiness.
And that’s a true story without any lie, you know!
WHAT DID HE LEARN IN THE COURSE OF HIS LIFE?
He learned that he was nobody’s fool, that money opened all doors, that speech is the mother of troubles, that the house of bondage had many whips, that a small still voice is never heard, that out of the mouths of babes and sucklings comes forth dribble, that two and two made four sometimes, that the writing on the wall was never clear, that there was not much beyond wit’s end, that he that spareth the rod has no sons, that the philosophic pill gilded nothing, that between the candy store on the corner and the chapel on the hill there was a lot of corn, that blue was the colour of his true love’s hair in the morning, that there were many good reasons for doing nothing, that the long finger was better than a thumb, that the sheikhs shall inherit the earth, that those who go down to the sea in ships are usually sailors, that the whores of wood had drawers of water, that one should give a lie for a lie and a truth for a truth, that whereof one cannot speak one is obliged to bullshit, that the only way out was back, that the answer was blowing in the wind, that it was always dirty on the pig’s back, that the ball was the name of the game, that a radical chic goes to the root of things, that the delta of venus demanded a lot of tributes, that the fool on the hill watches over all, that he didn’t like Mondays, that coke was the real thing, that a friend indeed was a friend with speed, that the ogres of thought were not as effective as the curses of obstruction, that raw data tastes best when cooked, that most pottery is a heinous sham, that going to the wall doesn’t mean you have to wail about it, that now is sooner than then, that the Great Architect never got a degree, that it was difficult to swing on the roundabouts, that the tooth doesn’t always out, that to be or not to be isn’t even a question, that he who dares sins, that every slip is Freudian that every tom and dick is hairy, that smart cookies don’t crumble, that a wild-goose chase sometimes caught a white elephant, that it was easier to fly than to stay up, that hush puppies rarely bark, that forked fingers were more feared than forked tongues, that screwball was a kind of cocktail, that a bird in the hand meant none in the bush, that walking the plank meant you made a big splash, that farce was better than force, that the brodingnag wasn’t half as bad as the bob-tailed nag, that insultants should earn more than consultants, that you couldn’t squeeze the lemon out of lemonade, that his gun was for hire even if he was only dancing in the dark, that lust we are and unto lust we always turn, that hard cheese was a tough titty, that the flighty are often callen, that crabbed sages and truth don’t always go together, that life was a hard slut to crack, that there was no rule like misrule, that nobody mattered diddly-squat and that everything was a long way up the creek and past turning.
Other things he did also which made his spirit leap,
The flight of owls whom he feared from within the deep
Where all the ladders start in the old tack and toe slop
Of his parts; these he exorcized and got
A new cheap toy lamp that gave little light
But loved the signs, the embranglement that tried
To dismember the dully sober from the wildly fue
And showed this from that betimes in our antediluvian zoo.
So hoyted he upfront down-market between the shots
While others wavered between the profit and the loss
That his soul purpled itself on carls of turd
While others lived the beefy breathing of the herds,
And scobberlotchery became a kind of loam
Wherein the calm empire of a happy soul
Was thrunged with sense and hate and love and howls and peace
That the unpurged images of day were forced to recede
Before the cobbled force of all those and them and that
The monstrous regiment of Being and All This Crap and Fact.
“So raise the roof beams high, you team of carpenters
And forget the fears of ancient harbingers!”
The cry is me, and mine, and member and même chose
And ourselves and us and all we have is ours,
For in and out, about, above and below
It is always the same old stupid asshole show,
And for all the priests and goodmen and sages say
Their nutritious images only choke the simple way
From hand to mouth and the other orifices given
Whose ordures we must, our luck, just do their bidding.
So that’s it then, have fun, be good, what’s new?
I’m me myself, but for fuck’s sake, who are you?
