[Duncan Gillies MacLaurin]

to be sung to the melody of “Tangled Up in Blue”


I was from the western coast
at Scotland’s very heart.
You were from the eastern coast
in Jutland’s northern part.
You gave me my new direction.
I would give you yours.
It was like there was a deep connection
between our distant shores.
We soon became each other’s mate,
both documentarists.
I believed that it was fate,
an’ you believed in twists. Our lives began,
Mrs MacLovely Ann.

That was the name the others gave you
working with safety at sea.
Though someone had to come an’ save you
when you fell down suddenly.
You’d nothin’ but the highest praise
for the fishermen you met.
Not once in all your many days
did you perceive a threat.
You were the only woman around.
They cherished you because
you'd instantly become renowned.
They understood there was no one better than
Mrs MacLovely Ann.

L12 was: ...none better than

When you turned to writing thrillers,
a fisherman was the one
who shrugged off all the psycho killers
with no need of a gun.
You wished I’d translated that,
but I never found the time
because I’m a) a lazy cat,
an’ b) obsessed with rhyme.
I somehow doubt you’d ever find
me wanting. You’d prefer
I followed what was on my mind.
The truth is that we were each other’s fan,
Mrs MacLovely Ann.

You never listened to Bob Dylan.
I admired him so.
To you, he was a snarling villain.
For me, he was Li Po.
Pink Floyd, the Jam, Dire Straits, the Cure –
you always felt they sucked,
while I was always pretty sure
without them, I’d be fucked.
We both enjoyed a bit of Runrig,
Leonard Cohen, Sting,
but most of all we just had one big
blast with everything. We had no plan,
Mrs MacLovely Ann.

One day you said a proper Dane
would build his house himself.
I’d rather make a daisy chain
than fit a bloody shelf.
It took ten years to renovate
the villa that we’d bought,
an’ then you told me, far too late,
it wasn’t as you’d thought.
“In fact,” you said, “it was a Finn
I meant.” I said, “I see.
Well, maybe Danes should now begin,
inspired by such as me, your handyman,
Mrs MacLovely Ann.”

We mellowed in our later years.
You were still divine.
I never quite stopped drinking beers,
but you stopped drinking wine.
We used to walk. It kept us trim.
We lived close to the beach,
an’ in the summer we’d both swim.
You’d write, an’ I would teach.
We got a dog, quadruple-crossed,
so full of love an’ grace
we gradually kind of lost
all interest in the race that others ran,
Mrs MacLovely Ann.

L9-11 were:
We got a dog, quadruple-crossed
an’ full of love an’ grace,
an’ gradually we kind of lost

It’s been a while since you been gone.
It hurts me every day.
I write my songs an’ carry on.
There is no other way.
I’m not afraid to show my grief.
It’s just because I care.
It sometimes brings me some relief
to know you’re somehow there.
You told me that you always knew
you’d come back home to die
even before the news came through.
You taught me I ought to try the best I can,
Mrs MacLovely Ann.