I’ve quit a lot of things in my time, believe me jobs, school, college – all defeated me the relationships I let slip even this poem I’m writing today will no doubt end up going the same way
‘You lack sticking power’, mum used to say when I’d tell her the latest thing I’d thrown away ‘You have to learn to grin and bear it’ (and now here comes the scary bit:)
‘What? You mean – like a SKULL?’ ‘How’s THAT an encouraging image at all?’
Ever since then skulls have been an emblem of forbearance, or tenacity or that faintly annoying, saintly kinda capacity for gritting your teeth and seeing things through (Yeah? And look where THAT philosophy gets you)
Now mum’s dead and it has to be said (although I’m wary of sharing it) infinitely grinning and bearing it
Because let’s face it (pun intended) Death is just sticking power super-extended Absolutely no-one bails on death ‘Out, out brief candle,’ said Macbeth and that was a guy who knew quite a bit being up to his neck in it
as usual he appears with fluorescent flair yaahing & woo-hooing down the stairs a halo of ghastly green worms for hair waving his shroud emphatically a little melodramatically it seems to me especially as I know he was buried in a suit but maybe he hired the shroud for the shoot maybe there’s an undead outfitters called Zombie & sons, or Just Jitters I’ve really no idea I’m getting off-point here which is witches ghouls and vampires and such none of that bothers me all that much but ghosts have got my attention good since dad landed back in the neighbourhood
‘Jiiiiiiiimmmmmmmmeeeeeeee’ he wails to me waving his arms unconvincingly
Okay, okay I say Let’s just drop the LOOK AT ME I’M SO DEAD act I think I can take it as a flatline fact since I saw you unplugged in ITU (the scariest thing I saw anyone do) so you can save the sulphur sit on that sofa and rest your mouldy old bones a minute as far as hauntings go I’ve reached my limit rest, rest, perturbed spirit maybe it’ll make for an easier visit
and to my surprise he complies
so – tell me – dad this may sound mad but what’s it like being dead?
he scratches his shiny head lovingly examines his long white phalanges then smiles at me and carries on more conversationally
S’okay he says it’s had a bad press are the hours good? yes there’s very little stress so unless you’re under some kinda spiritual duress or feel the need to confess or maybe impress the need for vengeance on someone who’s transgressed I’d have to say, for me at least, it’s been a success
hey! I say that’s nice to hear but – to be clear why are you here? if death’s such a doozy why d’ya treat the place like a goddamn jacuzzi? jumping in and out waving your arms and legs about lots of steam see what I mean?
well, the metaphor’s a mess but I guess I can see where you’re coming from and judging from your current demeanour I think you’d be keener if I dropped by a little less often? but then – wouldn’t I be forgotten?
no – no, you wouldn’t so I shouldn’t take that as a reason for haunting continued contact I’m fully supporting just not with all this phonus balonus maybe you could phone us? or skype? or a text if you can type? alright?
