ONE 8 • Poetspace

In the beginning was the Word,
somebody added an I
and all hell broke loose
—Peter Porter, from Cross Stitch

enjoy, link, but no copying. ©2009

Photography of Andy Warhol, Michael Wisenhunt, John Sex, Javier, International Crisis, Rebecca Field, The Warhol Skull, Leigh Bowery, John Kelley, Betsy Johnson, Marcus Leatherdale, Cirque du Soleil, Mark Garbarino Madonna and Keith Haring by Marcus Leatherdale

Poets: Peter Porter, Kevin Cadwallender, Robert Burns, Lord Alfred Douglas, Lord Gawain Douglas, Mary Folliet, Peter McCarey, Marilyn Chiat, John Calder, Angus Peter Campbell, Judith Taylor, Ken Abrams

Colouring in Guernica
— Kevin Cadwallander
Take out your books and brains
You are going to experience art
whether you want to or not.
Well it’s bit dull but it’s only
a photograph of a painting.
And a black and white one at that,
I bet the colours are spectacular like Gaudi
Yes, Gaudi’s the one whose buildings
look like melted candles in the Tapas bar
on Gray Street, He was Italian or Spanish and
dead I think. Was that a cathedral?
I thought it was a painting!
What’s it called? funny name,
The Sagrada Family something or other.
I’ve got it, well not it,
No, a postcard, from my ex
Unfinished really (not my ex he’s finished)
A bit of a building site not like ours
No, not like ours…
Here are the felt tips and
For those of you who aren’t allowed felt tips
Because of the spontaneous graffiti project
workshop we had in last week and the incident in
the corridor washable pens and Crayons.
Now then pay attention
we are here to learn something.
Let’s imagine what colours Picasso used
In colouring in his famous painting, Guernica
Obviously it’s about War
And War as you will all know is a bad thing
And none of you must start one,
Use lots of red and orange
Here is the blue in case
you want sky but we have run out of yellow
But that’s okay because we don’t need sunshine
today. Ignore the lightbulb in the top left comer
of the picture let’s pretend it’s not switched on.
I will order more yellow soon.
Try not to draw both eyes on the side like Picasso
because it’s silly and we don’t look like that.

You don’t need to know anything about art to
teach it, my boyfriend is a painter … and decorator
Last week we had fun and education
Joining the dot to dots
on Starry starry night by Don McLean
And drawing alien arms
on the Venus Di Milo by Leonardo Di Caprio.

Now children. you see this man here
Impersonating Edward Munch s ‘The Scream’
He is our visitor today and he will teach you
Everything there is to know about poetry
He doesn’t have a real job like me
And his name is Kevin.

A Man’s A Man
For A’ That
— Robert Burns
Is there for honest Poverty
That hings his head, an’ a’ that;
The coward slave-we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that.
Our toils obscure an’ a’ that,
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp,
The Man’s the gowd for a’ that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, an’ a that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
A Man’s a Man for a’ that:
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Their tinsel show, an’ a’ that;
The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor,
Is king o’ men for a’ that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca’d a lord,
Wha struts, an’ stares, an’ a’ that;
Tho’ hundreds worship at his word,
He’s but a coof for a’ that:
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
His ribband, star, an’ a’ that:
The man o’ independent mind
He looks an’ laughs at a’ that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an’ a’ that;
But an honest man’s abon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Their dignities an’ a’ that;

The pith o’ sense, an’ pride o’ worth,
Are higher rank than a’ that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
(As come it will for a’ that,)
That Sense and Worth, o’er a’ the earth,
Shall bear the gree, an’ a’ that.
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
It’s coming yet for a’ that,
That Man to Man, the world o’er,
Shall brothers be for a’ that.

Burns’ Glossary: For a’ that – For all that; hings – hangs; guinea stamp – a postage stamp worth a guinea; gowd – gold; hamely – homely; hoddin’ grey – coarse, spun grey wool; gie – give; tho’ e’er sae – though ever so; yon – yonder, that; birkie – energetic, spirited man (particularly a young man); ca’d – called; wha – who; coof – fool, idiot; mak – make; belted knight – wearing of belt was a mark of distinction in knights; marquis – rank in European monarchies, below a Duke and above an Earl; abon – above, higher than; Gude – good; maunna fa’ – mustn’t fault; bear the gree – take first place, excel – the motto of the Bearsden area of Glasgow.

The Dead Poet
—Lord Alfred Douglas ‘Bosie’
I dreamed of him last night, I saw his face
All radiant and unshadowed of distress,
And as of old, in music measureless,
I heard his golden voice and marked him trace
Under the common thing the hidden grace,
And conjure wonder out of emptiness,
Till mean things put on beauty like a dress
And all the world was an enchanted place.

And then methought outside a fast locked gate
I mourned the loss of unrecorded words,
Forgotten tales and mysteries half said,
Wonders that might have been articulate,
And voiceless thoughts like murdered singing birds.
And so I woke and knew that he was dead.

Written by Lord Alfred Douglas upon the death of his lover, Oscar Wilde. Reprinted with the permission of the Estate of Lord Alfred Douglas.

—Lord Gawain Douglas
The old ladies at the bus stop were dead.
They didn’t know it of course
And would have said
Had it been mentioned
‘What nonsense that young man talks.’
But it was true
And I knew
But didn’t say,
Just read their faces,
Wrote this down instead.

Gawain Douglas is the younger son of Francis,
the 11th Marquess of Queensberry and
the great nephew of Lord Alfred Douglas.

Au-Delà Burning with Desire

— Mary Folliet

“Thus with me began Love & Poesy.”
Robert Burns

We begin again & once more sing
the necessary old songs
& celebrate love’s hope,
poetry’s promise.
In this troubled age
“Auld Lang Syne”
is as now as any
longing for long ago
& tomorrow’s prospect.

