So I was picking my toenails into the sink one night, waiting for my Pot Noodle to cool down, when I was suddenly struck by the notion that I was hideously squandering my life. I watched a particularly curly slice from my big toe go dancing around the basin and fall helplessly into the abyss of the plughole and thought about how apt a metaphor this was for my wasted potential. Then I realised I needed better metaphors.
In light of this I decided I would get off my apathetic arse and read at least one poem a day, unconnected to my course. I thought the best idea would be to get a nice spread, so I chose Seamus Heaney and Ted Hughes' anthology, The School Bag to work my way through. They group poems not chronologically or alphabetically, but to encourage 'different kinds of historical and thematic reading'. Also because it was sort of aimed at kids. Afterwards I planned to write a few sentences summarising each one, to record my progress. So far, so good.
What I didn't realise is that I'd usually only remember to read them at about three in the morning, often drunk, always angry; which made both understanding them and being funny a bit of a challenge. What follows is the early results. You have been enlightened.
Day 1 – 1st Feb - Long-Legged Fly by W.B Yeats
Compares three historical figures – Caeser, Helen of Troy and Michael Angelo. Suggest that, just like the long legged fly, genius moves effortlessly over the water of the mind. Uses a repeated refrain, which never fails to be shit. Whilst Caeser’s skill is command and Michael Angelo’s is painting, Helen of Troy’s seems to be being able to dance like a poor person. Evidently there wasn’t much going on under the bonnet.
Day 2 – 2nd Feb - Adze-head by Anonymous (Irish)
Written about an adze – a hoe-like implement used for carving wood. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine. Poet accuses the adze of chanting with ‘impiety’ as it carves; i.e., not respecting religious customs. I suspect it might have something to do with Christianity chipping away at paganism, just as the new-kid-on-the-block adze chips old-boy wood, but to be honest it’s one in the morning and I can’t be arsed googling anymore. Translator gets respect for using the line ‘...adze-head/Crazed in the head’; proving you can have a little bit of fun with a poem about a fucking hoe.
Day 3 – 3rd Feb – Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold
Man looks at a beach. Decides the earth isn’t as great as everyone says. A bit like this poem. Ho-ho. Name drops Sophocles like someone desperately trying to sleep with his classics teacher. Which would have made for a much better poem.
Day 4 – 4th Feb – At the Fishhouses by Elizabeth Bishop
Long description of stony beach (see a theme developing? Congrats, you’re good enough to do degree level English!). Literally no reason for it to be put into verse other than to take up more space on the page and depress me more when I realise its three and I haven’t read a poem yet. Some nice imagery about fish-mongering, and there’s even a bit where a seal jives to Baptist hymns which, as you realise with another pang of disappointment, isn’t meant to be taken literally. The poet tries to excuse herself by making the whole thing into a metaphor about ‘knowledge’. In response I’ve decided my next poem will be about knowledge and turn out to be a metaphor for funky Baptist seals. Watch this space.
Day 5 – 5th Feb – A Grave by Marianne Moore
The most mediocre one yet. Uses the sea as a metaphor for the grave. Gives this away in the first line, of which there are at least 40 more. I could try and make a better joke about it, but seriously, you try reading the fucker and tell me what there is to make fun of. I can’t be cunted myself.
Day 6 – 6th Feb – The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Sigh. Okay. Wedding-ship gets held up by an old man. They decide to drop everything and listen to his story. Turns out he used to be on a ship that ended up in the South Pole. An albatross turns up and starts leading them to safety, at which point the mariner shoots it. This rather scuppers things, and the crew tie the albatross to his neck to teach him a lesson. If you’re like me you probably thought this was where the poem ended, but actually its only part two of seven, and you have to slog through five more...holy shit did a fucking GHOST SHIP just turn up?! Was Death on board playing dice! Does he kill the entire crew? Do their corpses come to life and row the ship? You bet your sodden crotches they do. My preconceptions shattered, I thundered on to the finish. I’m still shaking from how badass it turned out to be. Extra points for using the words ‘Eftsoons’, ‘uprist’, and ‘gramercy’. You hero, Coleridge.
Day 7 – 7th Feb – Clanranald’s Galley by Alasdair Macmhaighstir Alasdair
Christ, just getting through the name and title is a struggle enough here. Scottish people on a boat, nice imagery, fairly uninteresting...holy shit is the ship being attack by fucking HOBGOBLINS?! That’s even cooler than Death! Oh sure, there’s the usual bullshit about thanking God at the end, but you’re too impressed to care. Proper lad’s poetry this. Phwoar.
So there you have it. I think I'l periodically post more extracts, if you want them. I might be more selective too, since some are more entertaining than others. But hey! Least you learned something, hey! Hey!
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