alright! he says yes! you’ve made your case! I was never any good at face-to-face but promise me I can swing by soon anytime there’s a blood red moon
so I say naturally dad, of course when suddenly he rises with the force of a Marvel special effects team and roars off with a chilling banshee scream and the ceiling rends and ripples and the hissing cat’s hair bristles and the lights all surge and pop and dogs in the street all howl without stop and the curtains snap and whip and the carpets ruck and rip and the chairs all flip and I’m sitting trembling saying what the shit
then a moment of silence
the sound of distant sirens
then I hear dad whispering so low I almost miss it sorry Jim – couldn’t resist it
we saw a dead rat at a tourist spot now – don’t panic – I’m not about to say this place was a disgrace I’m not saying for one moment it’s got a problem with rodents in fact it was properly picturesque walks and climbs, sites of interest places to wander, spectacular views parking was a nightmare but what can you do? no – it was an isolated incident a tragic death coincident with our innocent day out a poor rodent stretched out on the cliff walk that we tiptoed round and talked about
‘you’re never more than 6 feet away from a rat’ isn’t that some kinda fact? (no – as it turns out it’s just when they were thinking about rats in 1909 which they obviously did from time to time they came up with that catchy line basically assuming one rat for every human and spacing them equally about the country which isn’t something rats do naturally they tend to stick together for company anyway looking at it sensibly if you only count the rats in urban areas the actual numbers are way less scarier just over three million scurrying around the human dominion so ‘you’re never more than 164 feet from a rat’ would be a bit more accurate so we’ll say thanks for the meme and leave it at that)
this particular item sprawled ad infinitem ex member of the chordate phylum was lying with its paws drawn up to its head like me with the duvet when I go to bed and seemed so peaceful in this position creeping by seemed a rude imposition it was just this weird juxtaposition a poignant opposition rat versus the universe infinity or day out the whole thing played out on a happy, sunny day by the sea and this tiny existential tragedy sat uneasily with me inevitably but mostly as a potential subject for poetry and admittedly despite my Munchian scream it didn’t put me off my vanilla ice cream
it’s good to acknowledge Death at least once a day to sit across from Death pass it a cup of tea, a ginger nut (the sensible choice plain, spicy, but not too fancy) say hey Death whassup? but really mean it listen to what it has to say where it’s been, who it’s seen that day don’t try to dominate the conversation and don’t expect great revelations Death will be tired full of strange specifics that might seem overwhelming unless you relax and let them wash over you a bit like listening to music Death will appreciate your attention it’s basically good manners also, it means that when Death comes for you it won’t be quite so awkward you’ll have a relationship spared those weird silences moonlight on the flex of a bone easier, more relaxed you can shake hands sigh about the way these things go get down to business
and death didst come to me as in a dream and I didst sit bolt upright in bed and scream and my pajamas verily most heavily didst cream
Jiiiiiimmmmmmmyyyyyy he said floating sulphurously over the bed
am I dead I said no don’t worry he said at least not yet
so what the hell is it some kinda sick social visit
so…I don’t know… it was just getting boring he said, yawning then carefully resetting his jaw in the sling he had to wear round his skull instead of hair to keep his jaw there
what d’ya mean – eternity? I mean – you’ve got my sympathy mate, but as far as I can see that’s nothing to do with me you’re having a laugh I’ve got to get up in an hour and a half
somebody’s grumpy he said maybe you should try going to bed a weensy bit earlier at night then maybe you wouldn’t be so clippy, alright?
yeah? well I heard death could be agonising but I’d rather have that than patronising
don’t be mean, he said sadly descending to the foot of the bed where he smouldered with a strange intensity that lacked discernible heat or density which I have to admit was all pretty new to me
sorry, I said – you caught me off guard I try to be understanding but it’s hard especially when you’re so freakin’ charred does that mean hell is hot or not is there a God? Jesus Christ I hope not
actually no there isn’t he sighed carefully putting his scythe aside crooking one bony knee over the other idly picking fluff from my cover
you see – Jimmy – God is just a story you tell about angels, prophets, heaven and hell a touching way of making sense of the fundamental questions of existence to which the answer is oxygen and carbon and if I’ve rocked your world I beg your pardon
okay – so – I don’t get it Death comes to visit and you want me to forget it?
I’m an allegory, dear a gorgeous but hokey souvenir a byproduct of consciousness he said, clapping his phalanges you mortals really are such a tease you ask about God – well…take a look around there are millions of deities to be found in any place you care to look from Weston-super-Mare to Çatalhöyük I could talk you through the creation myths but there’s nothing duller than shopping lists
he gaped at me gappily seemingly quite happily with what I took to be affection and I have to admit the conversation was heading in a wholly unexpected direction
so.. how am I supposed to feel now that I know that God’s not real?
