The

Bath BurpSept 2011 MUSIC * POETRY * ART Issue 6

Editorial

Well, that’s it, summer’s been and gone. The flowers

have grown and pollinated, the leaves are dropping

off and the birds have stopped having sex with the

bees. We’re straight into the winter round here; no

use fussing around with autumn, it’s all so messy.

‘Tis the season for death, for everything to turn

brown and drop off. However, there’s a few evergreen

out there who have won the battle against the Wind

and the Cold, and they’ve been ever so nice and let

us put their hard work in this ‘ere Burp.

Number 6? That was quick.

David Selby

Blocked Writer

Thanks yet again to Jo Harbutt (Happy Birthday) and

Amanda Jones at Realworld Records for letting us

duplicate our CD’s there.

Front cover image by Bob Shaw: mattbobshaw.

deviantart.com/gallery.

Art Contributions: Pascale, Emma Crud, Sarah Ollis

Poetry & written contributions: Bogle McFarland,

Andrew Turner, Jake Saw , Joe Skelton & HLS.

www.thebathburp.co.uk

www.bathburpdirect.co.uk

ON THIS MONTH’S CD

1. The Islander by Urusen

Exclusive!! The new single from one of Bath and the UK’s

most rising bands. They are launching a vinyl version at

Chapel Arts on the 23rd Sept. Be there. www.urusen.co.uk

2. Flagged and born to be by Poppy and Friends.

This is the title track of their just-released EP, from

the pen of this uber-talented poet of a songstress.

Beautiful and uplifting music.

www.poppyandfriends.co.uk

3. Ankylosaurus by Waitress for the Bees.

Is it a song about a dinosaur? But it’s so beautiful and

dinosaurs are scary, aren’t they?

www.waitressforthebees.bandcamp.com

4. Open Doors by Beth Porter & The Availables

Beth is in about a million bands (because she is SO good),

so a track from her is bound to please.

www.theavailables.co.uk

5. Ourourka by Richard Selby

Storytime for readers of The Bath Burp, read from his

book, The Fifth Quarter.

www.richardselby.co.uk

6. False false by Ruby Brown and Catherine Hurley

Two established Bath musicians come together to sweetly

lull us towards the end of this months CD.

www.rubybrownmusic.com

If you would like to submit a poem, song or story for a

future month, please send an email to:

music@thebathburp.co.uk We are happy to come and

record gigs in Bath too, if you let us know in time.

Pascale www.wix.com/pascaleonline/galleries

The Stoat Rebliion

An excerpt from “The Stoat Rebellion”, a story of a

civil rights struggle and civil war between weasels,

stoats and voles, and dedicated to Bogle McFarland,

the pacifist stoat poet who in September 1970

was tried and sentenced to death by an emergency

military court of the Woodland Central Government

Army at Rochester in Kent for publishing his poem,

“What, went my merry dew” which was deemed to be an

act of treason.

Bogle McFarland was hanged until pronounced dead by

members of the 1st Battalion, 6th Airborne Regiment,

Section 22, W.C.G.A at Rochester Barracks at 7.30 am

on the 20th October 1970. Hanging was abolished in

the New English Democratic Woodland in 1980. May Pan

go with him. 

What, went my merry dew

What, went my merry dew

In field and furrow

land has turned 

brown and red 

with the blood of folly foot 

and reckless paw. 

Unpicked crop 

and harsh voices 

on concrete 

with brass buckle 

and the might 

of a rifle butt 

wriggle as the trench tin 

through the autumn sunshine 

which shines like a sun dial 

on the rows of a once hungry 

and DDT scarred dead. 

What, went my merry dew

On fettered bow 

and row of hedge 

lie the shreds of clothing 

which were not for comfort 

or for show. 

The rags tell tales 

of mortality and blood shed. 

A cat walk of carnage 

endured only 

by the masses. 

What, went my merry dew 

Bogle McFarland, stoat poet,

 March 1949–October 1970

thestoatrebellion.wordpress.com

Emma Crud

Andrew Turner

How to Smoke a Pack of Razorblades

We trained to work with people who self-harm.

