Me in someone else's poem
I've just featured in a poem by my friend, Scottish poet Hugh McMillan. On a train journey from Oban to Glasgow earlier this year, I ate a poem he was writing. I'm not sure how good a poem it actually was, but it tasted very papery, with a hint of Bic. Hugh has just published this poem in his new 'Poetry Map of Scotland', Postcards from the Hedge, but he lies in it by writing that I then threw up.
Tosh! I've never thrown up (or 'boaked' as we say in our quaint dialect) a poem in my life. Buckets of beer, pizza, kebabs, the odd strawberry tart, yes, but never a poem. I even drank 4 bottles of organic oatmeal stout to wash it down with, that's how determined I was that the (unnamed) poem remain a part of me.
Well, till next morning on the cludgie.
Spuriousness must be challenged at all costs, & I will not have my good name & dietary fortitude challenged by the very mechanisms which I endeavoured to consume.
Here is a nice photograph of me chowing down on said verse. It needed salt.
Tosh! I've never thrown up (or 'boaked' as we say in our quaint dialect) a poem in my life. Buckets of beer, pizza, kebabs, the odd strawberry tart, yes, but never a poem. I even drank 4 bottles of organic oatmeal stout to wash it down with, that's how determined I was that the (unnamed) poem remain a part of me.
Well, till next morning on the cludgie.
Spuriousness must be challenged at all costs, & I will not have my good name & dietary fortitude challenged by the very mechanisms which I endeavoured to consume.
Here is a nice photograph of me chowing down on said verse. It needed salt.
