Makar To Makar is grateful to Don Paterson for allowing us to present for a limited time three new poems.
Easter 2020
In the ICUs and care homes they are drowning in their beds
drowning in themselves, like Christ, their airways down to threads
while a blue glove opens FaceTime on an iPad to discover
another new contender for Worst Family Photo Ever
We love you. Goodbye Dad. And even if they understand
there’s no breath left for their last word. Into their hands.
Meanwhile in the post of hell we call the cabinet
the rats have 'gured out the means and gnaw the ends to 't
the headless chickens count themselves but miss the standing duck
and the goats survey the goatscape for just where to pass the buck
the pig has hidden in the toilet since he came down sick
when it turned out happy birthday to me didn’t do the trick
and he almost looks into his soul, but bounced back to steer
his usual course through what he thinks his buddies want to hear
So if we tell them ‘stay alert’ and then they all get ill
well that’s on them, it’s not our fault the bug’s invisible
and they still don’t know essential’s Latin for gets paid jack shit
and hero’s Greek for you go #rst and take the fucking hit
and no one knows the body count if we don’t show the chart -
Now let’s all get the taps back on before the riots start
So one rat texts a laptop jockey at The Daily Scare
who wants his Polish cleaner back and his kids out of his hair
who raises up one winedark hand to throw the dog a cork
and types out with the other ‘Let Our Angels Back to Work’
Meanwhile stuck in lockdown we all stare at the TV
where a nurse from County Monaghan in home-made PPE
ignores the hack and turns around to face the lens alone
with a stare as hard as nails and a promise cast in stone
if we see your family out we will love them as our own
Twa Poems efter Gabriela Mistral
The Pines
If we gang intil the wids the nicht
the trees will try to kiss your pow,
but sin they’re gey heich to beck doon
I’ll stap to hyst ye up to them.
The nicht is comptin aa its baists,
aa but the pines, wha ne’er chynge.
Hark: their auld sairs still weep
the lammer o the ayebydan evens.
Gif they kid, they’d tak ye up
an beir ye alang fae glen to glen,
fae airm to airm, like a bairn,
fae mither to mither to mither.
Wee Feet
Twa wee feet,
twa saphirs o pyne –
hou can they gang by
an no see them?
Aa hackit an birsed
by snaw and stane …
Hou blin they are!
Whauriver ye stap
yer 'ttprints skyre,
whauriver you stell
yer bluidy soles
wild roses bluim!
Twa wee feet –
hou can they gang by
an no see them?
Easter 2020
In the ICUs and care homes they are drowning in their beds
drowning in themselves, like Christ, their airways down to threads
while a blue glove opens FaceTime on an iPad to discover
another new contender for Worst Family Photo Ever
We love you. Goodbye Dad. And even if they understand
there’s no breath left for their last word. Into their hands.
Meanwhile in the post of hell we call the cabinet
the rats have 'gured out the means and gnaw the ends to 't
the headless chickens count themselves but miss the standing duck
and the goats survey the goatscape for just where to pass the buck
the pig has hidden in the toilet since he came down sick
when it turned out happy birthday to me didn’t do the trick
and he almost looks into his soul, but bounced back to steer
his usual course through what he thinks his buddies want to hear
So if we tell them ‘stay alert’ and then they all get ill
well that’s on them, it’s not our fault the bug’s invisible
and they still don’t know essential’s Latin for gets paid jack shit
and hero’s Greek for you go #rst and take the fucking hit
and no one knows the body count if we don’t show the chart -
Now let’s all get the taps back on before the riots start
So one rat texts a laptop jockey at The Daily Scare
who wants his Polish cleaner back and his kids out of his hair
who raises up one winedark hand to throw the dog a cork
and types out with the other ‘Let Our Angels Back to Work’
Meanwhile stuck in lockdown we all stare at the TV
where a nurse from County Monaghan in home-made PPE
ignores the hack and turns around to face the lens alone
with a stare as hard as nails and a promise cast in stone
if we see your family out we will love them as our own
Twa Poems efter Gabriela Mistral
The Pines
If we gang intil the wids the nicht
the trees will try to kiss your pow,
but sin they’re gey heich to beck doon
I’ll stap to hyst ye up to them.
The nicht is comptin aa its baists,
aa but the pines, wha ne’er chynge.
Hark: their auld sairs still weep
the lammer o the ayebydan evens.
Gif they kid, they’d tak ye up
an beir ye alang fae glen to glen,
fae airm to airm, like a bairn,
fae mither to mither to mither.
Wee Feet
Twa wee feet,
twa saphirs o pyne –
hou can they gang by
an no see them?
Aa hackit an birsed
by snaw and stane …
Hou blin they are!
Whauriver ye stap
yer 'ttprints skyre,
whauriver you stell
yer bluidy soles
wild roses bluim!
Twa wee feet –
hou can they gang by
an no see them?
