APPENDIX: AN EXTRA POEM SLIPPED BETWEEN FLY-LEAF & COVER
FOR TONY FRAZER
thus the Writer of Modern Life
like the daring do of the Dover Patrol
you need to buck up & be more serious
oily fish
peppered mackerel
all the trimmings
lemon
parsley butter
the scent the effect
predictable as a madeleine
but no time to be maudlin
the word the sword
the sword the word
now we draw straws
in darting into the darkness of the nearest pub
I’m making a private call
from a public place
order a dish of leaves
a pint of bitter
instead
you’re not good enough
or avant-garde enough
Simon
that’s your trouble
that’s the trouble & the truth
that’s the black & white of it
& I’ve never won a prize in my life
‘Simon lacks ambition’
as my French teacher reported
thirty-nine per cent awarded
1976
at a distance
a long silence
nothing like judging the past
with the sharp eye
& shrill values of the present
although that really doesn’t tell you anything
& all is change
& all that is change
change is progress
the same breath
the same moment
the same continuum
all for the better
& sorrel
the sharp & bitter leaf
a woman enters a pub
in flowery pantaloons
orders dessert
an ice-cream sundae
& why not
its four twenty
& I’m hungry
& I’ve consumed lunch
an empty plate beside an emptied glass
the writer of Contemporary Life
sleeps in my clothes
the murmur of a Beethoven quartet
through a brick wall
the triumph of Art over infrastructure
so that’s life, then: things as they are?
the law of dialectics at a stand still
one excuse Tony
a glass raised to you
FOR TONY FRAZER
thus the Writer of Modern Life
like the daring do of the Dover Patrol
you need to buck up & be more serious
oily fish
peppered mackerel
all the trimmings
lemon
parsley butter
the scent the effect
predictable as a madeleine
but no time to be maudlin
the word the sword
the sword the word
now we draw straws
in darting into the darkness of the nearest pub
I’m making a private call
from a public place
order a dish of leaves
a pint of bitter
instead
you’re not good enough
or avant-garde enough
Simon
that’s your trouble
that’s the trouble & the truth
that’s the black & white of it
& I’ve never won a prize in my life
‘Simon lacks ambition’
as my French teacher reported
thirty-nine per cent awarded
1976
at a distance
a long silence
nothing like judging the past
with the sharp eye
& shrill values of the present
although that really doesn’t tell you anything
& all is change
& all that is change
change is progress
the same breath
the same moment
the same continuum
all for the better
& sorrel
the sharp & bitter leaf
a woman enters a pub
in flowery pantaloons
orders dessert
an ice-cream sundae
& why not
its four twenty
& I’m hungry
& I’ve consumed lunch
an empty plate beside an emptied glass
the writer of Contemporary Life
sleeps in my clothes
the murmur of a Beethoven quartet
through a brick wall
the triumph of Art over infrastructure
so that’s life, then: things as they are?
the law of dialectics at a stand still
one excuse Tony
a glass raised to you
