Smug-truculent Scottish poet reaches into the infinite, grabbing everything around him in with him, leaving some on ledges at the world's end (spits in Robbie Burn's pocket, picks him up, shakes him, kisses him, tells him etc) pulling others in with him as he tries to drive himself between the incomprehendible thistle and the moonlight. Even takes in INFLUENCE:
"A shameless thing for, ilka vileness able,
It is deid grey as dust, the dust o' a ma,
I perish o' a nearness I canna win awa' frae,
Its deidly coils aboot my buik are thrawn."
(haha, I just realised this is just after the section where he disses TS Eliot - what was that you were saying about Dracula-braindance-mashbrock, mark?)
vs This Morning's Midnight - which, in the shop, I asked for under the name "Jean" (pronounced the FRENCH boy-name way) thus lookin' a fule and which is GREAT.
Also, do you think McDiarmid is a windbag, alext?
― dwh (dwh), Sunday, 1 December 2002 00:33 (twenty-two years ago)
That should be 'dust o' a man' but it probably works better as 'dust o' a ma' (harold to thread) ;)
― dwh (dwh), Sunday, 1 December 2002 00:34 (twenty-two years ago)
haha, "David, do you actually even bother to read the things you're writing about?"
― dwh (dwh), Sunday, 1 December 2002 00:37 (twenty-two years ago)
Do you mean _Good Morning Midnight_? If so it is excellent.
Will get back to you on MacDiarmid dwh, kinda busy for a few days.
― alext (alext), Monday, 2 December 2002 10:08 (twenty-two years ago)
hahahahaa YES! I wiz drunk with MaccyD and thus blinded - yes it is EXCELLENT. And am straining through the 'Thistle', part brilliance, part infuriating.
― dwh (dwh), Monday, 2 December 2002 13:12 (twenty-two years ago)