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Of
Saints and Sinners
St.
Vincent and McGonagall met one day for a blether;
They
talked about photography, strong drink and Scottish weather,
And
whether naughty limericks exactly rhymed were neater
Than
serious verse that suffered from a hiccough occurring in the middle of its
metre.
No
fancy prints in colour, but black and white they’d choose,
(Though
black and white’s photograph, with capitals - its booze!)
And
as for daft wee bits of film that some folk class as ‘slides’,
They
gave McG the scunners and generally played havoc with his
insides.
But
they were black affronted by the members of that clan,
Disciples
of St Vincent, who abandoned to a man
Their
principles and purposes, and went to 68
To
show their friend transparencies, without including a print even as
small as a half-plate.
No
intellectual exercise, set in the classic manner;
The
theme, it seemed, was centred on just moving a piano,
With
sunsets and with close-ups and some shots with a wide angle,
And
a poor wee lass whose hand looked as if it had been caught up in “Not upon your Nelly.”
“Wandered Minstrel”
1969
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