If a person cuts their arms with razor blades

we were told not to take them away,

but to give the person antiseptic cream.

Clean cuts heal, they know to cut in a safe place.

At lunchtime I went to buy cigarettes.

Queuing at the newsagents I saw

they were next to each other, behind the counter –

razor blades and cigarettes, in my head

I read them aloud, they sounded alike:

Gilette Mach Four – Lambert and Butler,

Wilkinson Sword – Marlboro Lights,

Bic disposables – Lucky Strike.

Then I saw them as a bazaar of self-harm,

ways of coping, only one

would do damage in the long-term.

Now, I have two nicotine patches on my upper arm,

beneath my elbow, a line of faint scars.

This is how I smoke my razorblades, straight.

One, kept clean, will last me for days.

My floor isn’t littered with empty packets,

I keep the antiseptic and bandage

where I used to keep the ashtray.

Postcard of a Dying Woman

Left elbow up, arm coiled,

hand – cups the ball of bone

where spine joins skull;

as if she’s deckchair-bound,

looking up, hearing the distant drone

of a short-haul flight to the Costa-del-Sol.

More News @ 5

We are planting lettuces

Six apples are on the apple tree

We planted runner beans

Tom is having a party at McDonalds

Sarah went to the circus

I went to see Pinocchio

On Friday the mayor came

The sheep says baaaa

It is a sunny day

I am playing with my toy

A swarm of bees flew into John’s Garden

A witch is near some trees

I am on a horse

We are all going fishing

The toy shop is open…

CPI inflation rates are rising

HLS aged 5 and 31

Sarah Ollis

Jake Saw - Amaryllis.

I am writing this for you, my Amaryllis.

Your sad remains rest on my coffee table,

encased in a cold ceramic urn.

I failed to care for you, despite

your reliance on me.

My attentions were wrapped

in too many chapters.

I wouldn’t tend to you for days.

I saw you dried up, figure shrivelled

under the weight of smoke and silence.

The bodies of beetles surround

you like beads of black wax.

I swear their shells wink at me,

cold and pitiless eyes.

I want to see you raise your arms again;

but their bones are broken and the grey

crept into them in my absence.

They lie coiled in on themselves,

the fingers tracing circles in

dirt and dust. As the weeks passed

I noticed the patterns in the soot.

The Nature of a Man.

When the mind of a man becomes divided the man

becomes divided.

What a divided man sees, his hands unmake.

Such a man no longer knows himself.

Such a man is weak.

The walls of his mind become as water,

allowing distractions to invade and multiply.

A man must have purpose for by the weight of his

purpose

is a man defined.

A man without purpose is without definition.

To lack definition is to lack function.

Such a man is flawed.

He exists in opposition to himself

and the knowing of this divides him further.

There must be balance in all things, for strength

lies in knowing oneself.

Through the knowing of oneself comes clarity.

Through clarity focus can be directed and applied.

There cannot be two skies.

CONTRIBUTE TO THE BATH BURP

If you would like to contribute something to The

Bath Burp, please get in touch using the following

emails:

Written and visual contributions to:

contact@thebathburp.co.uk

They should be able to fit on one or two sides of A5,

and if images, should look nice reproduced in black

and white, and 300dpi. Basically, if the file size is

over a megabyte, it’s probably OK.

Audio contributions for the CD to:

music@thebathburp.co.uk

We’re thinking poems, stories and music, but you

might be more imaginative than us. We can accept an

email of a high quality mp3 at a push, but we’d MUCH

prefer a full res copy. Either drop off a CD marked

for The Bath Burp at The Royal Oak on Lower Bristol

Rd, or upload a full res version to Dropbox or

Soundcloud and send us the link. Alternatively, if

you don’t have any recordings, drop us an email and

we’ll come record you play live.

We can’t promise to publish everything we receive,

but we appreciate all the submissions and will always

try and bring you content from all the many varied

streets of Bath, from the cresents, to the dark

alleys, and the swamps beyond.