You ask me where I was when those two poets
withdrew from the T S Eliot Prize
in protest at the sponsors, causing markets

to implode simultaneously as
bankers ripped off suits and squealed like swine,
and hedge fund managers gouged out their eyes

like Oedipus did back in ancient times.
I didn’t see the Lloyds buildings crumble,
the buildings T S Eliot worked within,

instead I left the frantic urban jungle
to seek out Highgate Cemetery’s shade,
to find hundreds of pilgrims had assembled

to watch Karl Marx’s bust weep tears of blood.


5 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Bee
    Dec 07, 2011 @ 18:22:25

    Omg.. this is brilliant. Love it! Ha!


  2. Benjamin Mackie
    Dec 13, 2011 @ 08:25:40

    Super good.


  3. Niall O'Sullivan
    Dec 14, 2011 @ 00:05:52

    You’re too kind Benjamin 🙂


  4. Niall O'Sullivan
    Dec 14, 2011 @ 00:06:34

    And you too Bee, thanks for the kind words 😀


  5. peter litton
    Dec 18, 2011 @ 23:34:20

    Oh no I’ve slipped behind… Lynne has taken my eye off this poetry series and loosened all the screws in my bed.
    So two poets want to claim the moral high ground and boycott an award. The arts need all the support they can get and not all the financial institutions are culpable.
    I like the second stanza.


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