The Angry Exile: Marcus the Sheep.

The Hangman

Into our town the Hangman came,
Smelling of gold and blood and flame.
And he paced our bricks with a diffident air,
And built his frame in the courthouse square.
The scaffold stood by the courthouse side,
Only as wide as the door was wide;
A frame as tall, or little more,
Than the capping sill of the courthouse door.
And we wondered, whenever we had the time,
Who the criminal, what the crime
That the Hangman judged with the yellow twist
of knotted hemp in his busy fist.
And innocent though we were, with dread,
We passed those eyes of buckshot lead --
Till one cried: "Hangman, who is he
For whom you raised the gallows-tree?"
Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
And he gave us a riddle instead of reply:
"He who serves me best," said he,
"Shall earn the rope of the gallows-tree."
And he stepped down, and laid his hand
On a man who came from another land.
And we breathed again, for another's grief
At the Hangman's hand was our relief
And the gallows-frame on the courthouse lawn
By tomorrow's sun would be struck and gone.
So we gave him way, and no one spoke,
Out of respect for his Hangman's cloak.
The next day's sun looked mildly down
On roof and street in our quiet town,
And stark and black in the morning air
Was the gallows-tree in the courthouse square.
And the Hangman stood at his usual stand
With the yellow hemp in his busy hand;
With his buckshot eye and his jaw like a pike
And his air so knowing and business-like.
And we cried, "Hangman, have you not done
Yesterday, with the foreign one?"
Then we fell silent, and stood amazed,
"Oh, not for him was the gallows raised."
He laughed a laugh as he looked at us:
"Did you think I'd gone to all this fuss
To hang one man? That's a thing I do
To stretch a rope when the rope is new."
Then one cried "Murder!" and one cried "Shame!"
And into our midst the Hangman came
To that man's place. "Do you hold," said he,
"with him that was meant for the gallows-tree?"
And he laid his hand on that one's arm.
And we shrank back in quick alarm!
And we gave him way, and no one spoke
Out of fear of his Hangman's cloak.
That night we saw with dread surprise
The Hangman's scaffold had grown in size.
Fed by the blood beneath the chute,
The gallows-tree had taken root;
Now as wide, or a little more,
Than the steps that led to the courthouse door,
As tall as the writing, or nearly as tall,
Halfway up on the courthouse wall.
The third he took -- we had all heard tell --
Was a usurer, and an infidel.
"What," said the Hangman "have you to do
With the gallows-bound, and he a Jew?"
And we cried out, "Is this one he
Who has served you well and faithfully?"
The Hangman smiled: "It's a clever scheme
to try the strength of the gallows-beam."
The fourth man's dark, accusing song
Had scratched our comfort hard and long;
"And what concern," he gave us back.
"Have you for the doomed -- the doomed and Black?"
The fifth. The sixth. And we cried again,
"Hangman, Hangman, is this the man?"
"It's a trick," he said. "that we hangmen know
For easing the trap when the trap springs slow."
And so we ceased, and asked no more,
As the Hangman tallied his bloody score.
And sun by sun, and night by night,
The gallows grew to monstrous height.
The wings of the scaffold opened wide
Till they covered the square from side to side;
And the monster cross-beam, looking down,
Cast its shadow across the town.
Then through the town the Hangman came,
Through the empty streets, and called my name --
And I looked at the gallows soaring tall,
And thought, "There is no one left at all
For hanging, and so he calls to me
To help pull down the gallows-tree."
So I went out with right good hope
To the Hangman's tree and the Hangman's rope.
He smiled at me as I came down
To the courthouse square through the silent town.
And supple and stretched in his busy hand
Was the yellow twist of the hempen strand.
And he whistled his tune as he tried the trap,
And it sprang down with a ready snap --
And then with a smile of awful command
He laid his hand upon my hand.
"You tricked me. Hangman!," I shouted then,
"That your scaffold was built for other men...
And I no henchman of yours," I cried,
"You lied to me, Hangman. Foully lied!"
Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
"Lied to you? Tricked you?" he said. "Not I.
For I answered straight and I told you true --
The scaffold was raised for none but you.
For who has served me more faithfully
Then you with your coward's hope?" said he,
"And where are the others who might have stood
Side by your side in the common good?"
"Dead," I whispered. And amiably
"Murdered," the Hangman corrected me:
"First the foreigner, then the Jew...
I did no more than you let me do."
Beneath the beam that blocked the sky
None had stood so alone as I.
The Hangman noosed me, and no voice there
Cried "Stop!" for me in the empty square.

Maurice Ogden

Friday, 12 February 2010

Marcus the Sheep.

No, not the one who got eaten. Actually I'm being a bit unkind here because I'm referring to Marcus Brigstocke.

The other day over at Bishop Hill I came across this post encouraging people to sign up to a petition asking for much needed reform of Britain's increasingly comical libel laws. So I went over to add my name and have a look around, and whilst there I came across their 'pledge wall' (Fuckface terminology is spreading, eh?). This is where people's messages of support appear including - with artful publicity shots - those of more than a dozen assorted journos, writers, performers, slebs and luvvies. Mouse over a face and you get a brief quote on the subject of libel reform from the person who's now got your mouse cursor up their nose. Here's what Marcus Brigstocke has to say.

Good on yer, Marcus, couldn't agree more. But hang on a mo, Marcus writes for the Grauniad as well and recently he had this to say on the subject of Osama Bin Laden's support for the fight against warble gloaming (my emphasis).

In the "new" recording he mentions the Kyoto protocol and Bush junior's failure to act. Catch up, beardy – it's Obama and Copenhagen now. To be honest the whole statement's a bit dated and makes me think that this tape may have been made some time ago. Perhaps he's got the wrong wattage of eco bulbs in the cave and can't read the latest stuff. I wonder if he even knows about the East Anglia email scandal. That seems to be reason enough to get otherwise logical people to doubt years of peer-reviewed work from thousands of scientists, so imagine what it might do to a loose cannon like him.

The man who says that scientists with legitimate questions should be free to speak is pretty dismissive when it comes to scientists - and others* - asking legitimate questions about what passes for science in the field of climate whinge. "Otherwise logical people?" Arrogant prick. Ill informed too. The main reason for doubt, Marcus... buddy, and incidentally all the reason anyone should ever need, is that doubt is scientific. The email scandal merely confirmed what many doubters had suspected for some time - that certain alarmists were going to some lengths to silence, marginalise or simply ignore those asking legitimate questions.

Or is that only wrong when some fuckknuckles tries to make a libel case out of it, Marcus?

Wanker.

2 comments:

Bill Sticker said...: Brigstocke? Highly overrated. Saw him 'live' twice when he topped the bill at a Comedy club I used to visit regularly. I've seen better. On both occasions two acts lower down on the bill got better laughs.

He's not that funny, or profound.; 12 February 2010 at 16:28
Angry Exile said...: He's always struck me as being someone who was too young to have been involved with the lefty comedy scene in the 80s, watched the Red Wedge stuff desperately wishing he could have been a part of it too, and has secretly been fantasising that Margaret Thatcher was still running the country ever since he became an adult. I can't decide who's more annoying, Brigstocke, Mark Steel or Jeremy Hardy.

Hmmm.....

On reflection I think it's Brigstocke.; 12 February 2010 at 20:14