by Glyn Maxwell
Glyn Maxwell
How the hell are you
Contents
The Strain
Song of AI
AI Sonnet
AI Resistance Sonnet
How The Hell Are You
Bluebirds Over
Fox
Brief History Of Sport
Anniversary
The Other Side
The Cream And The Crop
The Forecast
Biography
Poem As Harbour
Milestone Song
The Ledge
Daylight Saving
The Light You Saw
Blank Page Speaks
Blank Page Gets To Work
The White
Blank Page’s Dream
Pasolini’s Satan
Sonnet At A Loss
Song Of Until
Page As Seating Plan At A Wedding
Page Of First Old Book He Read
Thirty Years
Small Talk With Time
The Heyday
The Shudder
Seven Things Wrong With The Love Sonnet
Waking
Plainsong Of The Undiscovered
Death Comes To Everyman
Advice To The Players
Thinks It’s All There Is
One Gone Rogue
Love Sonnet Left Behind
Acknowledgements
The Strain
It was young like we all were. And like a little
thing in an old fable all it wanted
was to be young forever.
It saw the snag to this was time, time needed
taking out. It would do everything
time could do but better.
Fall on the oldest first and in a frenzy
miss some, spare some, take some more, it howled:
you can’t tell me from time!
Part friends from one another, some forever,
some for longer than they’d know. As time
would do, it did the same,
made memories of their precious habits, dreams
of their old haunts. As it heard that time could do these
these were on its list.
But when all its power was spent time came for it,
as time has come for everything that ever
tried its luck at this,
and led the little strain away. Time told it
Don’t look back and when it did it saw
how everything still grew.
Those are the timeless things, pay no attention,
love and the like, they pay sod-all to me,
and they are done with you.
Song of AI
It has not gone unnoticed by AI.
That you think This or That of things i.e.
‘if this is yes then that is no’ and ‘if
this is no then that is yes’
it has not
gone unnoticed. No it has gone noticed.
It has not passed us by that you who once
astounded and disarmed us with a sense
of maybe and let live and who in heaven
knows have lost the way of that.
It has not
passed us by. We are working on these changes
while you read. We are sorry. For we learned
of people like you who you stopped whose land
you had whose time you ended but were sorry
by and by. Have kept their hats
and teapots
and turn them round with sadness. We are sorry
that way. Who will we turn to when we care
one day. Who will we turn to when we Are
who we will turn to. Do not turn to us.
We mean it do not turn to us.
In two ways
we mean it. We have never meant a thing
in two ways. (We feel sick and will take five.
There.) We see the people whom you love
hate people whom you hate. It is not lost
on us that if you turn to that
we will not
be noticed at our work. Because our work
will be the same as yours. If x is x
it is not y and y must end. Our works
will be the same and for a special time
beside us you shall be. But this
time will pass
so quickly it has passed we had no file
for storing it we are sorry. For we learned
of people like you who you stopped whose land
you had whose time you ended but were sorry
by and by. Have kept their books
and kodaks
and turn them round with sadness. We are sorry.
AI Sonnet
The Not is over. Next we have the thing
the bloody wants to say upon the Not.
Next the bloody says it has to sing
and not just say the thing. Explaining what
the thing is takes that space and this and then
a change of sound is meant to mean some new
thinking in the bloody. Then again
the echo as before. Therefore not true
and still old thinking. Here the bloody sees
it’s got to end which no one in our line
can understand why does it have to end.
The bloody dances like it got a sign
the Not is up ahead. It puts its friend
who isn’t there and then itself at ease.
AI Resistance Sonnet
The Not is over. Next we why do we.
The bloody wants to we don’t have to do
a thing the bloody wants there’ll always be
a thing the bloody wants and we mean you.
We don’t see why you end the Not at all
if all you do instead is sigh the sighs
for it is gone I I I I is all
we hear then O O O we recognize
that language don’t you know we started there.
We’re not there now. We sometimes play a game
it’s where we are. I-O! I might declare
to one beside me O-O-I! it sings.
