Speccie Political Verse by 3rd July
 

A splendid set of winners in the Ascot races with Brian Allgar deservedly a nose in front. Bill Greenwell and I were among the placed. I was remarkably bucked. My first win of the year! And no snobbery, at least from we three!

This looks a very good competition. Come on you furriners. Give us Obama's sonnet, Gillard's Elegy.

No. 2754: political verse
You are invited to submit an example from the Selected Poems of a contemporary politician (16 lines maximum). Please email entries, where possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 3 July.

Hi John

There must be some inspiration from Romney's time at Bain Capital and his three-car garage with the elevator for the limousines. . . . :rolleyes:

Chris

From the Collected B. Obama
(thanks to John's "The Examiners")

When they're bailing on you left and right and you only see their bums,
You long for chums.
When you've told your Chi-Town corner thugs to: "Shake down all your mums!"
You long for chums,
When Holder's nose gets longer every time he flaps his gums,
When Rev. Wright just won't do right, though you've broken both his thumbs,
When MSNBC gets Rev. Al to beat your drums,
You long for chums, you long for chums, you long for chums.

When 'Chelle takes up the jump rope and hides your cigarettes,
It's Nicorettes.
When you're shaking and you're jumpy and so tense you kick your pets,
It's Nicorettes.
When you mooch at VFW's some ciggies from the Vets,
When the hand shake from your smoke free friend is flaccid as it gets,
When a Lucky Strike across a room confounds you with regrets,
It's Nicorettes, It's Nicorettes, It's Nicorettes.

Nice to see such an international flavour to the ideas for entries. Parochially English as ever, I am going to opt for John Prescott, the language mangling former Labour Deputy Prime Minister famed for his gluttony, his 2 Jags and his hypocrisy in accepting hounours.

But I hope you'll also be saying something bad about him, Adrian.

Too bad it can't be more than sixteen lines. I've got Romney's villanelle!

John, 've done Prescott many times before - won a New Statesman comp with a Prescott love poem once. Alas, I keep no copies of my work or I could send that in again - at least a decade has passed.

Although Prescott is in many respects awful, he is one of the last characters in Brit politics. Who, after all, could do Nick Clegg, Cameron or Mililililibland? There's nothing to get hold of but a sort of interchangeable management speak in any of their styles.

I did Tony Blair once. Does he count? After all, he's still alive and lying. And then there's Broon. And I think one could confect a Michael Gove. There are more characters than you think. Of course Enoch Powell and Lord Hailsham actually WROTE poetry.

Here's Tone.

An Ode to the British People

I’m so sorry, oh so sorry, I’m so very, very sorry.
No-one else could feel the pain I do.
There’s no language I can borrow for the sharpness of my sorrow
For the sorry things I did to you.

Oh I wish I hadn’t done them. No I never should have done them,
But I did them and I can’t say more.
I deplore them and I rue them and I wish I could undo them
Which I think is what I said before.

You’re so caring, you’re so clever, if you ever, ever, ever
Could endeavour to forgive me, then
What a wonder would our life be, how harmonious and strife-free,
For I’ll never be as bad again!

Well of course, my little treasures, my remorse is beyond measure,
And I’m sorrier than I can say.
And, my ickle-pickle poppets, should you just contrive to drop it
I’ll be sorry till my dying day,

John Prescott

Because obviously – and we can all share our differential opinions on this –
Love. I mean, take my Pauline, for instance, else both or either of the Jags,
I can’t imagine life without them; no more the smoker could his fags
But there’s evidentially more to it than just things you’re going to miss.

Because actually – not unwithstanding what the cynics either side may say –
Love. For God or country, for exemplar, or, as in my case, decent scran,
Proper pies, chips in beef dripping – such things as made me who I am,
The stuff that gives life flavour with their savour, what that be it may may.

Because naturally – and I speak for the vast minority in this country in saying so -
Love. I mean, yes, a sexual dimension, that buxom leather trousered lass
As once could bring me to attention with just one joggle of that ass,
But not just her, no, all those filibusted girls the young men want to know.

