Two poems and a song. And trying to send some books.
You can listen to the two poems below, read by me, by clicking on the arrow above. Or, for that matter, below.
I’ve been trying to send some books to the USA. Extremely valuable, antique rarities that I’m selling for a friend. An American dealer is keen to buy them at a very fair price, but consigning them to the postal service isn’t on, as the insurance available won’t come close to the value of the books. And they’re delicate, fragile things. The idea of some customs officer brutalising them because they smell funny is terrifying.
The main courier companies have just changed their rules on insurance if you’re sending to a private address, as basically, sending anything to the States has become over the past 100 days, problematic. Everything is totally tariffic, though there’s not supposed to be any extra charge on antiquarian books from the UK, allegedly. Yet.
So we’ve decided to wait a month or two and, when said friend is travelling to the US anyway, he can carry them as hand luggage. Even then, he’s nervous about travelling. Is it true that immigration occurs are checking phone messages, emails and social media for anti-Trump or anti-Musk sentiments? Scanning brains for dodgy vibrations?
Meanwhile, what are we to think about America and Americans? I mean, my personal cultural hinterland is largely transatlantic, from literature (Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Elroy, Carver etc) through music (everything from Robert Johnson to Taylor Swift and Sleep and Tammy Wynette) and art (though I do like some of those French and Spanish guys). I have friends who are American and others who have chosen to live there. I find it very hard to understand the slavish obeisance here and in the USA to a regime that is clearly transgressing the rule of law and every concept of decency.
But I love so much about America. And the two poems here are part of grappling with that. The song has already been shared widely on social media, but here it is anyway.
In the 60s, our family came close to emigrating to Canada. Instead, we went to live in Ayrshire. I hereby declare myself secretly Canadian.
Sea to shining sea
They’re planning to abandon vaccination
Obliterate the old, the sick, the poor
A manageable size of population
Will make the country healthier for sure
The presidential broker’s on commission
Trading stocks – the billions that he’s made
A single tweet provides him with permission
for the biggest ever insider trade
There’s ketamine for breakfast, lunch and dinner
Swastikas on Teslas don’t come free
Only the super wealthy are the winners
Drilling for oil from sea to shining sea
And while the world’s economy crumbles
millions starve, and nations wait for war
We hang on every presidential mumble
And wonder what democracy was for.
I Believe in the USA
I used to love Dodges and Chevrolets
Pontiacs and Lincolns too
But the only thing that got me to the Cadillac Ranch
Was a second hand Subaru
Who could possibly enjoy a Hershey Bar?
The chocolate’s as bad as the cheese
Though I’ll take Monterey Jack on a burger
Despite the risk of heart disease
I believe in the USA
I want to sit on the dock of the bay
Hear Booker T and the MGs play
For Green Lantern and The Thing
Drive a Mustang just like Steve McQueen
Maybe more carefully than James Dean
With Dr Strange and Wolverine
While Britney sings
I loved Tammy Wynette and George Jones
Live from Nashville on TV
The Fantastic Four and Superman
Providing world security
But I don’t want an AR15 in my house
I want my health care to be free
Don’t want to be arrested
If the president’s upset with me
And so Toronto’s where I’m going
I believe in Leonard Cohen
My allegiance has been growing
Alexander Graham Bell I’ll ring
Hank Snow and Neil Young and the Band
Oh Canada, my home and native land!
With Geddy Lee and Joni Mitchell I will stand
While Shania sings…
Commander in Cheat (The Turnberry Song)
For Keir, as he tries to twist the Royal and Ancient’s arm about the Open…I highly recommend Rick Reilly’s book. I stole his title.
When he slices an iron
When the going gets tough
His caddy kicks the ball
Out of the rough
When he concussed a child
When he hooked that drive
He didn’t even check
That the kid had survived
He’s not Royal
But he’s Ancient
To tell the truth
He prefers a lie
Look at that hook
He’s a convicted crook
He can’t be beat
Victory is sweet
When it’s deceit
By the commander in cheat
He’s never played
An honest round
His lost balls
Are always found
He takes more mulligans
Than you’ve ever seen
Every putt’s a gimme
If he’s on the green
If he’s in a bunker
Look at the way he stands
He’ll rest that wedge
Right on the sand
If his ball is plugged
He will use some force
To excavate it
Then he’ll buy the course
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