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The Old Photographer’s New Year Salutation
to
his Ancient
Rolleiflex
Fair fa’ your grand, auld-fashioned face,
Great
chieftain o; the camera race;
Abune
them a’ ye tak’ your place,
Can-,
Chin- or Nikon.
I
wouldna’ tak’ ane oot its case
Wi’
you to pick on.
Ye’ll
mind o’ shadows on the hill,
Dark
waters when the wind was still,
The
peewits tumblin’, cryin’, shrill,
Across
the moors.
For
just ane picture, guid or ill,
I’d
sit for hoors.
Puir
deevils noo, wi’ modern trash,
An’
motor-drives that whirr and
crash
As
yards o; film, wham bang, slapdash,
Gang
like the clappers.
What’s
dedicated noo’s the flash
An’
no’ the snappers.
The
latest whizzfizz sets itself
AF,
FX an’ TTL,
An’
very likely rings a bell,
When
a’ things suit it,
(An’
if there’s ran, ye’ll find yersel’
Electrocutit!)
Ye
Powers wha made Mankind your care,
When
folks an’ cameras baith were square
Destroy
this plastic Tupperware,
An’
junk unholy.
An’
if ye wish oor gratefu’ prayer
Gi’e
us - a Rollei
“Ko-ko”
1985
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