VERSES FROM VARIOUS SOURCES

1981–1990

 

From THE ENDS OF OUR TETHERS 2003

Poem: Alasdair Gray © 2005

18 – Proem attributed to Luke Aiblins

 

Bone caged, blood clagged,

                        nerve netted here I sit,

bee in stone honeycomb

                        or beast in pit or flea in bin,

pinned down, penned in,

unable to die or fly or be

                                    any one thing but me,

a hypochondriac heart chilled

                        by the spittle of toads that croak

on the moon’s cryptic hemisphere.

 

But yet, loft-haunter, tunnel-groper,

                        interloper among men,

I am the Titan & my pen

wet with blue ink or black

alone can tell them what they thought

                        and think and give them back

the theme, scheme, dream whose head

they broke, & left for dead.

 

Crown, King, Divinity: all shall be mine

to take, twine, make into a masterpiece

                        of fine thread, strong line.

Yes, let me write my life

                        ten volumes in one book

of good and bad friends, women who will

                        and will not walk with me,

The warped, harmonious, happy, sick & dead.

While I have eyes to look, so let it be. Amen.

 
Contents