Here then are your crutches, here then is your rocking-chair, here is your cup of tea, here is your sugar daddy, here are your sleeping-tablets, here is your mug of milk, here is your knee blanket, here are your soft slippers, here is your television programme, here is your glass of water, here is your plate of porridge, here is your bed pot, here is your scrambled egg, here is your wedge and thin edge, here is your black ticket, here is your red penny, here is your woolly fold, here is your pipe and tobacco, here is your jolly grog, here is your faithful old dog, here are your strong glasses, here is your same old tune, here is your purple hanky, here are your false teeth, here are your muffs and your miffs, here is your photo album, here is your empty gun, here is your fur coat, here is your buttwipe, here is your long john, here are your heavy boots, here is the pale horse, here is the bottom line, here is the endgame, here is the candle to light you to bed, this is the stairs up, this is the open door, this is the beddy ready, this is the pillow of dreams, this is the rich doctor, this is the magic bottle, this is the lay of lays, no that is not an angel, this is your parting shot, this is your big jump, this is the final curtain, that is only a shadow, this is the man with the scythe, do you hear the plug being pulled, that is a buzz in your ears, that is the hand that slipped, that is the beautiful memory, that is the way of all trash, that is your bier and casket, that’s about it.
translated by the author
The Last Butterfly
It was my last summer before I went to secondary school. If it wasn’t, it was certainly the last summer I spent with my brother as the following year he went off to work in Tramore on the roundabouts. We were staying with my aunt at Coolfeakle and she was as changeable as the clouds. But she did let us wander at will through the fields and meadows as long as we fetched water from the well. I thought she kept a cobweb on her head until Martin told me it was a hair-net she wore to keep her hair from going grey. I never knew when he was joking me or not.
We had picked mushrooms in the morning because it had been damp, and Aunty fried them with buttered potatoes and cabbage for dinner. They were things I would never eat at home but hours rambling through the fields with the wind at my back and the grass under my feet would give you an appetite for old boots. The sun came out while we ate and I could see Aunty smile at it as if she knew something that it did not.
“Not before time, either,” she said, as she shuffled back to the dresser for a side-plate.
“I suppose it’ll shine all the time after tomorrow,” Martin said. “Just after we get the train.”
“And it’ll blaze when we go back to school,” I chimed in, showing I could be as pessimistic as the rest.
JOHN: They’re OK. But they’re not as good as Celtic Phlegm, I think.
BLONDE: I wouldn’t call that thinking. Nobody’s as good as Elphin Grot. At least they live up to their reputation.
JOHN: And you should know?
BLONDE (emphatically): I know everything. They don’t say anything for a while but John snuggles in closely to her as the music gets softer and slower.
JOHN (speaking into her ear): Do you have an apartment or did you come with a friend?
BLONDE (into his ear also): Did you have cabbage for your dinner?
JOHN (puzzled): Not as far as I know. Why do you ask?
BLONDE: I just thought I felt the stump.
And on the sixth day it came to pass that there was a game in the Field and John was there. And the other boys were invited also unto the game. And the manager was there before them with anger on his countenance. And he said unto them: What is it to thee or to me if you foul forty yards out from the goal. For I say unto you that a point on the score-board is better than a goal in your net. And he ordained them to listen carefully unto him because they were like sheep without a shepherd and he began to instruct them that what was highly esteemed among men was an abomination in his sight. But he saw the cowardice in them and he said: whosoever amongst you hath a hurley also hath a hatchet, and he who hath a hatchet is able to cut down the fig tree of the enemy. For what doth it profit a man to win all the balls and to lose the game itself. And he sighed inwardly in his spirit for he knew that they were no bloody good. And the multitudes came from the two parishes unto them and they laid their cloaks upon the grass and some amongst them even did open their umbrellas as that was the kind of day it was and those who were first and those who were last and those who were on both sides were shouting and roaring and making whoopee and hosannas. And when half-time came he was still angry and the red was in his cheeks and he lifted up his eyes and he charged them saying: O you brutes of vipers, give an account of your stewardship. For how long will I have to suffer thus? He who hath ears to hear let him hear. And he spoke to them in plain bad language so that they might understand. Take heed to yourselves. Gird your lines for the winning of all is within you. Remember your wives’ lot for even thus shall it be on the day of reckoning. It is impossible but that offences will come; but woe unto him through whom they come. Between us and them there is a great gulf fixed so that they who pass to them are guilty of the abomination of execration. For verily I say unto you, this kind can be driven forth by nothing but by flailing and hacking. For he who has much, more will be given unto him and he who has nothing will be taken off the field. These things I have told you so that you would not be scandalized. He who is to be floored, floor him, and he who is to be split, split him, and he who is not with you is against you. And I have many more things to tell you which I cannot say now. But he sent them away and charged them straight away not to disclose any part of the advice he had given them. But John knew well what had to be done and he looked at them and said: Follow me. And when he had taken the legs from under his opponent the third time and had smote him upon the right ear the referee called unto him and said: Dost thou not know that it is written that thou shalt not bear false evidence against thine opposing player? And he denied it and said: I know not what thou sayest. But he began to curse and to swear, saying, I know not this man of whom you speak. Why askest thou me? I laid neither leg nor stick on him. But the referee sent him forth from the field so that the strictures would be fulfilled that a bone of them should not be broken. But he understood not what had been said and the meaning was hidden from him. And when the chief cheese and the elders sat down to discuss his case they suspended him for six months and he went off alone unto the mountain to throw his guts up.
