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Adrian Buckner


A trifletych 

for Martin Stannard, the Omelette-Explainer

            It’s who you know not what you know in the literary world

I knew two guys
who liked ale,
the same sort of poetry
and as it turned out
on first meeting
(this was the clincher)
the same joke.
One of them
was called Huey
so we were Huey
and the who-he-knews.
We knew another guy
who hated us
and didn’t want
to know us.
Then another guy
who was a bigger shot
called Adam
who we didn’t know
from Adam
said hey Huey
your stuff is great.
Huey was now news
and the guy
who hated
the who-he-knews
started slagging
Huey’s pretentious hooey
and the who-he-knews
(who now we knew
Adam from Adam
hitched a ride
with Huey)
for being in the know
but not knowing anything.

          The King’s Head: The Liberal bemoans the rise of Populism

It’s like Yeats said
In Coming Second
The worst lack
The best are full…
No, hang on…
The worst, the best
Lack are full of…
Cheers mate same again
Best are…
I’m talking pal!
Got it:
Worst are full
Of intense passion
The best lack
Any prospect
Of a fifth pint.

            For Martin, but not about him… or only a bit

I bought your book of poems,
recognised two blokes we knew –
got them dead-on.
Otherwise, I’m satisfied
you’re not writing that well.

I read your book of poems,
two sonnets sharp and lean –
aside from those,
I’m happy to see
it’s all a little flabby.

I laughed out loud at page nineteen
then shelved your book of poems.
I can carry on telling the world
down the Vat and Fiddle,
you’re really up yourself.

I take down your book of poems,  
you nail us both at twenty-five.
It was so fucking cool
being young smug bastards together.
I hate you, smug old bastard.

 

  

Copyright © Adrian Buckner, 2022

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 




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David Belbin

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