Collected Poems Read online

  Take a deep breath. Smell only darkness.

  5-star

  The Mandarin Hotel, Jakarta.

  5-star, bordering on the Milky Way.

  Bathrobes a polar bear would kill for,

  slippers I slide about in still.

  A bowl with fruit so exotic,

  you need a licence to peel,

  and instructions on how to eat.

  A bed as big as this room.

  Attached to a cellophaned bouquet of flowers,

  that looks too dangerous to unwrap,

  a card from the Hotel Manager

  who welcomes me (misspelling my name).

  He telephones: Could we be photographed

  together for the Hotel Magazine?

  Puzzled, flattered and vaguely disquieted,

  I agree. Within minutes

  I am holding a glass of champagne,

  his arm around my shoulder,

  flicking through my limited series of smiles.

  Then the inevitable: I am not

  who he thought I was. I am not

  who I am supposed to be.

  He laughs it off, apologizes, and leaves,

  taking the rest of the champagne with him.

  I walk out on to the balcony.

  From the 37th floor the city seeps

  towards the horizon like something spilled.

  Something not nice. That might stain.

  I go back inside. Examine my passport,

  and get out the photographs.

  A couple who could be anybody

  against a wall that could be anywhere.

  A dog. Children smiling.

  I unwrap the flowers. Open the maxi-bar.

  Melting into the Foreground

  Head down and it’s into the hangover.

  Last night was a night best forgotten.

  (Did you really kiss a strange man on the forehead?)

  At first you were fine.

  Melting into the foreground.

  Unassuming. A good listener.

  But listeners are speakers

  Gagged by shyness

  And soon the wine has

  Pushed its velvet fingers down your throat.

  You should have left then. Got your coat.

  But no. You had the Taste.

  Your newfound gift of garbled tongue

  Seemed far too good to waste.

  Like a vacuum-cleaner on heat

  You careered hither and thither

  Sucking up the smithereens

  Of half-digested chat.

  When not providing the lulls in conversation

  Your strangled banter

  Stumbled on to disbelieving ears.

  Girls braved your leering incoherences

  Being too polite to mock

  (Although your charm was halitoxic,

  Your wit, wet sand in a sock).

  When not fawning over the hostess

  You were falling over the furniture

  (Helped to your feet, I recall,

  By the strange man with the forehead).

  Gauche attempts to prise telephone numbers

  From happily married ladies

  Did not go unnoticed.

  Nor did pocketing a bottle of Bacardi

  When trying to leave

  In the best coat you could find.

  I’d lie low if I were you.

  Stay at home for a year or two.

  Take up painting. Do something ceramic.

  Failing that, emigrate to somewhere Islamic.

  The best of luck whatever you do.

  I’m baling out, you’re on your own.

  Cockpit blazing, out of control,

  Into the hangover. Head down.

  Ode on a Danish Lager

  The finger

  enters the ring. A

  pplause. Hooray!

  Unzip. A

  pause. Then, whoosh,

  The golden spray.

  Unfurling slowly

  like a blue mist

  from a sorcerer’s cave,

  the genie is released

  to serve a master

  (soon to be slave).

  A sip to mull over

  the flavour

  found only in the first.

  I make a wish,

  then slake

  an imaginary thirst.

  I squeeze the can

  (it is not cannish),

  is yielding, unmanish.

  In it, my reflection,

  modiglianish.

  We wink at each other,

  We’re getting on well,

  The genie weaves

  his genial spell.

  I unmask one more

  (unheed the body’s warning).

  Goodnight, sweet beer,

  See you in the morning!

  Missed

  out of work

  divorced

  usually pissed.

  he aimed

  low in life

  and

  missed.

  Used to Drink

  Used to drink Pernod

  Till my insides, an inferno

  Said ‘No’

  Schooners of sherry

  Soon as merry

  Sick, very

  So I drank rum

  Yo ho ho as they come

  Sore bum

  What’s nice is

  Gin with lemon slices

  Made me grin. Did me in

  Turned to lager (Special Brew)

  Went gaga

  So will you

  Downed tequila

  Soon down at heel, ah

  It’s a killer

  Odd dram of malt

  Gave the old liver a jolt

  Called a halt.

  Mineral water

  Herb tea

  Beers (alcohol-free)

  Cheers! I deserve a pat on the back…

  (Next year maybe give up cocaine and smack.)

