TThhee Secseconondd LiLifefe
duplication is the succubus of futility
HeHeHeHeHeHeHeHe llllllllllllllll oooooooo ........
DDDDDDDD oooooooo llllllllllllllll yyyyyyyy !!!!!!!!
duplidupli catcat ionion isis thethe succsucc ubub usus ofof futilfutil itit yy
HellHellHellHell oooo ,,,, DoDoDoDo llyllyllylly !!!!
dupdupdupdup liclicliclic atatatat iiii onononon isisisis thththth eeee
susususu ccubccubccubccub usususus ofofofof futfutfutfut ilililil itititit yyyy
Hello Hello ,, Dolly Dolly !!
dudududududududu plipliplipliplipliplipli catcatcatcatcatcatcatcat ioioioioioioioio nnnnnnnn
iiiiiiii ssssssss thththththththth eeeeeeee
ooooooooffffffff fufufufufufufufu tiltiltiltiltiltiltiltil itititititititit yyyyyyyy
Hello, Dolly ! well Hello, Dolly! It’s so nice to have you babababababababaaa
ckckckckckckckck whwhwhwhwhwhwhwh erererererererer eeeeeeee
yoyoyoyoyoyoyoyo uuuuuuuu bebebebebebebebe lolololololololo ngngngngngngngng
Eddie’s work branches in so many directions that there’s something for everyone and if a fine poem is needed for just about any occasion, or to illustrate a particular form, style or strategy, you’re pretty sure to find what you’re looking for in his Collected Poems. But first and foremost a poem should be enjoyed as itself and for itself, and there is no shortage of Eddie’s material to be read simply – or not so simply – for pleasure.
As Eddie lived such a long and productive life, there have been previous tributes. At the Scottish National Portrait Gallery on the occasion of his eightieth birthday, a dozen poets read their occasional poem. I had been in Prague and thought I’d write something about the Strahov library. What came out instead was a poem about Saint Wilgefortis. A pious woman, known elsewhere as Uncumber and Liberata, she’d been betrothed to an irreligious man and prayed to be spared such a marriage. As legend has it, divine mercy chased away her suitor by turning her into a bearded lady. Quite how the subject matter connected with Eddie is open to interpretation but he said he liked the piece, and the sight of his toothy smile as he straightened the laurel wreath he wore with pride and irony, remains a priceless memory.
[ Dilys Rose lives in Edinburgh. She has published ten books of fiction and poetry, most recently Bodywork. Work in progress is a novel based on blasphemy and betrayal in a period of moral panic. She is the current course director of the Masters in Creative Writing at the University of Edinburgh.]
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