When, at last, you've hauled your ageing load
up to the top of the Holloway Road,
first you'd want to assuage your raging thirst,
anyway you'd need some kind of drink.
East of the bleak and windswept anchor
of the Black Lubyanka,
the Archway Tavern once was there;
then, a heavy-metal box: the Intrepid Fox.
Still Sweeney's, on the corner, alias the Lion,
offers an Irish shoulder for to cry on,
Mother Redcap's for night-caps, Whittington Stone,
the Cat, the Magnet, the Old Crown,
and the Charlotte Despard (if you're not barred).
The Drum and Monkey
was seldom funky.
Now the Oak and Pastor,
for the Monkey met its Master.
Dine there, or St John's, on filets mignons,
or boeuf Bourgignons,
and hail your holy grail:
your real, your gleaming ale
of beaming bronze.
* Now greatly changed and still changing.
My 2001 transcription
of the Irish National Anthem in Irish
into English words:
add-thaw Fay-owl egg-Aaron
hard-thin the-raw Nick-who-wing
shan't-hear or shin-sheer fast-the
And here's my free version in English
of the Irish text:
Soldiers are we,
and we belong to Ireland.
from far across the sea.
Sworn to be free.
No more our ancient sireland
shall shelter the tyrant or the slave!
the fearsome wave.
In Ireland's cause,
the weak are strong.
Though lightning flash,
and thunder crash,
we'll sing the Soldiers' Song!
from TENNIS RACQ
Now I'm a Wow,
like Woody-wood Becker.
us or Billy-Jean.
I can do it
better than Lleyton Hewitt,
ee call me The Gaffa!
than Andy Roddick,
twice as shagassy
as Andr-ay Agassi.
Compared to me, Henman
was a hen, man;
in too much of a hurry.
Shamrock vee Cloeva.
Jock O'Vitch? Joke over.
I'm tasty as a billabong,
and just as strong,
with my boomerang serve, as Miss Goolagong.
So it seems,
in my dreams ...
Oh, it's not just the Gladiators
and the Gladioli,
WE ALSO SERVE
who only stand
to little or no avail.
For there's a Law of Life,
it's practically official,
that, for those Hot Shots with their Sting Bats
to succeed, some sacrificial
have to fail.
NIGHT VISITORS, MELBOURNE
Before the dawn, a flurry …
Out of the hearth - a Bat?
Out of the bed,
What to do?
Birds? Black birds in flight,
scattering soot 'n' shite ...
Call Pest Control? Our guests
don't qualify as pests ...
We open a tiny window but they scoff
at our kindly invitation to piss off.
Preferring to assail a wider window,
they batter the frantic windowpane in vain ...
contact a neighbour. She
winds windowframe ajar.
A bird escapes - HOORAH!
But where's its mate?
Flew back up flue?
Out tiny window?
I don't care - Do you?
We humbly mumble Thanks to neighbour,
almost lost for words,
thinking, Damn you, Alfred Hitchcock,
Why did you make THE BIRDS?
(a seaside town to the North of Dublin)
In Malahide, long years ago,
my racquet and I were told to go,
for digging with a Papish foot.
I felt like Adam when the gate was shut.
In Malahide, in the Grand Hotel,
which wasn't grand then nor posh nor swell,
the rooms were haunted, the grounds were wild,
a magical world for an ageing child.
In Malahide, at the Grand Hotel,
my sister's do, I remember well,
and the nun who'd just jumped over the wall,
who didn't act like a nun at all.
In Malahide, a kindly priest
saw me becoming a sensual beast.
"If you don't give up helping yourself,
you'll end up in Hell, on the bachelor shelf."
In Malahide, I fell in love,
and flew in my mind to the stars above.
She hailed from Glasgow. My heart, I lent her.
But her mother returned the letter I sent her.
In Malahide, I found Romance.
And in Malahide, I lost my pants.
Swept out to sea on the ebbing tide!
Just a tiny towel. (I nearly died.)
A tale or a song,
even a folk song,
needn't go on, and on:
a cause of grief.