HATCHETMAN, WHAT OF THE NIGHT?
So then the night is dark and the air is black and the wood is creaking, the bats are abroad hunting the blue moon, the sailors are drinking, the cat is chewing its fur, the horse is in the field yawning metaphorically, powder with a woman inside it is stalking the streets, the thief is waiting her chance, the yuppie is yuppieing in the night club, the priest is thinking of the great sins of the past, the waves are saying farewell to the wind, the international terrorist is tending his bomb, the teacher is tetchy, the painted lady is pounding the pavement, the cars are smoking their pipes, the rust is doing its worst on the broaches of breasts, the pig’s tail is curling its wee, the contaminated water is waiting in the taps for the morning, the window-blind is swallowing the shadows, the gooseberry bushes are sticking out their tongues at the garden, the child is teaching wisdom to the psychologist, the lamb is lying down with the lion but is keeping his options open, the stairs is on the way up, the train is setting the night on fire, the seal is blowing his nose on the beach, the clouds are bustle pinching the mountains, the flashes of inspiration are leaving people’s heads, the children have at last shut up, the sidewalks are beginning to stir, wisdom is gathering in the brains of fools, trees are wrestling with the stars, cats are howling on their beat, whorls of sleep are coming in on the west wind, somebody out there is dying, somebody out there is knitting the garment of horror, somebody out there is smashing his car, somebody out there is kissing a lamp-post, somebody out there is spreading dew on the grass, somebody out there is turning candles in the dark, somebody out there is making sandwiches for the morning, somebody out there is trying to read Freud, somebody out there is putting salt in the buttermilk, somebody out there frankly doesn’t give a damn, somebody out there is murdering the Musak, this young man knows what he’s made of, this young man has the right stuff, this young man is acting the mick, this young man is doodling the dandy, this young man is hugging the mugger, this young man is kneading the dough, this young man is plucking the fig, this young man is tapping the column, this young man is stirring the stew, this young man is flaking the flint, this young man is venting the venison, this young man is besting the beaver, this young man is hauling the ashes, this young man is dunking the pumpkin, this young man is honking the donkey, this young man is tooting the rootie, this young man is happening the stance, this young man is wobbling the colly, this young man is jollying the roger, this young man is humouring the hubris, this young man is porking the beans, this young man is burning the bush, this young man is abrogating the absolute, this young man is reintegrating himself with the basic stuff of the universe, this young man has the poof of the pudding, this young man has had enough, this young man is going asleep.
A fine young man he was, so he was, and he went off to earn his keep as I will tell you know. He was going off now and always and was getting no good of it at all until he came to this club as the dark twilight of night was coming down. It was the last of the day then and there was neither soul nor sinner in the club, so he thought. And so he betook himself into the back room and who should he meet there but three fine women on whom he pitched his fancy. He asked them was there any chance of a bit of sport or what or could he stop the night until the morrow. They told him that there was not indeed to be sure and to be off with himself and to make out somewhere else and to be annoying other bodies. He was a distance from the club and the black of night upon him when he met another woman.
“Isn’t it late you’re out gallivanting?” he said to the woman. “Were you in that club down there below?” he said.
“I was,” she said.
“Who was before you within?” he said.
“There were some men,” she said.
“And they wouldn’t give you lodgings for the night?” he said.
“They would not,” he said.
“Nor me neither,” says he, he said.
“Success and benison to you for you’re one after my own art,” she said. “Come along you blasted man and maybe you’ll get lodgings for the night yet.”