Who knows? said Death as the clock struck twelve you’ll just have to figure it out for yourself and with a hopelessly boney stamp and an inexplicable but theatrical dimming of the lamp he flashed me a look that was scary but appealing then shot straight up through the bedroom ceiling
I sat there wondering what I’d just seen I mean for someone supposedly fictional he was pretty vocal and visual
but just as I lay back on the pillow there was another booming billow of fire and smoke and the very same cloaky bloke came floating back
Whaaaat? I said sitting up in bed Was that all a joke? Were you toying with me? Don’t be silly he said tip-toeing round the bed trying to act all cool & blythe I just came back to fetch my scythe
I only finished this late last night
says DEATH, stepping up to the mic
it’s a bit rough round the edges. I hope it’s alright
he stands on the stage in his heavy black cloak
a fidgety, rickety kinda bloke
blinking deep in his sockets
fumbling around in his pockets
hold this, he says, handing his scythe
to the MC standing off to the side
who immediately takes a jokey swipe
at the heckler down front who’d been difficult all night
inadvertently and catastrophically
pitching him headfirst into purgatory
(which got the biggest laugh all night, incidentally)
don’t says DEATH, you’ll get me fired
you’re only supposed to do it when the punters have expired
hold still while I sort out my shit
I’ll be with you in a little bit
there’s an awkward silence
not because of the violence
but because we’ve had quite enough
of poets who don’t know their stuff
and say they’ve only just written the thing
because really what they’re saying
– the subtle psychological game they’re playing –
is… if you DON’T like it – well – I wrote it on the fly
but if you DO – think how much better it’ll be when I TRY
anyway – back to DEATH
who’s found his notes and taking a breath
casting his doomy countenance
around the audience
with a wide, dry and lipless grin
forty percent dentures, sixty percent chin
oh-kaaaaaay he says, awkwardly waving his notes
hope you like it (phalangeal air quotes)
but I have to admit I kinda zone out
when I get the gist of what it’s about
(a lot of hokey sturm und drang
the meaning of life….yaddah yaddah…. klang)
and I start to worry about his ride
the bloodless nag with the blazing eyes
tied up to a lamppost outside
that’s no place for a horse of the apocalypse
– so I sneak out and buy it some fish and chips
and yeah – I know – I shoulda got hay
but it was late and I just didn’t fancy it – OK?
I’m an easy going bloke
but when Death slips off his cloak
dumps his scythe
outside
with a clatter
is all like ‘Death’s here and nothing else matters’
hard-heels it into my hotel room
and then ‘Boom!’
throws his bony arse down on the bed, uninvited
starts bouncing around like he’s utterly fucking delighted
honestly? I’m not the least bit excited
‘Honey?’ I tell him ‘Enough of this shit.
Stop it. Just quit.
Grab your stuff and git.
So you’re the Scourge? The Reaper? The Flail?
Well, good for you, girlfriend. Cheque’s in the mail.
I’m sorry for any disappointment
but next time – okay? – make a motherfucking appointment
that’s Fred, smiling in his judo gi
throwing me with a casual flick of his knee
so easily and brutally
that all my bones sequentially crack
as I come down hard with a graceless smack
impressing my body in the dojo mat
and lie there floundering flat on my back
when he kneels and gently holds my hand
till I feel well enough to stand
and carry on with the lesson as planned
that’s Fred, belting out Ring of Fire
driving his truck as the flames went higher
down the long straight roads of Cambridgeshire
butcher to butcher with cargoes of meat
slapping the wheel as he keeps the beat
through fields of maize and plains of wheat
and rows of sprouts and sugar beet
with his bloody cap and rubber boots
salmon sandwiches and juicy fruits
till he’s out to the pub in his fat black suit
that’s Fred, riding around in a Bentley
reading stocks and shares intently
chasing a million evidently
buying old houses in the poorer quarters
doing them up with sweat and mortar
renting them out to the factory workers
giving short shrift to the news reporters
and the next thing you know
he’s setting up shop on the ring road
diversifying his portfolio
that’s Fred, lying in a silk-lined casket
ten days after his heart blew a gasket
his tax returns shredded in a waste paper basket
and I can’t believe he’s really dead
a force of nature the preacher said
strong in body, stronger in head
improvising A to Z
and I think of him standing out on the mat
grabbing my collar and throwing me flat
then bowing and vanishing – and that was that
