Four Glasgow Poems

1. The Gory Bells (Gorbals) Folk shunned the lepers, at their coming, fled, Hearing the ringing of the gory bells When those poor creatures walked like the undead From their pollution, healthy people sped, Who'd want to touch the hands that rang the bells? Who'd stand in their shoes, the accursed undead? In cut-off colonies, they made their bed Nothing brought solace… prayers, nor pills, nor spells Their stumps of limbs brought terror, horror, dread Forced to seek alms, by scraps and pity fed To drink from puddles or from sour wells This blight struck down both high-born and low-bred The Bruce himself was leprous, so men said. Who knows what curse or perverse different hells Unleashed when Comyn at the Altar bled? Many would chose a quicker death, instead Of leprosy, its sores, blind eye that swells Better a dagger, poison, bullet to the head Than tottering forward, with a feeble tread Knowing the dreadful fate that lies ahead 2. Glasgow Rap Tolbooth steeple: Art, The Burrell Drouthy's Bar: Hampden Roar Lettuce Eat: Buchanan Street Armadillo: The New Hydro The Botanics: ferns, organics Curlers' Rest: Tennent's best The Style Mile: round Argyle James Kelman: River Kelvin Orange order: Rangers Banner Steamie Days: George Galloway R.D.Laing: Rob Coltrane Gartnavel: Manny Shinwell Eddie Morgan: Gritty Govan Gorbals Patter: Doon the Watter Strathbungo: St Mungo Nitshill Craws: Pollockshaws Broomielaw: Parkheid baa Bearsden: Rutherglen Sauchiehaa: Barras staa Heilan Lilt: Castlemilk Drumchapel Close: Easterhouse Sighthill Scheme: Rangers team Alasdair Gray: Milngavie Benno Schotz: Clydesdale docks Thomas Lipton: A.J.Cronin R34: Donald Dewar Merchant city: Irish ditty Stanley Baxter: Jack Webster Gordon Ramsay: Lorraine Kelly Joseph Lister: Gregor Fisher Liz Lochead: Kennishead James McAvoy: Tom Docherty Panopticon: Criterion Babbity Bowster: Firewater Bar Gandolfi: Booly Mardi Maggie May: Brass Monkey Glasgow City: gallus, witty! 3. Organ Recital at Kelvingrove Museum Her hair's dyed Tom-Thumb red Her slide is a trapped earwig in its strands She waves to giggling friends Deaf to the fanfare and processional Continuing a crescendo full of chatter Wagner's accompanied by speak of baby's buggies Picnics, a rotund tourist swathed in pseudo-plaid She texts, she films, she snaps. ‘Look, I am here, listening to a wonderful recital' Another place, another day, another organ My brother poured music into you Till you swam in its dark juices Pulling out all the stops 4. The Floating Heads (Kelvingrove Museum) Maybe they smoked clay pipes, ploughed fields, Kissed babies. Combed black hair or fair They twirl, sad and happy, foolish and wise Like white stars, high, disembodied heads Look up to the roof where they hang in silent limbo Clouds of faces like swinging cathedral bells Did music issue from those severed heads? Were they seamen, senators, showmen? No laughter's heard from the grinning, silent, mouth Its past and its walls have dissolved There is no sound but the patter of feet below Or the hum of the night thermometers Solitary, bewildered, they have forgotten what they were Memories have spilled like sand from their skulls' cavities They revolve in silence, white, grotesque and grave, Unable to weep or scream. They haunt the museum, Unearthly as unicorns stepping between black trees In these back- lit faces gyrating like Sufi mystics Do day-dreams bubble up, visions and oracles? Where were their childhoods? Which hearse bore them away? Their souls remain to unsettle us High in their strange universe Hanging like rare and translucent fruits In their airy space. Mind and body have gone their separate ways, Like chopped aristo heads in gory baskets 5. The Macnab (Kelvingrove Museum) Six feet three, with debts as huge as himself Francis Mor was a gambler, drinker, Lover of women and life. His still Produced a whisky, fiery, strong, Drunk from a massive jug he called ‘The Bachelor'. A humourist, he kept a dummy Hanging from a tree, to frighten Would-be creditors away His bastard children overran the glen Once, he proposed to a lady with the promise Of the finest burial lair in all of Scotland At Innes Bhuide. His suit was declined. He governs the canvas, bold as A capercailzie, his badger sporran Fierce on his fertile loins