Mary Folliet is a contributing editor to ONE Magazine, and collage artist,
showing regularly at Gallery 225, New York City

— Peter McCarey
I am the good leopard
Peppered with spots
The shepherd has salted away
His flocks

For My Love
– Marilyn Chiat
Like a halo
It glows
With an unearthly
That defies
But I see it
In the darkness
Of everlasting
A beacon calling
Out to me
I’m here my love

Back to the Drawing Board
— Gawain Douglas
OK, if I was God
This is what I’d do
First pluck out all the traffic signs
Then the motorways too.

I’d have a good old Godly fit
Like Jehovah of old
Rend asunder the bank vaults
Melt down and reclaim the gold.

I’d blow up all the factories
The churches and the towers
Replacing them swiftly
With birdsong, trees and flowers.

And lastly I’d eradicate
A virus I called man.
Daft experiment.
Make another plan.

The Scales
—John Calder
Take the poetry and art,
take the music and the thought,
all the best that is man’s past
and lay it down upon the scale.
Not bad the weight, it’s pretty too:
it would fetch a lot in any sale.

Upon the other scale now place
the misery we must endure
that’s common to the human race,
the malice and the evil pure,
and watch how quickly down it goes;
no art can weigh as much as woes.
Terminus Nord, 31st Oct 1999

Up Periscope
— Peter McCarey

(for David Mach)
Ethane methane propane butane
Ethyl Methil Fife. So this would be
A snug in the East Neuk (would that be right?)
And on my left the drab would have to be Ethel,
Ethel the Tart.
There’s times you surface
Like a burst mains through a pavement,
And fall apart like an old stockpile of re-treads.
Serves you right
For getting methylated for a start. I’m a dab hand, but,
At making it look like a master stroke. Though what’s this?
Some kind of posh ted footering with a cigarette machine
(I mean cigarettes? In a pub?)
Two bears behind him. A bit too close.
He decides he’s leaving with or without his fags and
squeezes past them.
One of them shouts at the back of his head
Your submarine was shite!

Moving: Down a One-Way Street
— Ricia Perry
Boxes and Boxes and Boxes
Stuff and Nonsense is All
Sore Back
Sore Arms
Sore Wallet
Go East Grown Woman
Here Comes the Sun

Am Bàta
—Aonghas Phadraig Caimbeul
“Thig anmoch agus fàg tràth”:
Dàibhidh Mamet — ‘Air Stiùireadh Fiolm’.

ge brith
am bàta

tha thu
air bòrd.

an taobh biorach
a’ dol tro na stuaghan
agus an taobh reamhar
ga leantainn.

solas uaine priobadh

gu deas
fear dearg gu clì
agus thusa air bòrd
eadar dà phort.

The Boat
—Angus Peter Campbell
“Arrive late and leave early”:
David Mamet — ‘On Directing Film’

the boat

you are
on board.

the sharp end
going through the waves
and the fat end
following it.

a green light flashing
a red one left

and you on board
between two ports.

– Judith Taylor
I had a secret
in those days: one I thought

it would be cruel of me
to carry into your life.

But I brought it anyway.
My heart was like the owl face

at the center of the apple;
or the chemistry

in a cannonball
hauled up from the sea, a

that would detonate
at the least touch.

I long to be innocuous.
I kept concealed

my beaked, clawed
shrapnel-spitting love.

In the Pool
— Ken Abrams
In the pool,
where I had once swum a mile of laps,
I was startled to discover
that my back still hurt.

In my teen years,
I regularly went off
fifteen-foot boards,
frightened more by the climb up
than the pluge down.

Now, sixty years later,
walking in the shallows,
suspended in the deeps,
expecting rejuvenation
in the water that had sustained me
for a lifetime,
my back hurt.

Hating indoor pools,
zank and smelly,
I readied myself for
ten days of southern sun
and spiritual revival
that came with swimming,
when I discovered that,
even in the pool,
my back hurt.

Partial list of Scottish poets (full list on — John Calder is a publisher, essayist and poet. Through Calder Books he brought us such eminent and controversial writers as Samuel Beckett, William Burroughs, Marguerite Duras and Hubert Selby Jr. • Kevin Cadwallender lives in Edinburgh. His BBC Radio 4 programme ‘Voyages’ was shortlisted for a Sony Award in 2006. His latest collection of poetry, Dances with Vowels, was released earlier this year. Unpublished poetry is available at cadwallenderk.blogspot.comAngus Peter Campbell (Aonghas Phàdraig Caimbeul) was born in South Uist and now lives on the Isle of Skye. His novel An Oidhche mus do Sheòl Sinn, published in 2004, was voted one of the Top Ten of the Best-Ever Books Written in Scotland in The List magazine. His latest poetry collection Meas air Chrannaibh/Fruit on Bra(i)nches (2007) features poetry in Gaelic, Scots and English. • Peter McCarey was born in Paisley and now lives in Switzerland, working as the Head of Language Services at the World Health Organisation. McCarey’s magnum opus is The Syllabary – a digital poetry project over ten years in the making – which can be viewed online at The Syllabary 3.0 will launch at the Scottish Poetry Library this autumn. • Judith Taylor was born in Perthshire and now lives in Aberdeen. Following the release of her first chapbook, Earthlight, in 2006 she appeared at the StAnza Poetry Festival in 2007 and her work has since been published in the anthology Skein of Geese: poems from the 100 Poets Gathering at StAnza 2007 edited by Eleanor Livingstone.

Special Thanks: Mary Folliet, NYC; Eleanor Livingstone, Artistic Director: StAnza, Scotland’s International Poetry Festival.

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