Thursday 26 January 2012

A meditation upon ageing



















Found in the attic, a cracked old stein
With love to dad a present from the Rhine
It was the last trip you were allowed on
During your youthful rebellion
It is the prerogative of youth to rage
I did. I was a hippy at that age
How I laughed at my parents' tacky crap
There were musicals before there was rap
Radio 2, Semprini Serenade
David Jacobs and his ‘hit parade’
Now my stuff has the same effect on you
The Groundhogs, Focus, Led Zeppelin II

Rebellions are based on hair and beats
And trouser widths but history repeats
In Camden, thin young men in photo shoots
Are wearing skinny jeans and desert boots
From each generation comes barbarous rhyme
From skiffle to rock to hip-hop then to grime
We offend our children, they will theirs
By being boring, or nerds, or ‘squares’
We urge upon the young our own decorum
‘Do not go out like that,’ we implore them
We leave our past, but then it comes back
Nostalgia is in, grey is the new black

Perhaps fashion is merely a sense of smell
For what is lasting, what ephemeral
My old army great coat lingers in the hall
Like a relic on a market stall
Mildewed and redolent of old rope
Patchouli oil, Golden Virginia and dope
I wore it at Reading, damp and high
On something. Lasers flashed across the sky
I would not wear it now, it would look weird
Like a pony tail, or a goatee beard
Offences against taste make us sick
Knowing when to stop, that's the trick


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