|
Who'd be a hero, stuck up on a pedstal where
everyone worships you but nobody takes you seriously?
(If you really want to sing this, there's a tune
available. Send us an e-mail and we'll think about it . . .)
Have you noticed that the British,
are notoriously skittish
when confronted by a man of charismatic flair?
They don't want a proper hero,
they feel safer with a pierrot,
so they shove you up your column in Trafalgar
Square
No one's int'rested in hist'ry,
they prefer a bit of myst'ry
so if you find fame and fortune, take my word:
beware,
for they'll have you elevated
so a myth can be created,
and the truth goes up your column in Trafalgar
Square.
I've faced canon when they're roaring,
witnessed drunken sailors whoring,
seen the ship around me burn and never turned a
hair;
but there's nothing quite like knowing
where that biting wind is going,
when it whistles up your column in Trafalgar
square.
How I wish I had somewhere to go
that didn't give me vertigo;
the dizzy heights of fame are more than I can
bear.
But what really make me furious
are the transatlantic tourists,
who stand staring up my column in Trafalgar
Square.
© Michael Forster
not the
Poet Laureate
June 1999
|
