Monday, 30 January 2012
"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.
Naebdy kens yeh like me.
'Member when wyased tae write,
Black oan the sheds in the black o the night?
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:
The TOTH an the BOTH,
Lochee an ah they midden multis,
- Wha midden multis?
Yer granny bides thair.
Set yer peepers oan the Dundee
Denim an Leather,
Leather an Lace,
Laither jaicket an Mertins,
Fortifehd wine, Merrydoon,
Green moansters, gut-fuckers,
Oan an oan wi the 80-shillin' fun…
Stain oan the petticoat o naichure,
Chainttye through the Drink and
Chainttye by the music,
Freed fae ye by the friendship,
Embarrassed by the birth –
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',
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 -
Naebody tae save ye,
Wi ah its hooligans an Mods,
Punks an Heavy freaks,
Up the West Port wi aa that drink.
Christ, what a laugh.
Naebdy kens yih like me.