[John Whitworth]

Michael, you weren't familiar with the MacNeice poem. One of the GREAT poems of the twentieth century. Anyone else not familiar with it? Get familiar. At once. Look at this.

The glass is falling every day.
The glass will fall for ever.
But if you break the bloody glass
You won't hold up the weather.

The glass is a barometer if you didn't know. What a quatrain! And the thers are just as good. Genius! Sheer genius! Did Auden himself ever write better?

[Michael Cantor]

John, I came very late to the game, and you could fill an excellent library with the poetry books I haven't read. But thanks for the MacNiece lead - will follow.

[Shaun J. Russell]

I, too, must admit that I didn't catch the MacNiece reference. I'll rectify that immediately...and will keep a lookout for his collected works.

[Allen Tice]

I'm currently near the Okeefenokee Swamp in Florida researching the whichness of what, but on surfacing for a moment, I had to say that I think that this is probably one of the most attractive pieces I know of by this Winnebago tribe writer. Is it light? Is it sardonic? Does it pay homage to MacNiece? Does it stand on its own? Does the author drive a Hummer and smoke cigars? Is it a winner? Only you can say, because there are some things I will never speak of. I still like it.

[W.F. Lantry]

Originally Posted by John Whitworth

The glass is a barometer if you didn't know. What a quatrain!

Um, not to detract from the brilliance of the thing, and no offense intended, but it's actually a couplet...

http://www.cpdl.org/wiki/index.php/B...ence_Hughes%29

http://www.snap-dragon.com/poetryp2.html

http://kellyrfineman.blogspot.com/20...ry-friday.html

Thanks,

Bill

[Mary Meriam]

Originally Posted by Allen Tice

I'm currently near the Okeefenokee Swamp in Florida researching the whichness of what

This is Allen Tice.

[John Whitworth]

You're right, Bill. It looked the wrong shape. But I follow Chesterton's example. Always misquote from memory and never check it.

Ah Michael, but this is not just any old poem. This is Louis MacNeice's poem. Drink and women fuelled his muse. And the BBC who paid him.

[Marybeth Rua-Larsen]

Originally Posted by Michael Cantor

I don't have any problems consdering this as light verse. It's funny and bouncy, and if it's also mordant - so? So is Edward Gorey. And many others.

Yes...I'm a big Edward Gorey fan and macabre humor in general. This isn't macabre, exactly, but it certainly has that dark kind of humor and is a major reason this was my top pick. And it just bounces right along...

Marybeth

[Quincy Lehr]

Thanks to all who commented, and to John for selecting it. This poem was able to spread some dissension and perhaps even mild rancor, for which I'm profoundly grateful. All in a day's work.

I don't think I've ever written anything that would be likely to show up in the pages of Light magazine. My sense of humor probably tends to run in a more mordant direction than most "light verse," but I don't think that's a bad thing.

Miserablist that I am, I've never really seen a contradiction between a generally pessimistic view of the world and a sense of humor, particularly to a sense of humor that goes for the uncomfortable chuckle and a bit of squirminess rather than the outright guffaw. Which was what drew me to the MacNeice poem that provided a model for this one.

But only in a sense, I think. As John says, there's no direct reference to "Bagpipe Music" here. And, indeed, part of that poem's appeal to me was, quite simply, its ability to be at once utterly absurd yet paint a picture that's at least vaguely depressing and set a mood, at least, that's quite coherent. So it was mostly a matter of borrowing some techniques, throwing in detritus that was distinctly American and contemporary, and running with it. (Incidentally, the poem reached its current form in Ireland, and the posted version reveals that I submitted in haste after rather half-assedly Americanizing spellings and punctuation.)

Van Halen is an American hard rock band, for those who don't know, and William Montgomery ("William Montgomery," "William Montgomery's Guide to New York City," and this poem) and Katie ("William Montgomery," "The Bride of Christ," "Triptych," and this one) are recurrent characters in my stuff. Yes, you have to know my work at least somewhat well to know the latter, but most of those poems are available in chapbook or book form, and aside from a short section with Katie in "Heimat," all of the poems in which they've appeared are published and mostly relatively accessible. (The exception is the as-yet-unpublished forty-five-page "Heimat," and I'm working on getting that one into print.) I'm mostly phasing them out, but William may be due a cameo in something at some point.

Quincy

[Allen Tice]

My miserablist acquaintance, too well do I think I sense some of the reasons for your miserablism, and I can't change them --- nor, since I have passed through the Age of Anxiety, can I do much more than recall their cognates, which I do. With myself, often "cheerfulness keeps breaking in" -- or at least it tries to when it's not being stamped on.

(Anyway, so what if there is "no exit" as Jim Morrison said : something is watching the show, even if it is only you. How can that be?...)

When feeling very mordant, take two hot chocolates, and call your reflexologist in the morning.

As to MacNeice, whose fascinating work you know at least as well as if not far better than I, do you think this might be a friendly jeer at "The Wasteland" of T. Stearns Eliot?

John MacDonald found a corpse, put it under the sofa,
Waited till it came to life and hit it with a poker,
Sold its eyes for souvenirs, sold its blood for whiskey,
Kept its bones for dumbbells to use when he was fifty.