when you’re dead, you’re dead / with one definitive snip of the thread / away you float / head first down eternity’s capacious throat / or / maybe death is just a door / maybe you die and you go somewhere else / your consciousness melts / and you get sucked into another realm / Valhalla, maybe, with Odin posing at the helm / or Nirvana / Jannah, Trāyastriṃśa / Aukumea / variations on the idea of the holy layer / domes & levels / supervised by countless angels & devils / where finally you might get rewarded / for all those good deeds you meticulously hoarded / or punished for those you forgot / and pitched headfirst to somewhere hot / where all the tormented entities / gargle lava & prod each other with horrible utilities / like long-handled toasting forks / (according to the most reliable reports)
fact is / no-one understands it / as Shakespeare rightly pointed out in Hamlet / death is an undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns / or blogs about their concerns / no pics on Flickr / Instagram or Twitter / or anything that might shed light on the guff / behind all that Life Ever After stuff / which is probably why these myths are so persistent / with so many contradictory versions co-existent
anyway / at the end of the day / it’ll probably just be like before I was born / people shopping and mowing the lawn / or things a little more obnoxious / with me, happily unconscious / circling the earth in a random atomic cook-up / just waiting for my mum & dad to hook-up
now – death does not envy, is not boastful, is not conceited / death means all your paperwork’s completed / death be nimble, death be quick / death be colonel mustard in the conservatory with the candlestick / death is the opposite of whatever the hell this is / death means never having to do the dishes / worrying about where to put all the surplus oil / death is TOIL / time off in lieu / to you / I mean of life, of course / death is a no-legged horse / death is the death of strife / death is the cure for life / death means never falling asleep reading a heavyweight literary book / you’re off the hook / on vacation / death, the ultimate prevarication / where all your hours accrue like mold / death has put you on hold / an awkward pause, a longueur / death does NOT make the heart grow stronger / death is a Masonic lodge /where everyone knows the dodge / and swears allegiance / and thanks you for your perseverance / and you take your last breath and lie down in the basket / and you have one last question but can’t ask it / and they close the lid and sing a sad song / and finally you belong / because death is me and you, you and me / lots and lots for us never to see / from here to eternity / whichever comes sooner / death and the maiden, the baby boomer / and every other child that ever was born / death the dealer, death the skunk / death the comically desiccated monk / hung on a wall in a catacomb / death the cartoon / that works on every level / death the death of trouble / death means never paying for another overpriced ticket / or falling drunk in a bramble thicket / or playing cricket / you’ve pulled stumps / quit that shit / you’ve big time quit / you’re three feet under / what death has joined together let no man put asunder / death means never again feeling uneasy / queasy / or seeing one more goddamn film by Martin Scorsese / death means never riding another bike / or cab / or any new form of transport currently in development back in the lab / like a maglev train / or a teleporting brain / a driverless lorry / death means never having to say you’re sorry / death means never listening to a politician on the radio and then switching it off because you haven’t understood a word they’ve said / death is the longest you’ve ever stayed in bed / and then some / death is a loss of momentum / death is a complete absence of the enjoyment of avocado / death is incommunicado / a lack of bravado / or anything else for that matter / death is a no-food platter / death means never having a son and calling him Xavier / or saviour / which is a better rhyme / death is a surfeit of time / death is Quintus Fabius Maximus Verrucosus, the delayer / death is the world’s most prolific slayer / a whoreson betrayer of truths / and half-built roofs / or maybe it’s rooves / I’m not quite sure / anyway, death is a door / you’re either one side or the other / death is the world’s worst brother / who never, ever keeps in touch / death doesn’t care all that much / because death is basically lazy, crazy, a putz / death is totally kaputz / an absolute vacancy of Pizza huts / death means never again mistakenly ordering the stuffed crust / death, a loss of trust / death is a lockdown, lie-in, no-show / death is on the down-lo / but anyway, thanks for trying / death is buying / burying / death is boring / death is the blissful absence of snoring / death is the end to all philosophical endeavour / death has come to everyone in history who has ever been called Trevor / or Eve / or The Rt Hon Sir Nicholas St John Reeve / death wears its heart on its sleeve / as it dances forlornly with its sickle / death is the last remaining pickle / in a jar of brine / shining and divine / floating round a doughnut of time / death is a one way sign / death wants you to slow down a little / death is waiting for you at the hospital / so now, get you to my lady’s chamber / she’s scared to death and who can blame her
jim clayton 