CONFINEMENT THEORY

"We are not concerned with the very poor. They are unthinkable, and only to be approached by the statistician or the poet." - Forster, Howards End.

CONFINEMENT THEORY

Dundee, Scumdee,
Naebdy kens yih like me.
Member when wyased tae write,
Black oan the sheds in the black o the night?

View the
Thick, black indelible Ssi-ay fae within?

View o the Law?
Better view fae the Sidlaws.

Well, ehh say “we” but eh didnae,
– Ehh never waanted tae damage naebody’s door,
W’wir eyewaz dancin oan the rooves,
Crackin ah the thin beams, wi resentful hooves,
Through the tar an felt on thae widden loack-ups,
That abody wiz sae proud tae oan,
An pentet regular wi thick green pent,
(Like Granda’s pent,
But he couldnae affoard ane,
Efter hayin tae
Hae the fear an the shits,
In a trench in France,
No maakin a fortune,
On some other cunt’s plants)
But kid barely affoard the council’s rent.
- Oh Aye, w’were eyewaz in yer back gairden,
Or oan yer rafe,
Laughin an stairin.

View Maggie's Dundee,
Well, eh say “we”, but you didnae,
Coz yi eyewaz kent how precaarious they structures were,
An yi eyewaz wyed up the odes o brackin a leg,
When ane o us fell through the boards.

W’wer content tae view,
Athin fae the auld railway line:
Kirton, Duglas,
The TOTH an the BOTH,
Whitfeelt, Fintry,
Lochee an ah they midden multis,
- Wha midden multis?
Yer granny bides thair.

Set yer peepers oan the Dundee
Denim an Leather scene,
Leather an Lace,
Staypress, Fred Perry,
NF jaicket an Martins,
Fortifehd wine, Merrydoon,
Voddie an peach brandy,
Green moansters, gut-fuckers,
Snakey-an-black an gee-un-tee wi a slice,
Nucleur brown, 80-shillin…
Oan an oan wi ah the fun…

W’wer in wi the drink for that an a that,
An gettin aboot lassies,
- Heather an shoartie tin,
That wiz the business,
Dealin wi that,
But no really the drink,
It might no be time yet,
To deal wi the drink.

Dundee,
Stain oan the petticoat o naichure,
Chainttye through the Drink and Chainttye by the Drink –
F’revrr trehin tae get back tae afore that time,
Back tae Spederman,
Back tae freedom
Where St Martin killt the dragon.

Fae the plesterboard boxes,
Ah the auld anes think,
Thit if thir is somethin else,
It’s goanna be mint,
The Mysterious Golden Cloud,
Ll sweep them awa,
Existin omnipotent,
Wi nay chains atta.

Never get tae wonder,
But it might be shite,
It might be keich,
It might no be sunshine,
It might be ren,
The next life might be a the misery and pehn,
A different consciousness o sufferin’
So drastic we cannae conceive it,
And nothin else -
Nae salvation,
Nae femily,
Naebody tae save ye,
Nae Dundee,
Wi ah its hooligans an Mods,
Punks an Heavy freaks,
An us,
Up the West Port wi aa that drink.
Christ, what a laugh.

Dundee, Dundee,
Naebdy kens yih like me.