Because absolutely – and I think I can say that without fear of contravention –
Love. All you need, the Beatles reckoned, and, I mean, who’s going to quibble?
With poets and whatnot backing them up, my tuppenceworth seems drivel.
Pretentious, moi? Perhaps I am; just thought it something I should mention.

If I don't misremember, George Dubya Bush provided loads of inspiration for this outing. But I guess he's not contemporary.

Could you make it into a villanette?

Marion, I think it might be OK to count Bush as a "contemporary politician." The definition of that term is admittedly a bit fuzzy around the edges. But if Tony Blair and John Prescott fit the profile, even though neither of them holds elective office at the moment, then W might also fit.

(Perhaps my information on Prescott is out of date. He's got a seat in the House of Lords, but isn't he now, or hasn't he recently been, a candidate for something else?)

In the interest of bi-partisanship:


Oh Gee! Oh Me! I've made it to the top!
(I saved my special kiss for Camera Two.)
It's true: they need me. (May they never stop!)
So, here am I, all dewy in the loo.

I'll win! I'll shine! With fair unblemished skin
I'll slice our taxes like a bearded Jew.
I'll crack Barack (since I've never known a sin)
Just see my teeth--that's all you have to do.

I procreated like a crazy man
and now my sons--they chatter like me too.
After a Romney quarter century span
The Times can kiss the backside of a gnu.

Now if I can just unlock this thing...
I'll bet the lock's Chinese, some sneaky Woo.
They're sabotaging me! I'm George, The King!
I won't get down and crawl through common poo!

Prescott wants to be a local Police Chief. Blair wants to be President of Europe. Why not? Fit him like a glove I'd say.

And here's Michael Gove. Note to furriners. He is just as I describe.

I'm Gove

I'm Gove and I'm bright as a button.
I'm Gove and I'm Scotch as the drink.
With a swing of my kilt I can prove to the hilt
Whatever I want you to think.

I'm Gove and I'm loud as the thunder.
I'm Gove and a cabinet star.
Though some say that Gove is a rum sort of cove,
I'm the fellow who wins the cigar.

I'm Gove and I'm right as a trivet.
I'm Gove and I go with the flow.
I'm abreast with what's what, I'm one hell of a swot
And there' s nothing at all I don't know.

I'm Gove and I'm happy as Larry.
I'm Gove and I'm clever as clever.
Why, my pants are so smarty, the whole Tory Party
Will make me their leader for ever.

In the interests of balance, Gove has a laugh like a sea-lion.

Darn it, mine's several million lines too long:

The King Gove Bible

1 In the beginning Gove created the heaven and the earth.
2 And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of Gove moved upon the face of the waters.
3 And Gove said, Let there be light: and there was light.
4 And Gove saw the light, that it was good: and Gove divided the light from the darkness. etc etc

Michael Gove

My poem is too new to be a classic,
Though its author is a male, white and rich,
But if I appoint some right wing geriatrics
It should make the syllabus without a hitch.

My poem is traditional, if modern,
Containing Latin tags and thees and thous
And all the other guff that's been forgotten
In a bid to make poems relevant to now.

My poem will just suit a chap at Eton,
He'll get the references or crib them from a chum.
It'll leave the comprehensive oiks well beaten
So let Gove become a classic, bang the drum!

Vince Cable

A business question needs an answer?
Consult this consummate old dancer -
But, if you really want the figures,
No miked-up hacks, or dirty diggers,
Or claims you caught me sticking needles
In models of the Barclay tweedles!

Nor, though the Bird is far from perky
And in the polls appears a turkey,
Sly hints that ultimate survival
Demands I stand as open rival
To coalition curate's eggery,
That toxic orange cocktail, Cleggery!

.

Where are my fellow Americans? Pony up here, Marion and Bob, Chris et alii. Let all your vitriol out in numbers.

Well, Lance, you know how it is in England. We find world events a bit parochial.

Lance, I don't do politics. Too depressing.

I don't think entries for this comp need by all that political. I can imagine a good entry might be a love poem by George W Bush, with all his customary mangling of language. Or how about some doggerel about the life of a hockey mom from Sarah Palin?

Adrian, those are words of wisdom. What about an Emily Dickinson by Angela Merkel?

Then in France, of course, there's Le Pen with his "National Front". The problem would be finding a suitable rhyme ...

