The Angry Corrie 3: Sep-Oct 1991

The so-called Poetry page

In the wake of TAC's plunge into the murky, inky waters of literary academia in issue one (see 20 Differences Between Glen Coe and Shakespeare), all manner of irate eggheaded Thespians have written in, furiously disputing our suggestion that Shakespeare's plays are not much cop when compared and contrasted (in not less than 2000 words) to the fine and noble Scottish hills in general and Glen Coe in particular. It was TAC's intention to dutifully publish some of thls dreary debate, but happily that necessity has been avoided by the sudden intervention of the beardy old bard himself. Speaking from beyond the grave, from the Halcyon land of shades, from that place where no earthly trial nor tremor can disturb (get on with it - space-conscious Ed.), he has chosen to make known his views, John Lill-like, through the medium of ardent - or should that be Arden? - fan and erstwhile hillwalker Calum Hind:

Sonnet No. 155 (otherwise known as the toorie bunnet sonnet)

Shall I compare me to a mountain ridge?
I am more human and more literate -
And must confess I am most bitter at
The Munro-bagging man with mind of midge
And boggy brain that reckons all my plays
Are nothing on this Globe beside his hills:
His Aggy Ridge, his Bidean and his Buachailles,
Bee-swarmed with be-Goretexed popinjays.

Clachaig's couplets or Am Bodach's sonnets?
No lofty lines are echoed from geology:
"Because it's there" - a dolt's soliloquy!
Unthinking lie the heids in toorie bunnets:
Your lofty bens above th' affairs of men
Are drizzly-dreich and boring now as then.

The Thrutch: A horror poem by Dr G.W. McSharkie

Great sodding clouds of them,
a myriad miseries of mitey might.
And it is crazing.
Crazing and dementing to be eaten minisculely alive.
That insane itch, that insane itching, that unbearable itchiness of being.
A feather frisson, a further feather frisson and a further freaking feather frisson,
sending one wheeling, screaming and thrashing at air and at person to no avail.
Desperately trying to regain control of self (and civilisation)
For if they gestalt their act together.
say goodbye to Relativity.
The Horror... the Horror will be Absolute.

TAC 3 Index