As might be guessed from Seamus Feamus, I’ve been reading – and thoroughly enjoying – The Pilgrimage of Peregrine Prykke. (How did I get to this age without having read it before?) This is Clive James’s parody of 1970s literary London and it got me thinking about the enduring and peculiar proclivity of poetical types to self-pollinate and propagate peculiar…
In what would have been the week of Seamus Heaney ‘s 86th birthday – here is Clive James ventriloquist. Performed at the ICA in London in 1974: These were the Belfast poets — all called Seamus — Of whom the leading light was SEAMUS FEAMUS, Who even now attacked his midday meal: Two slabs of peat around a conger eel. ‘White spoors of cockle,’…
The day after the Brexit referendum our dear leader – then candidate for the presidency – was on his way to Scotland to re-open a golf course. As soon as he landed he tweeted: The response was fast and furious – an impressive torrent of inventive invective and obscenity that kept Twitter amused for days as the true significance of…
Here then, as promised is the indulgence of blackberry poems. (For any very young readers confused by Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackberry please know that the Blackberry was a communication device from the early C21st introduced sometime after the era of cocoa tins connected with string.) So many blackberry poems. It’s almost as if all the poets had…
Two Lorries It’s raining on black coal and warm wet ashes. There are tyre-marks in the yard, Agnew’s old lorry Has all its cribs down and Agnew the coalman With his Belfast accent’s sweet-talking my mother. Would she ever go to a film in Magherafelt? But it’s raining and he still has half the load To deliver farther on. This…