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Poetry Magnum Opus

Boola boola


dedalus
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Womble wingle, plural single,

Halloo, halla, hello! When I talk to

The Hollybocks among the rocks,

They chorus “Dinga, dingle”.

 

Such upright poise and cheerful noise!

Then I walk along (as I know you do)

and burst into a sudden song

Concerning the wake of Dublin Fingal.

 

Ballyboo, ballyram.

And thank you, thank you, ma’am!

Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho!!

I think I’m coming down with flu.

 

In a world of uncertain make believe

We sometimes receive

Unexpected blessings

 

Like holy water upon your head

When hope is sped

In the arid desert

 

And all other things forgotten

(Too bad about Johnny Rotten.)

 

I remember all the girls,

So pretty pretty pretty

But the first I can never recollect.

 

The people seem drunk within the fields

Using black umbrellas as moral shields:

The Irish, I think, are displaced Polynesians,

 

Living under low grey skies

And always prey to the wind and rain,

But the people amazingly cheerful.

 

In Nepal, one is overwhelmed

By the towering mountains,

So pure and tall and white ;

 

In India, one is overwhelmed

By the chattering people,

So eager to be recognized.

 

The Afghans couldn’t give a damn.

 

Japan is something different.

It is very strange, with queer

Sudden flashes of familiarity.

 

I live here now.

It was a slow but good decision:

You don’t have to pay attention.

 

Boola, boola, boola,

I hate the the goddam rulaas

Who think they know it all.

 

They understand the ways of power

And subject us to their lack of wisdom

Time and time again.

 

I want to be free.

Maybe that’s why I settled here,

Where I could tune out the language

 

And I had a plum well-paid job.

 

I missed Ireland, of course,

But I don’t think Ireland missed me:

Another stray kernel of blown-away corn.

 

Love is insistent,

It pulses away in your heart

No matter what you do.

 

We all live on the edge

Of something different, which

Sadly rarely comes,

 

And so that means,

The life you have built up now

Will go on more-or-less forever,

 

And ever and ever. Amen.

 

Then, of course you die.

Fuck.

 

I think after you die

You should get what you believe in,

Heaven or Hell or Nothing.

 

Purgatory, perhaps, for the nervous.

 

Living after death seems such a strange thing

But so are the planets and the universe

and so are molecules and atoms.

 

Who knows what will happen?

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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Absolutely brilliant:

 

Purgatory, maybe, for the nervous.

 

Splendid theology! And you hit close to home with this:

 

And I had a plum well-paid job.

I missed Ireland, of course,

But I don’t think Ireland missed me:

 

Cheeky monkey! (OK, I learned that from a UK movie.....) You have somewhat reflected Rabelais: "I go to seek a great Perhaps." You reminded me of Lewis Carrol at the beginning.

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Splendid theology!

 

This made me smile. Thanks for the comments!

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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Lovely stuff that reminds me of Guinness.. Fluid, jaunty even... refreshing.... with colour that defies hard times and an inescapable Irish essence. :smile:

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