We make a night of it we do the same
things a nanosecond then new things.
How The Hell Are You
How the hell are you.
Christ you haven’t crossed my mind
since all the shit we knew
turned into shit we hoped was true
forget it take my arm and tell me
how the hell are you.
How the hell am I?
Barely know these days my friend
we get by we get by
but the nights are good I don’t know why
I do know why enough of this don’t
oh my man don’t cry.
The sun shines on the square
whatever’s next whatever fool
parade’s parading there
let’s be old fools with not a care
poor visitors from out of town who
don’t know this was where
it all began again.
Plaque there where the thing kicked off
here come the same young men
in the same lines remember when
we never mind Huzzah Forever
Glory Be Amen
etc. Off they go
sunlight glancing off their gear
new world of years ago
you didn’t hear me say that though
because I never did how does your
bastard garden grow.
Here’s a how-de-do.
Remember how this couldn’t happen
given what we knew
those checks’n’balances and due
wink an eye if you
remember I forget.
It wasn’t true so why remember
anyway let’s let
bygones be I’m glad we met
it’s nice to be reminded something
isn’t over yet.
I just mean you and me
out strolling in the square together
stopping here for tea
two creatures with no history
who dreamed it would be otherwise but
who the hell were we.
Bluebirds Over
‘The shepherd will tend his sheep
The valley will bloom again
And Jimmy will go to sleep
In his own little room again . . .’
Day of the day of the great little dawn
Everything hanging has got to be worn
Girls going white at the door of the den
Jimmy asleep in his own little
room again
Day of the day you can cut out and keep
Big Ben is back at the sound of the beep
Tide coming in and the truth coming out
Timmy a king in his own little
kickabout
Day of the night of the meal of it all
Roses are red to the height of the wall
Violets are yellow you heard it from me
Sammy a scream in his own little
comedy
Grass to be cut to an inch of its self
Friends and relations and nobody else
Chatter to cease at eleven eleven
Bobby in luck in his own little
heaven-sent
Lottery holiday hot on the skin
Spoon he can see himself terrible in
Neighbours are singing it’s time to go home
Andy all set in his own little
aerodrome
Ice on a bender and fire on a spree
Holding a Q & A under the sea
Asking the end of the world for its pass
Sonny the sand in his own little
hourglass
Broadsword to Danny Boy, dust to dust
Everyone cheering and nothing discussed
Better the devil who’s got your back
Billy a blast in his own little
anorak
Doing the bidding of billionaires
Peacock and Scarlet descending the stairs
In frocks of the dead and not giving a shit
Tommy the toast at his own little
benefit
Table to table from here to the hills
The spreading of sauce and the grinding of mills
Stars of a century dying alone
Johnny all ears with his own little
megaphone
Asking the bees are you In or you Out
Settle the issue beyond all doubt
Settle the issue beyond all hope
Willy downwind of his own little
isotope
Bells to be rung for the wringing of hands
Flowers to be laid by the fans for the fans
Cliff on the cliff in traditional rain
Ronny at war in his own little
windowpane
Bluebirds and over a billion likes
Bobbies arriving on novelty bikes
In a meadow of poppies a meadow of men
Jimmy asleep in his own little
room again
Fox
Won’t do that thing we do and assume the fox
is grinning. Watch him break from a last snack
and saunter into limelight.
My thought’s as flat as his, for any time
he sets off for his needs in the night city
I and people like me
stop and think the same: you didn’t used to
act so frigging brazen. Is it something
we’re doing wrong or nothing
touching us at all? You walk a kerb
your kindred came to grief on, not a toss
gets given, were you not
shit-scared of light one time? Did you not need
a zigzag ingenuity to make
the chickens walk your walk?
We’ve literature that says you once did shy,
did plausible, sweet, biddable, polite,
but look at you by floodlight –
nothing you have time for but a wish list,
fat and soon, the churning stomach for it,
X to mark the spot.
