David Foster Wallace

Reading a book of essays by DFW entitled Consider The Lobster. The excellence of these sent me back to an earlier book of essays by said writer. A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again is truly marvellous - the title essay a brilliant, hilarious, astute and ultimately compassionate account of the human condition as observed on an "upscale" US cruise ship.

love

Been listening to the "Beatles" Love album as produced by le petit Martin. Ok, I'll admit up front that I find it all totally wonderful but what is surprising to me is how great the early "pop" songs, like Help and I Want To Hold Your Hand, stand up. I confess that I could have done with the full Hey Jude, a Sun King done the right way round and a full-frontal Tomorrow Never Knows. But listening to this I am astonished at just how good they were. Goodnight children, everywhere.

trees

"How lovely yellow is"

Vincent to Theo Van Gogh, August 13 1888

sky and trees

aiblins explained

Aiblins, perhaps. A well-known word, but not in frequent use now.
[From able + -lin(g)s, the s being for is, orig. a genitival inflexion. The suffix -lin(g)s in Sc. as in Eng. forms a number of advs. and adjs. --- e.g. blin(d)lin(g)s, adv. The form ablens is found in Older Sc. (A. Montgomerie The Cherrie and the Slae, l. 1099, S.T.S. 1887). Forms of the word occur also in mod. north. Eng. dialects. Aiblins, though in general literary use in Sc., is now obs. or obsol. in actual speech.]

in the garden

sunny afternoon

thought for today

The cock-up theory is the conspiracy theory.

first hymn to lennon

ken, yon jined-up
bit o' strawbry fields
- yon wis bonny!

a ukulele and a map of france

the man in the barber shop said
what will you have today
whatever’s not cut and dried
was all that I could say

the woman in the baker’s shop said
what will you have today
I’ll have my cake and eat it too
was all that I could say

the man in the betting shop said
what will you have today
a kingdom for my weary horse
was all that I could say

the sergeant in the army shop said
what will you have today
a poem from the first world war
was all that I could say

the girl in the junk shop said
what will you have today
a ukulele and a map of france
was all that I could say

a ukulele and a map of france
will go a long, long way
a ukulele and a map of france
is all I need today

silver

lapsing shoe song

the old wino waddles
through George Square puddles
his brothel-creepers splashing
he asks if I can
spare ten p
for tea
I say sure
he says smashing
earl grey or lemon
I ask
no china
well masked
and black
he turns his back
coughs up phlegm
snorts out snot
kicks brown leaves
and shouts
away to pot!

proverbials

many hands make many gloves an absolute necessity

it's an ill wind that doesn't blow hard enough to sweep you off your feet

an apple a day may contain some pesticides

To An Unknown Iraqi

I am a little cluster bomb
You must be wondering where I’m from

I’m from your dear friends in the west
For you must know that they know best

I’ll liberate you and your kin
Take Saddam out, put George Bush in

I’ve come to bring you peace at last
Please just ignore the odd bomb blast

I’ve come to make you proud and free
With Big Macs, Coke and MTV

I’ll try not to blow you clean apart
The truth is though, I’m not that smart

I’ll sort out access to your gas
For those good old boys back in Tex-ass

I hope you’re pleased to see me landing
Collateral damage notwithstanding

We’ll take the nerve gas from Saddam
(you know, like what we used in Vietnam)

Its not that I like to maim and kill
But if I don’t get you the sanctions will

‘course we’ll have to meet in secrecy
For I’m not allowed on the BBC

But I’ll be there, no ifs or buts
For doing this job takes lots of guts

And think, your death won’t be in vain
You’ll never have to fear again

And if wild sounds should reach your ears
It’ll be the White House saying “Cheers!”

And Mr Blair and Mr Straw
Will say, “Oh, What A Lovely War!”

Well, here I come, hey! – all the best!
And remember, dulce et decorum est!

Ballad O' Holyrood

It stertit wi a’ guid intent
Tae build a Scottish parliament
Whaur MSPs could a’ gie vent
Tae oor concerns
An cause the odd richt stoor anent
Jock Tamson’s bairns

But wha could mak a place sae braw
Wha widny dither, hum or haw
Could sic a chiel be fun’ at a’
At this late ‘oor
Step furrit noo, the nation’s pa’
Big Donald Dewar

Big Donald got yon chiel Miralles
Tae draw a Zanadu-lik palace
tho’ it turned oot a bit poisoned chalice
For Scottish folk
Wha, gin they think thirsells richt gallus
Thocht it a joke!

But Don an’ Enric c’ad the shots
Tied a’ the oppo up in knots
Sayin’, pick ony site ye like, there's lots
That fit the bill,
Foreby yon shibboleth o’ the Scots
On Calton Hill

The Tories said it made nae sense
The Libdems sat upon the fence
The Nats blew hot and cold and thence
They took the huff
Big Margo coontit up the pence
And said “Enough!”

Noo, wha’d a thocht some upturned boats
Wid cost near hauf a billion notes
That’s quite a lot a porridge oats
Fur oor wee clan
An’ nixt time that the nation votes
Wha’ll haud the can?

Bit noo its done, we’ve had the pain
We’ll learn to love it lik a wean
This child o’ Scotland and o’ Spain
Is aff the ropes
It kerries thru sun, snaw and rain
Oor nation’s hopes

scribbles

trees 2

trees 1

in the shadows, the light

a pocketwatch, a packet of fags,
a promise that today
would be beautiful, who knows
why it isn't so, the god
of the trees, the woman
in the shop, maybe even I,
it's not that we would wish
it not, even a beggar
needs a penny and a cup
of something for the road, no
it's something altogether
strange, unlooked for,
otherly, that we see each day
in a mirror, a vision
of a life half-lived,
half-grasped, reflection
of an unknown world

poet & dust jacket

photo and profile
give little away,
the cool, enigmatic smile,
tweed jacket, hair going grey;
a few facts, nothing too revealing,
an interesting life,
lives alone in Ealing,
with his wife

cul-de-sac

We stayed in a small hotel,
ate croissants, went out
early. Love was about
to fall somewhere, the bell
of notre dame was dumb,
invalides hidden in fog.
Metro-museum-metro, dog
days, the rain that had to come,
your blue cup sat, still life
on a side street, as we
watched an evening slowly fade.
The pavement artist with his knife
scraped out a miniature of you for me,
love at times requires a sharper blade.

proverbials

a fool and his money are often strangely resilient

all's fair in love, until it's war

better the devil than some people you know

take care of the pennies and life is destined to be a major disappointment

...a summer's day, a tangerine, a newspaper, some toes...something beautiful that everyone knows...the promise of another day