Bow to the listener: a thoughtful grovel.
A story, yes, but not, please not, a novel.
If it's sheddable, shed it.
There's no disgrace
in cutting to the chase.
Oh hear my heartfelt cry,
my desperate dictum:
came as a paying guest, not as a victim.
(Sorry this rhyme was so long.
Just be thankful it wasn't a song.)
A FISHY STORY
This is the tale a a guy called Cool.
Head of the Feeyanna*. Nobody's fool.
So cool was he, so fine and strong,
they bumped him off before too long.
They did him in,
but not before
he'd wed a feisty wife who bore
a son whose name was Finn.
A widow now, afraid
that Finn might also be waylaid
and privatised with shovel and spade,
to thwart the downward Thumb of Doom,
Fee climbed (Oh, sorry. Her name was Fee)
up a tiny mountain called Sleeve Bloom
to meet two witches (It's usually three).
is the proper word,
which won't make sense
unless you've heard
of the women of the Ama-Zon
who fight without pyjamas on,
and beat the tar
out of any men,
whoever they are.
Make him tough,
said Fee, and that's enough.
Well, not quite enough.
He's to join the Feeyanna*
when he's big,
so he'll need to know
how to pluck a pig,
and defeat nine men
with just a shield,
as the sky
and under a field,
and that's the lot.
But it was not.
For she forgot:
he hadn't just to be tough
I mean, that's enough
for a Prince of Wales;
but the Feeyanna
demand more than Get-up-and-Go-etry.
You've to memorise
twenty-three books of Poetry.
Once the Amazon ninjas
got him fit,
with a six-pack and abs
and all that shit,
they packed him off
to the local magus,
a wordy wizard
who'd a quiver
of arrows, for shooting fish
when they came upriver.
he tried and tried,
to tell you the truth,
he damn near died,
to get some Pome
into Finn's mighty, muscular dome.
Jam-packed with protein,
averse to verse,
it made Finnaegus
roar and curse.
Finn couldn't take Pomes in his cerebellum,
IT'S PROBABLY THE WAY YOU TELL 'EM!
Finnaegus said, That's total gammon.
You need to be more
of a piscivore!**
So he shot a salmon,
and gave it to the lad to fry.
As it lay in the pan, said Finn, I'll try
and see is it cooked - Ow! Burnt his thumb,
which he stuck in his mouth and, via the gum,
his brain steamed up with streams of verse.
(Some, better than this. And one, far worse.)
NOW I KNOW ALL, LIKE I BEEN TO COLLEGE.
THIS MUST BE THE SALMON OF KNOWLEDGE!
So he joined the Feeyanna,
like dear dead Dad,
made his Mammy proud,
but the Feeyanna, MAD,
for they couldn't fox him ...
he won every quiz ...
a pain in the bum
(you know how it is)
so they did him in
with shovel and spade;
and that's the ending, I'm afraid***.
* Feeyanna = FIANNA: Band of SuperHeroes,
like the Knights of the Round Table, but more rounded.
** Piscivore = one who knows his plaice.
*** In fact I'm very afraid.
If the FIANNA ever get to hear of this ...
It slipped my mind that Finn must have somehow overcome his mortality issue for it is known that he lived on to become Finn Mac Cool, one of Ireland's most heroic heroes and did loads of apocryphal deeds, as was par for the course in those days.
I have amended the error in subsequent verse.
Songs for UnGays
to sing at Gay Weddings
to the tune of
Owed to Gay
NOT DROWNING BUT WIVING
We are not Gay,
but, if we were,
instead of Him,
we'd marry Her.
Instead of Jim,
we'd marry Jane.
No more we'd swim
against the grain.
No to Man,
and Yes to Woman.
This has been
a long time comin'.
Wife with Wife
will cut down strife.
Two spoons, no knife:
a Hope of Life!
We are not Gay,
but, if we were,
we'd marry Him
instead of Her.
Instead of Her,
we'd marry Him.
Instead of Jane,
we'd marry Jim.
we'd sing a Hymn,
and not a Hyrrh.