Well and good. They rose and bestirred themselves and went on their way. And when they were a while along the road there was nobody for them to see and nothing for them to notice only fine tall mansions with big gardens and fancy cars which would gladden your heart. They did not stop nor shorten the journey until they came to a neat cottage beside the road. Anyway they went in and she put down a big pot of stew and a big pot of potatoes to boil.
“Ah well, upon my soul,” said the woman, “sit down or do something useful.”
“It’s early days yet,” he said, “to be stopping the night.”
“There is no man the likes of you who passes this way that I do not keep for the duration of the whole night,” she said.
Well then! He took off his coat anyway. She had a big fire blazing and she produced a pack of cards.
“Will you play a game with me?” she said.
“I will why not,” he said.
They started to play, herself and himself, and when they did she won the game against him at the very first go.
“Aha,” she said, “I put as a judgement and binding spells on you, and under the great displeasure of the year not to eat two meals at the same table nor to sleep twice on one bed until you do the job with me!” she said.
Well then this was bad news for him but it is as well for me to shorten the story. Well he rose up with a leap and they went at it hammer and tongues, sally and forth, blazes and boiling, curry and fervour, cods and wallop, box and cox, derry and down, nonny and know, lute and nail, snatch and berry, milk and cunny, rump and stake, peak and boo, rod and sinker, smullet and stern, rattle and roll, storm and drang, hokey and pokey, gammon and baking, what and knot, jimmy and joys, willie and sing, whoops and daisy, dick and cavet, jackall and hide, fan and winkle, hock and pintle, whole and shebang, needle and anchor, frankly and further, knead and gnashing, hairs and aces, yin and yang, excal and burr, gung and ho, yank and oodle, cannon and ball, bracket and hinge, amoor and priap, mills and boom, jigerry poker crackling baloney tickula tickulorum for ovur and ovum onan.
“Well that’s over now and anyhow, my man above,” she said. “You must marry me now,” she said, “that’s the law of the land. Are you willing?” she said.
Well and good and not otherwise and he gave her a long look.
“Wisha, is that the way it is?” he said, rubbing a palm to his eyes, to his forelock, to his brows. “Wel,” he said, the young man said, “that’s not bad at all, by dad. What I want is what you want as long as the day rises on the morrow and the sap rises in the marrow.”
And it is whats he said, “Here,” she said, “take that for now,” throwing him his clothes. “Great stuff and God’s greeting to you,” she said, “we’ll be knocking good times out of the hard times for many times to come.”
It is reported that is how John married the red woman and it was said that they were often seen abroad among the cocks of hay making their sport for themselves in joy and happiness.
And that’s a true story without any lie, you know!
WHAT DID HE LEARN IN THE COURSE OF HIS LIFE?
He learned that he was nobody’s fool, that money opened all doors, that speech is the mother of troubles, that the house of bondage had many whips, that a small still voice is never heard, that out of the mouths of babes and sucklings comes forth dribble, that two and two made four sometimes, that the writing on the wall was never clear, that there was not much beyond wit’s end, that he that spareth the rod has no sons, that the philosophic pill gilded nothing, that between the candy store on the corner and the chapel on the hill there was a lot of corn, that blue was the colour of his true love’s hair in the morning, that there were many good reasons for doing nothing, that the long finger was better than a thumb, that the sheikhs shall inherit the earth, that those who go down to the sea in ships are usually sailors, that the whores of wood had drawers of water, that one should give a lie for a lie and a truth for a truth, that whereof one cannot speak one is obliged to bullshit, that the only way out was back, that the answer was blowing in the wind, that it was always dirty on the pig’s back, that the ball was the name of the game, that a radical chic goes to the root of things, that the delta of venus demanded a lot of tributes, that the fool on the hill watches over all, that he didn’t like Mondays, that coke was the real thing, that a friend indeed was a friend with speed, that the ogres of thought were not as effective as the curses of obstruction, that raw data tastes best when cooked, that most pottery is a heinous sham, that going to the wall doesn’t mean you have to wail about it, that now is sooner than then, that the Great Architect never got a degree, that it was difficult to swing on the roundabouts, that the tooth doesn’t always out, that to be or not to be isn’t even a question, that he who dares sins, that every slip is Freudian that every tom and dick is hairy, that smart cookies don’t crumble, that a wild-goose chase sometimes caught a white elephant, that it was easier to fly than to stay up, that hush puppies rarely bark, that forked fingers were more feared than forked tongues, that screwball was a kind of cocktail, that a bird in the hand meant none in the bush, that walking the plank meant you made a big splash, that farce was better than force, that the brodingnag wasn’t half as bad as the bob-tailed nag, that insultants should earn more than consultants, that you couldn’t squeeze the lemon out of lemonade, that his gun was for hire even if he was only dancing in the dark, that lust we are and unto lust we always turn, that hard cheese was a tough titty, that the flighty are often callen, that crabbed sages and truth don’t always go together, that life was a hard slut to crack, that there was no rule like misrule, that nobody mattered diddly-squat and that everything was a long way up the creek and past turning.