  The Blues

  Two a.m.

  in the Blue Magnolia.

  I smoke my last cigarette

  and wait for the piano-player

  to send me a drink over.

  Star Juice

  This morning

  came a loud moaning

  as a cloud

  clutching its stomach

  staggered across the sky

  and threw up

  all over Manchester

  I know the feeling

  It’s been up all night

  drinking with the moon

  Star juice

  It’s a killer.

  Drinking Song

  Drink wine

  Think romance

  You’re a lover

  Feel fine

  Sing and dance

  Fall over.

  Another Mid-life Crisis

  3 a.m. Feeling like death

  and wanting to end it all

  I reach for the aspirin bottle.

  Will there be enough?

  One by one I count them out. 72?

  Need more to be on the safe side.

  Rummaging around I add another 30.

  That should do it.

  Take the first two with a glass of water.

  Feel better. Go back to bed. Fall asleep.

  Early-Morning Poems

  (i)

  Got up

  did my toilet:

  Washed

  Shaved

  Combed hair

  My toilet looks much nicer now.

  (ii)

  Got up

  Had shave

  Did Times crossword

  Had another shave.

  Shavings Account

  ‘Not to put too fine a point on it,’

  Said the Bank Manager, pushing my finger

  Into the desk-top pencil-sharpener,

  ‘But you have a larger overdraft

  Than I had given you credit for.’

  He turned the handle. Turned the screw.

  ‘Sorry, there’s nothing we ca
n do.

  Business is business, we need our pound of flesh.

  Next finger please. Put it in and… PUSH…’

  Prayer to Saint Grobianus

  The patron saint of coarse people

  Intercede for us dear saint we beseech thee

  We fuzzdutties and cullions

  Dunderwhelps and trollybags

  Lobcocks and loobies.

  On our behalf seek divine forgiveness for

  We puzzlepates and pigsconces

  Ninnyhammers and humgruffins

  Gossoons and clapperdudgeons.

  Have pity on we poor wretched sinners

  We blatherskites and lopdoodles

  Lickspiggots and clinchpoops

  Quibberdicks and Quakebuttocks.

  Free us from the sorrows of this world

  And grant eternal happiness in the next

  We snollygosters and gundyguts

  Gongoozlers and groutheads

  Ploots, quoobs, lurds and swillbellies.

  As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,

  World without end. OK?

  Fired with Enthusiasm

  This morning

  the boss

  came into work

  bursting

  with enthusiasm

  and fired everybody

  In Case of Fire

  In case of FIRE break glass

  In case of GLASS fill with water

  In case of WATER wear heavy boots

  In case of HEAVY BOOTS assume foetal position

  In case of FOETAL POSITION loosen clothing

  In case of CLOTHING avoid nudist beach

  In case of NUDIST BEACH keep sand out of eyes

  In case of EYES close curtains

  In case of CURTAINS switch on light

  In case of LIGHT embrace truth

  In case of TRUTH spread word

  In case of WORD keep mum

  In case of MUM open arms

  In case of ARMS lay down gun

  In case of GUN, fire

  In case of FIRE break glass.

  Vague Assumptions

  I assume that the fire started before

  the fire-brigade arrived

  I assume that the neighbours did not put on pyjamas

  and nightdresses to go out into the street

  I assume that the woman is not in hysterics

  because the policeman has his arms around her

  I assume that the suicide note left by the arsonist

  will not be found among the ashes

  I assume that the siren’s wail has nothing to do

  with the unhappiness of the ambulance

  I assume that continentals drive on the right

  because foreign cars have the steering-wheel on the left

  I assume that wing mirrors are a godsend

  to angels who care about good grooming

  I assume that to a piece of flying glass

  one eye is as good as another

  I assume that if the sun wasn’t there for the earth to revolve around

  there would be fewer package holidays

  I assume that a suitcase becomes heavy

  only when lifted

  I assume that water boils

  only when the bubbles tell it to

  I assume that because the old lady died

  the operation to save her life as a baby had not been successful

  I assume that the bundle of rags asleep in Harrods’ doorway

  is not queueing for the January sales

  I assume that the people waiting in line for the DSS to open,

  do not work there

  I assume that the people lying on the floor of the bank

  are not taking it easy

  I assume that the hooded figure wielding a gun at the counter

  is not opening an account

  I assume that to claim the reward

  one must hand over the kitten

  I assume that the shopping-trolley on the beach

  has not been washed ashore from a deep-sea supermarket

  I assume that to achieve wisdom

  one must arrive after the event

  I assume that by the time you read this

  I will have written it.