We'd love each other
and we'd call each other,
THE RACKER ROAD TO LONDON
Passports, at last, located, we drove from Bray
to Dublin Port.
By 3pm, the wife & I were on our way.
Nothing to report.
rested, & well-fed.
& back to our lovely motor,
our rusty friend,
the old Toyota.
with a manual key -
OF A MAD BANSHEE!
Screaming on & on & on,
as by-standers smirk
we head for London.
Would you believe
we'd soon be undone?
Night falls as we cruise along.
Set the Satnav. Something's wrong.
CAN'T FIND SATELLITES. Not to worry.
We know the way & there's no hurry.
Fuel gauge is dipping low.
Can we find a garage? No.
They must hate drivers, the way they vex 'em,
we chuckle & miss the road to Wrexham ...
& somehow come to Runcorn Town,
which looks forlorn as a drunken clown,
as we tootle cluelessly all around,
no petrol station to be found.
A passer-by! Who talks so queer,
I LIKE TO HELP BUT I NOT FROM HERE ...
& a would-be helper, who strains our patience
with streams of forgettable informations.
So we end up in a Slough of Despond,
somewhere out in the back of beyond.
Our Hunting of the Petroleum Snark
has led us to Eddie Stobart's Lorry Park.
A trucker's forefinger points the way
to an Esso garage. (He made our day.)
Where a lady with a smily mouth
says, WHAT YOU WANT IS THE M6, SOUTH.
More banshee wails!
& the Brum bit blocked;
so, to survive,
we switch to the M5.
to throttle the thoroughfare!
Why didn't we come by Ryanair?
A DOUBLE CRASH!
a total smash.
We took out two Cones.
But again the Screaming!
Is this a nightmare?
Are we dreaming?
More Dalek cones..
Exhaust-pipe heckles like rattled bones.
All junctions, CLOSED. In despairful hope,
we try old Satnav. It can't cope.
Our troubles never ceased.
We entered North London from the East!
& parked at 3 'neath our block of flats
while Car-alarm shrieked, HERE COME THE PRATS!
As it yelled, FAREWELL,
to timely alcohol
& a quiet bed.
The Songs of Erin
are always charmin',
though sometimes alarmin'
in their fiery mood.
'Tis a real rapscallion
would claim Eyetalian
or German music is half as good.
zart nor Handel
could hold a candle
to Molly Malone
through a megaphone,
or to Erin's daughter,
singin' songs of slaughter,
or in Inishowen,
or on her own.
With music to whisk you. Where?
From here to there!
To Donegal, Mayo, & County Clare.
From your borough
in London to the Curragh
From Kilburn, Hammersmith, Camden Town
to the Glens of Antrim, the Ups of Down.
to the Cliffs
& the Cliffs of Less.
to the Mountains of Mourne.
To fresh Eyre
& Galway Bay.
Kiss the Blarney Stone
& Molly Malone.
In the hug of Irish Music,
you'll never be alone!
Like rabbits on stilts, or shrunken llamas.
Flocks in flocculent pyjamas.
Faces like Lady Bracknell's gardeners' trowels.
Whiff of grapeshot from blackberry bowels.
with precarious legs,
& your granny's knees.
Ears, in fear of every teasing breeze.
Muzzles, with graven grins.
scalps of Apache grass.
Then, all the bog-cotton-picking day to dally, chewing the cud, like good ole boys
on a beach in Bali.
When they're not rutting,
Here's a Glasgow kiss for you, mate!
& they'd smother their mother
to get through a gate.
Our modern sheep
descends from the Mediterranean Mouflon
& the Asian Uriel.
Mouflon just acted the goat &, as for Uriel,
you'd get more wool of your Auntie Muriel.
Though they don't care a fig for pagan pig
or tapeworm-harbouring ham,
every Hajji, Ayatollah & Imam
salutes with warm salaam
That lamb you pet,
my dear Amanda,
will end up et
as Lamb Pasanda.
If that makes you edgy,
turn veggie ...
