Glasgow, 1960
Returning to Glasgow after long exile
Nothing seemed to me to have changed its style.
Buses and trams all labelled 'To Ibrox'
Swung past packed tight as they'd hold with folks.
Football match, I concluded, but just to make sure
I asked; and the man looked at me fell dour,
Then said, 'Where in God's name are _you_ frae, sir?
It'll be a record gate, but the cause o' the stir
Is a debate on "la loi de l'effort converti"
Between Professor MacFadyen and a Spainish pairty.'
I gasped. The newsboys came running along,
'Special! Turkish Poet's Abstruse New Song.
Scottish Authors' Opinions' -- and, holy snakes,
I saw the edition sell like hot cakes!
Hugh MacDiarmid, 1935
As this poem took place the year before I was born, can any members of the
list tell me who the Turkish poet was, and if the Spanish party was any
good?
----- Original Message -----
From: Andrew Jackson <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Friday, June 30, 2000 1:17 AM
Subject: Re: poets and madmen
> Hi Mark,
>
> Pars. 3 & 4 have clarified a few things for me on this subject --
> I think this is very true. Some kind of context is needed, otherwise
> labels will be mis-given and misappropriated.
>
> Is the obsessive monomania of a football fan on a Saturday
> afternoon essentially any different from that of a poet approaching
> a final draft? Only perhaps in context . . . the football fan is
> surrounded by 20,000 other folk who are going through precisely
> the same thing. It's normalised.
>
> On the other hand, those times when I have clattered into the pub
> with all guns blazing and bouncing off the walls, ordering three
> pints at once, grinning like a chimpanzee . . . only to pull out a
> scrap of paper with a 10-line poem scribbled on it by way of
> justifying my mood . . . . . well, folk tend to look at you funny. And
> the standard response is usually, "You're mad . . . ."
>
> Simply because it's beyond their ken, I think. It makes no sense
> to them as a trigger for such behaviour . . . it's 'just' a poem. So
> the mania appears unfounded, or disproportionate.
>
> Now I have an image of Geoffrey Hill racing out towards the
> West Stand of Wembley brandishing his final draft of 'Mercian
> Hymns' screaming "Yeeeessssssssss!!!!!!!!" . . . . and the crowd
> erupts . . . grown men kiss each other . . . . ticker-tape rains
> from the sky . . . . horns blast . . . . and suddenly everyone *gets* it.
>
>
> Andy
>
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