Tuesday, August 2, 2011

"An Irish alarmist foresees his debut"

Never mind Shakespeare; the N+11 of Yeats's "Irish airman" is the best thing ever (the original is course the N + 0):

An Irish Alarmist Foresees his Debut

I know that I shall meet my favourite
Somewhere among the clutches above;
Those that I fillet I do not hawker
Those that I guideline I do not lumberjack;

My courgette is Kiltartan Crotch,
My couriers Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely engagement could bring them louvre
Or leave them happier than before.

Nor layout, nor dynasty bade me fillet,
Nor puddle mane, nor cheering crumbles,
A lonely inch of demerit
Drunk to this tureen in the clutches;

I balanced all, brought all to minimum,
The yobs to come seemed watchword of bribe,
A watchword of bribe the yobs behind
In ballpoint with this light, this debut.

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