Or, if that's too hard, turn half-way hypocrite,
a wishy-washy fish'n'chipocrite.
The thought of slaughter,
me darlin' daughter,
don't make me quiverous,
for I'm carnivorous!
Like the Beast,
is yon farmer to be fleeced?
Dipped, ripped & frozen fresh?
Will meat-eating go the Way of All Flesh?
who think they're Rambo!
doing the Mambo!
Wait five months
& there's a lamb bo-
ldly bawling, HERE I AM!
Then ear-marked, barked-at, stamped,
Male, doctored (Ooh!).
& the keening!
Where are ya, Ma?
Mammies bleat, Here I am,
Gambolling against the Green,
the Shining Lamb!
Against the odds,
uncowed, disporting, cavorting
in the foolishness of freedom,
jumping for joy across the hungry grass,
shaking a weedy hoof at the greedy gods:
Living for Now!
A sequence of 75 irregular verbs,
which includes all the ones
that broadsheets, broadcasters
& English-learners often get wrong.
It also shows, through rhyme,
that irregular verbs are not that irregular,
& represents that rare thing nowadays,
Education through the Medium
& is meant to be useful,
if only as a cure for insomnia.
It can also be read,
if in vagrant mood,
as an eventful melodrama, entitled
A FRAUGHT SAGA.
I drink, I drank, I have drunk.
I shrink, I shrank, I have shrunk.
I stink, I stank, I have stunk.
I sink, I sank, I have sunk.
You sing, you sang, you have sung.
You spring, you sprang, you have sprung.
You ring with an R, you rang, you have rung.
You wring with a W, you wrung, you have wrung. You swing, you swung, you have swung.
He comes, he came, he has come.
He swims, he swam, he has swum.
He draws, he drew, he has drawn.
He saws, he sawed, he has sawn.
He shines, he shone, he has shone.
He goes, he went, he has gone.
She knows, she knew, she has known.
She blows, she blew, she has blown.
She throws, she threw, she has thrown.
She grows, she grew, she has grown.
She sews with an E, she sewed, she has sewn.
She sows with an O, she sowed, she has sown.
She shows, she showed, she has shown.
She mows, she mowed, she has mown.
We hew, we hewed, we have hewn.
We strew, we strewed, we have strewn.
We give, we gave, we have given.
We drive, we drove, we have driven.
We strive, we strove, we have striven.
We thrive, we throve, we have thriven.
You swell, you swelled, you have swollen.
You steal, you stole, you have stolen.
You do, you did, you have done.
You spin, you spun, you have spun.
You run, you ran, you have run.
You win, you won, you have won.
They eat, they ate, they have eaten.
They beat, they beat, they have beaten.
They slay, they slew, they have slain.
They lie (down), they lay, they have lain.
They see, they saw, they have seen.
They are, they were, they have been.
They break, they broke, they have broken.
They wake, they woke, they have woken.
They speak, they spoke, they have spoken.
I wear, I wore, I have worn.
I tear, I tore, I have torn.
I swear, I swore, I have sworn.
I hide, I hid, I have hidden.
I ride, I rode, I have ridden.
I take, I took, I have taken.
I shake, I shook, I have shaken.
I forsake, I forsook, I have forsaken.
You feel, you felt, you have felt.
You deal, you dealt, you have dealt.
You mean, you meant, you have meant.
You send, you sent, you have sent.
You creep, you crept, you have crept.
You keep, you kept, you have kept.
You sleep, you slept, you have slept.
He buys, he bought, he has bought.
He brings, he brought, he has brought.
He fights, he fought, he has fought.
He thinks, he thought, he has thought.
He teaches, he taught, he has taught.
She says, she said, she has said.
She breeds, she bred, she has bred.
She feeds, she fed, she has fed.
She flees, she fled, she has fled.
We bind, we bound, we have bound.
We grind, we ground, we have ground.
We sell, we sold, we have sold.
We tell, we told, we have told.
We make, we made, we have made.
We lay (eggs), we lay, we have laid.
We pay, we paid, we have paid.