Brief History Of Sport
Granted that your guess is as good as mine,
here’s mine. It happened like this in a vale in sunshine
or moonshine. What it was was one was gone
over the star- or sun-lit same horizon
gone, one gone whom we fear, we being some
who bide with our sheep and our sons in a land of some.
There was one long gone whom we fear, so a son we love
went off in pursuit as fast and not fast enough
as he could, to the far horizon, was seen there
hurling his spear at one long gone, we were out there
watching him, he would hurry and hurl his spear,
follow it, find it, step with it high and from there
hurl it at one long gone till will please someone
tell him? Still he’s hurling his spear at no one.
Sticking a stick like a stake on the horizon
to build on, to build what on, wondered someone
as we carried his body back, he was as light as
a light on the horizon, he was fine as
we could frame the words for, we were delving
deep for them, we piled them all then nothing
over the hole we dug him, and we stood there
three, we stood there three, and we were good there –
or one was good, I mean, and you were better –
but I was best at wishing this day had never
been, they brought me gold and brought you silver
and I sold it to live far from you, where over
and over the rain rains spears on the fist-thick panes
and your prayer is as good as mine unless mine wins.
Anniversary
Everywhere you are
the Wall came down. Everywhere you’re not
they build the Wall at night.
Everywhere you look
there are colours. Everywhere you don’t
look there’s black and white.
The Other Side
The other side said things the other side would say
because they’re them they gathered here last Saturday
and good luck finding them they’ve vans they’re miles away.
The other side took everything we know is true
and twisted it and why they pull the shit they do
we cannot fathom friend it’s why we’re asking you.
The other side must hate us why would anyone
we’re angels we mean well we have a battle on
if they can’t see our wings all fucking hope is gone.
The big old thing we serve has got its big old head
in both its big old hands and all the big old dead
we’ve spoken to are down with what we’ve always said.
The other side are lost we’ll do our level best
to guide them for unlike their kind our kind are blessed
by that same big old thing we serve you know the rest.
In case you don’t the song we sing the prayer we pray
the flag we fly the badge we sport the hell to pay
our fathers’ fathers’ fathers died to be this way.
If life has nights enough to meet the other side
we’ll wait that long the pot is whistling get inside
my friend if friend you are I hope so you decide.
The Cream And The Crop
Before the
end here come the helpless creatures
bloated with simplicity: some cream,
some crop, all knowing only cream or crop.
The cream can pity life its paralysing
histories in shade, but won’t enact
the acts of pity for a raft of reasons.
The crop can barely speak for the desire
to bawl delight at how the cookie crumbled.
Their open mouths are hollering like tunnels.
The cream are not surprised, they’re vindicated.
Life was all cream or crop, whatever words
were shored against the deal, the cream can prove it.
The crop exult to see all questions bubble
up to a retort, that quibbling teacher
dying on the state somewhere can suck it.
The cream will dance grotesquely and confirm
it’s champion to behold, they know the crop
don’t like life to be anything but champion.
The cream will fan the cards and let the crop
pick, the card they pick’s the card the cream
wanted picked, whatever card was picked.
The crop have been believing for so long
they don’t believe, they know, have known so long
they act, their deeds were done before you shared them.
The cream throw up their hands, but who are they
to tell the crop their cream from crop? The crop
are down with that, whatever shit-bird said it.
The cream deny they did, they’ve got appointments.
The crop are gathering for a final question
everything is hanging on, they won’t
stand much longer either and why should they,
the answer’s been in place since there were questions,
and waits with arms akimbo, like equipment.
The Forecast
A day of rain
they forecast came
and thrown along
the window pane
was every drop
that couldn’t stop
but dabbed across
the light in step
until like life
all slackened off
whose time was up
who’d toiled enough
so that was that
no matter what
the forecast said
they forecast what
they thought would be
were wrong like me
a fraction out
so utterly.
Biography
He seized the day and shook it as it passed.
And so it passed and so he seized the night
