On such an anniversary there can be only one kind of poem.
If I should die and leave you here a while,
be not like others sore undone,
who keep long vigil by the silent dust.
For my sake turn again to life and smile,
nerving thy heart and trembling hand to do
something to comfort other hearts than thine.
Complete these dear unfinished tasks of mine
and I perchance may therein comfort you.
In Scotland, if not the whole of the UK, there's a well known saying when a job seems to be taking a long time to complete that it's "like painting the Forth Rail Bridge" because this's literally a never ending job. No sooner had the poor blighters painted themselves from one side 1.5 miles across to the other than they had to catch the next train back and start the whole bloomin' thing all over again.
Until now.
Now, some bright spark has invented a long life paint resistant to sun and sea that will last twenty five years between coats. This week, the poor guys who have been painting this fine edifice since 1890 completed the mammoth task for the last time and celebrated by doing themselves out of a job.
Freddie Mercury, the charismatic lead singer of rock band Queen would have been 65 today. I heard this on the radio as I travelled across the country to see a friend and was stunned to realise that, had he lived, this great musician and character would have been a pensioner picking up his bus pass today.
I always enjoyed Queen’s music, although I was never a true fan. I always thought they were talented musicians, good songwriters and exceptional showmen, whose songs have the rare balance of intelligent lyrics, great tunes, and fantastic delivery. As a lover of live music, they were a band I'd have loved to see but never did. Much of their music holds up well to the passing years, unlike many and Freddie, if at all possible, is a bigger star today than he was when he was alive. Who knows what fantastic tracks he and the band would have made since, had he lived.
There are many tracks I could choose to play as a tribute in memory of and no doubt there will be more than a few across the Internet today. Here are a couple of my favourite tracks from the band.
pigeons, up on a roof ledge – the males
are wobbling gyroscopes of lust.
Last week a stranger joined them, snowwhite
pouting fantail,
Mae West in the Women's Guild.
What becks, what croo – croos, what
demented pirouetting, what a lack
of moustaches to stroke
The females – no need to be one of them
to know
exactly what they were thinking – pretended
she wasn't there
and went dowdily on with whatever
pigeons do when they're knitting.
Too many things are swirling through the brain tonight, thoughts that won't form themselves into any kind of sense and images that are tumbled through with feelings that won't willingly give me the words to describe them. {How do you spell a sigh or the sound of a wave as it falls over on itself?}
I'm tired and heading off to bed - to dream of better words.