Other things he did also which made his spirit leap,
The flight of owls whom he feared from within the deep
Where all the ladders start in the old tack and toe slop
Of his parts; these he exorcized and got
A new cheap toy lamp that gave little light
But loved the signs, the embranglement that tried
To dismember the dully sober from the wildly fue
And showed this from that betimes in our antediluvian zoo.
So hoyted he upfront down-market between the shots
While others wavered between the profit and the loss
That his soul purpled itself on carls of turd
While others lived the beefy breathing of the herds,
And scobberlotchery became a kind of loam
Wherein the calm empire of a happy soul
Was thrunged with sense and hate and love and howls and peace
That the unpurged images of day were forced to recede
Before the cobbled force of all those and them and that
The monstrous regiment of Being and All This Crap and Fact.
“So raise the roof beams high, you team of carpenters
And forget the fears of ancient harbingers!”
The cry is me, and mine, and member and même chose
And ourselves and us and all we have is ours,
For in and out, about, above and below
It is always the same old stupid asshole show,
And for all the priests and goodmen and sages say
Their nutritious images only choke the simple way
From hand to mouth and the other orifices given
Whose ordures we must, our luck, just do their bidding.
So that’s it then, have fun, be good, what’s new?
I’m me myself, but for fuck’s sake, who are you?
Here then are your crutches, here then is your rocking-chair, here is your cup of tea, here is your sugar daddy, here are your sleeping-tablets, here is your mug of milk, here is your knee blanket, here are your soft slippers, here is your television programme, here is your glass of water, here is your plate of porridge, here is your bed pot, here is your scrambled egg, here is your wedge and thin edge, here is your black ticket, here is your red penny, here is your woolly fold, here is your pipe and tobacco, here is your jolly grog, here is your faithful old dog, here are your strong glasses, here is your same old tune, here is your purple hanky, here are your false teeth, here are your muffs and your miffs, here is your photo album, here is your empty gun, here is your fur coat, here is your buttwipe, here is your long john, here are your heavy boots, here is the pale horse, here is the bottom line, here is the endgame, here is the candle to light you to bed, this is the stairs up, this is the open door, this is the beddy ready, this is the pillow of dreams, this is the rich doctor, this is the magic bottle, this is the lay of lays, no that is not an angel, this is your parting shot, this is your big jump, this is the final curtain, that is only a shadow, this is the man with the scythe, do you hear the plug being pulled, that is a buzz in your ears, that is the hand that slipped, that is the beautiful memory, that is the way of all trash, that is your bier and casket, that’s about it.
translated by the author
The Last Butterfly
It was my last summer before I went to secondary school. If it wasn’t, it was certainly the last summer I spent with my brother as the following year he went off to work in Tramore on the roundabouts. We were staying with my aunt at Coolfeakle and she was as changeable as the clouds. But she did let us wander at will through the fields and meadows as long as we fetched water from the well. I thought she kept a cobweb on her head until Martin told me it was a hair-net she wore to keep her hair from going grey. I never knew when he was joking me or not.
We had picked mushrooms in the morning because it had been damp, and Aunty fried them with buttered potatoes and cabbage for dinner. They were things I would never eat at home but hours rambling through the fields with the wind at my back and the grass under my feet would give you an appetite for old boots. The sun came out while we ate and I could see Aunty smile at it as if she knew something that it did not.
“Not before time, either,” she said, as she shuffled back to the dresser for a side-plate.
“I suppose it’ll shine all the time after tomorrow,” Martin said. “Just after we get the train.”
“And it’ll blaze when we go back to school,” I chimed in, showing I could be as pessimistic as the rest.