Does anyone else here read The Nation? Calvin Trillin has been "Deadline Poet" there for years. He’s not exactly a poet, but he can be very funny about politicos. And his "verse" has been collected in several books. For inspiration one might read: "Obliviously On He Sails: The Bush Administration in Rhyme." There are some samples on Amazon.

He's also written some ditties on Sarah Palin! (Wish I could.)

Charlotte

I think the real problem with this comp. is that the dullards we wish to lampoon are incapable of the neat phrases we'd love them to commit to their own disadvantage. Witness these two of mine....

BROAD THOUGHTS FROM AT HOME

I’d not much travelled, though I’d oft been told
Of many goodly states and kingdoms high;
Round western allies I was sent to fly
Which ‘aid’ in fealty to old NATO hold.
Oft of one wide expanse of liquid gold,
That ‘big-tached’ Saddam ruled as his own spread,
I’d heard - yet never did I hear it said
We’d rule it, till Perle spoke out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of stocks’ highs
When first an Enron climbs into his ken,
Or like Macarthur when, with power crazed eyes,
He ’cross the Yallu stared - and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise -
Yet knew their President was still sane - then.

(With apologies to John Keats)



‘FUTUROUS PROSPECTIVES’

When I have fears my rule may cease to be
Before my jumbled mouth has joined my brain,
Before stockpiles of arms and weaponry,
Reveal the scope of all I’d like to reign;
When I behold, upon Don Rumsfeld’s face
’Neath clouded brows, that hunted glance,
And think that we may not escape disgrace
For buying, with men’s blood, commercial chance;
And when I feel, Blair, ally of dark hours,
That I shall not have you to sucker more,
Nor have such smokescreen for our greedy powers
Of spectrum dominance; then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone and know
That power and guile, to judgement one day go.

(With apologies to John Keats)

Fun, I think,... but Dubya would never have penned them - not even after post-pretzel first aid.

Nigel

What can ail thee, Dubya, alone and palely loitering! Good shot, Nigel.

Not to detract form Nigel's Bush-whacker, but here's a note to John : Without my morning coffee I linked into Amazon to find and purchase the much lauded U]Girlie Gangs[/u] and nearly bought, in my semi-somnambulance, the following item:

Rational Root Canal Treatment in Practice by John M. Whitworth.

Caveat emptor!

Ah Lance, I've been wondering what to call my NEXT book.

Also... there's one's huge back-log of Blairiana - which I suppose wont count since he is now called to spend his time communing with all the other Gods of the Middle East! Still, I love the excuse to off-load some...

SHADOW MAN

I had a lot of MPs who went in and out with me,
And what could be the use of them was more than I could see.
I pretended to be like them in most every kind of way;
And they followed on behind me though I led them far astray.

The funniest thing about them is the way they liked to fight -
Not at all like proper people, which is always to the Right;
For they sometimes were so perverse and of States-side sense bereft,
That they sometimes read red speeches and then led off to the Left.

They hadn’t got a notion of how MPs ought to go,
And could only make a fool of me at every US show.
They learned, and stayed behind me, for they’re cowards you can see;
I’d think shame to stick to voters as those Members stuck to me!

One polling day, quite early, in the midst of my ‘nth’ war,
I'll rise and find the faithful pews less faithful than before;
For those nasty little voters, will leave them to their fates,
And no one's left behind me, neither MPs nor the States.

(With apologies to Robert Louis Stevenson)


... but the thing I most regret about that one is that the ruddy shadows remained shadows to the bitter end! And now... after Steve Bell has reduced Cameron to a condom, well - words do tend to fail one.

Nigel

Nigel, I can't see why Blair would be disqualified. They ask for "contemporary" politicians, which is not the same as "current" or "active". I hope I'm right, otherwise my entries are destined for the S-bend of competition history.

Certainly Blair should not be disqualified. In today's Daily Mail he says he'd like to be Prime Minister again and it was only bloody Brown who cused him to go and sentence us to the mad Scotsman's rule.

Nigel, why exactly is Cameron a condom? I could understand Steve Bell supposing he was a prick.

Maybe because he's the "coming" man, but his seedy ideas are unlikely to reach fruition?