  It’s a Jungle Out There

  On leaving the house you’d best say a prayer

  Take my advice and don’t travel by train

  As Tarzan said to Jane, ‘It’s a jungle out there.’

  I’m not a man who will easily scare

  But I’d rather lick maggots than get on a plane.

  On leaving the house you’d best say a prayer.

  Skateboards are lethal on top of a stair

  A broken back means you’ll not walk again

  As Tarzan said to Jane, ‘It’s a jungle out there.’

  When the sky turns purple better beware

  Bacillus on the breeze and acid in the rain

  On leaving the house you’d best say a prayer.

  Avoid beef like the plague or your plague will be rare

  Alcopops slowly eat away the brain

  As Tarzan said to Jane, ‘It’s a jungle out there.’

  Don’t drink the water and don’t breathe the air

  For the sake of the children repeat the refrain:

  On leaving the house you’d best say a prayer

  As Tarzan said to Jane, ‘It’s a jungle out there.’

  Flight Path (9/11)

  A nice day for breakfast outside. Well-practised,

  by now, birds sing out the end of summer.

  On the wall, a marmalade sphinx, unblinking

  doesn’t miss a twitch in the garden.

  In a hurry for Heathrow and bored,

  a 747 scratches its dirty fingernails

  down the clearblue, blameless sky.

  We wince, the birds, the cat and I.

  ***

  Across the pond, excited at the prospect ahead

  they are up at first light and praying. The drive

  out to Logan will be uneventful. At check-in

  a girl will thank them and smile: ‘Have a nice day.’

  Don’t Read All About It

  He’s there everyday on the corner,

  the Bad News Vendor. The latest editions

  hot off the press, the blood not yet dry.

  The headlines scream again of murder.

  A six-year-old girl. Part of a city. A small

  civilization. In vain, he cries out:

  ‘Don’t read all about it! Don’t read all about it!’

  Survivor

  Everyday

  I think about dying.

  About disease, starvation,

  violence, terrorism, war,

  the end of the world.

  It helps keep my mind off things.

  Everyday Eclipses

  The hamburger flipped across the face of the bun

  The frisbee winning the race against its own shadow

  The cricket ball dropping for six in front of the church clock

  On a golden plate, a host of communion wafers

  The brown contact lens sliding across the blue iris

  The palming of small change

  Everyday eclipses.

  Out of the frying pan, the tossed pancake orbits the Chinese lampshade

  The water bucket echoing into the well

  The black, snookering the cue ball against the green baize

  The winning putt on the eighteenth

  The tiddlywink twinkling toward the tiddlycup

  Everyday eclipses.

  Neck and neck in the hot-air balloon race

  Holding up her sign, the lollipop lady blots out the Belisha beacon

  The foaming tankard thumped onto the beermat

  The plug into the plughole

  In the fruit bowl, the orange rolls in front of the peach

  Every day eclipses another day.

  Goodbye bald patch, Hello yarmulke

  A sombrero
tossed into the bullring

  Leading the parade, the big bass drum, we hear cymbals but cannot see them

  One eclipse eclipses another eclipse.

  To the cold, white face, the oxygen mask

  But too late

  One death eclipses another death.

  The baby’s head, the mother’s breast

  The open O of the mouth seeking the warm O of the nipple

  One birth eclipses another birth

  Everyday eclipses.

  The End

  What I love about everyday

  is the touch wood at bumping into one

  What I hate about one

  is bone, the finger pointing towards death

  What I love about death

  is the No, No, No, No it joyfully eclipses

  What I hate about eclipses

  is that one extinction may encourage another

  What I love about another

  is the hoary chestnut shared in the face of death

  What I hate about death

  is the lack of rehearsal time to perfect one

  What I love about one

  is lone, it begins and ends open-mouthed at birth

  What I hate about birth

  is the back-log of stars it invariably eclipses

  What I love about eclipses

  is the sure-as-eggs that one leads to another

  What I hate about another

  is the alter ego we might have been at birth