Bagpipe Music
It's no go the merrygoround, it's no go the rickshaw,
All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow.
Their knickers are made of crepe-de-chine, their shoes are made of python,
Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with head of bison.
John MacDonald found a corpse, put it under the sofa,
Waited till it came to life and hit it with a poker,
Sold its eyes for souvenirs, sold its blood for whiskey,
Kept its bones for dumbbells to use when he was fifty.
It's no go the Yogi-man, it's no go Blavatsky,
All we want is a bank balance and a bit of skirt in a taxi.
Annie MacDougall went to milk, caught her foot in the heather,
Woke to hear a dance record playing of Old Vienna.
It's no go your maidenheads, it's no go your culture,
All we want is a Dunlop tire and the devil mend the puncture.
The Laird o' Phelps spent Hogmanay declaring he was sober,
Counted his feet to prove the fact and found he had one foot over.
Mrs. Carmichael had her fifth, looked at the job with repulsion,
Said to the midwife "Take it away; I'm through with overproduction."
It's no go the gossip column, it's no go the Ceilidh,(1)
All we want is a mother's help and a sugar-stick for the baby.
Willie Murray cut his thumb, couldn't count the damage,
Took the hide of an Ayrshire cow and used it for a bandage.
His brother caught three hundred cran when the seas were lavish, (2)
Threw the bleeders back in the sea and went upon the parish.
It's no go the Herring Board, it's no go the Bible,
All we want is a packet of fags when our hands are idle.
It's no go the picture palace, it's no go the stadium,
It's no go the country cot with a pot of pink geraniums,
It's no go the Government grants, it's no go the elections,
Sit on your arse for fifty years and hang your hat on a pension.
It's no go my honey love, it's no go my poppet;
Work your hands from day to day, the winds will blow the profit.
The glass is falling hour by hour, the glass will fall forever,
But if you break the bloody glass you won't hold up the weather.
Commentary
(1) Caelidh : pronounced ‘kaley’, Gaelic term for a round of gossiping visits.
(2) cran : a measure for the quantity of just-caught herrings.
This poem is by Louis MacNeice (1907-1963), one of the great modern Scottish poets. It is set in in Scotland in the 1930’s, they years of the Depression, years which led up to the Munich crisis if 1938 and the outbreak of WWII in 1939. The poem found an honoured place in a wonderful recent anthology of “Poetry to be Read Aloud”.
I really love the poem’s vigorous meter and its wonderful sound - you can actually hear the bagpipes playing in the background. Definitely a poem to read aloud. In a weird way, one is reminded of the poetry of Philip Larkin, of whom more later.
— Anustup
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From the Wondering Minstrels mailing list, 1999–2008.
Sandford Smith Ben (ELSLON) · 10 November 1999
Hope you don’t think this is too pedantic but I think Louis MacNeice is from Northern Ireland not Scotland.
And I don’t think that’s the right definition of a ceilidh either… Thanks for the site
Ben Smith
Sullivan Jonah · 8 August 2000
A Ceilidh is a party with dancing and live music. MacNeice was born in Ireland, although he is considered (and thought of himself as ) a British poet.
Jonah Sullivan
Rob Spence · 16 October 2000
Well, Louis MacNeice was of course from Northern Ireland, which means that he was British- his family was of the upper class, his father being a senior Church of Ireland clergyman, and he was educated at Marlborough, a leading public (i.e. private) school, and at Oxford. For most of his life he worked for the BBC in London- so there’s really no Scottish connection at all. I like the vigour and colloquial feel of this poem, but I don’t think the atmosphere it evokes is a pleasant one- surely we have here the sense of apathy and despair that characterised Britain as it slipped into the war with Germany. MacNeice - like Eliot and Pound- despaired for a civilisation gone rotten. God knows what he’d make of today’s Britain…
o.ohare · 1 June 2002
And this is totally pedantic. MacNeice was born in Belfast in 1907. “Nothern Ireland” was not at that time a political entity. In other words he was born in Ireland and was therefore Irish. He would no doubt have also considered himself to be British and indeed worked and lived for most of his life in London. William Kirk
Andrewdcramb · 24 January 2003
In Scots gaelic, the word “ ceilidh “ can have both the meanings referred to above. I would guess that Macneice’s ancestors were almost certainly scottish not Irish. It is strange no-one has attempted to interpret the poem, but I would have thought it is a perfect comment on modern day Britain !!
MoparGurl15 · 24 April 2003
What’s the irony of the sugar stick in Bagpipe Music? Any clue? Who are the speakers in this poem? The falling glass…what is it represanting? I’d really appreciate any insight.
Veronica
student at CSUSM
Helayne Beavers · 23 May 2003
In response to Veronica’s question:
The “glass” referst to a weatherglass, or barometer. There’s no particular irony to the the sugar stick, it just refers to the practice of giving a baby candy to shut it up from crying.
Ambrose Kennedy · 3 July 2003
The question from one commentator suggesting that Louis McNeice would have found modern day Britain in worse condition than when he penned this verse fails to take into account the state of the country when the poem was written . There was no National Health Service, infant mortality was high , there was no minimum wage, there was no pregnancy(never mind paternity) leave, health and safety at work was so rudimentary as to be practically non-existent, only monied people could avail of further education, TB was rife and usually fatal , life expectancy was much shorter, there had been a horrendous World War barely over 20 years before and the world was on the cusp of another one, etc. I could go on indefinitely. Why do people tend to think that the age in which they live is the worst in history when all common sense and humanitarian criteria indicate that while the world is never perfect it does (slowly ) improve in what most would feel are the crucial areas.
On a lighter note - one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard was the late Sir Michael Horden reading this poem on a programme called “Muses With Milligan”(hosted by the also unfortunately late Spike) which goes back to the late 60s or early 70s.
Ambrose Kennedy
helen MACMILLAN · 20 March 2004
MacNiece was born in Belfast - you are right, from there he moved to either America or Canada, it escapes me.
RTCot · 25 April 2004
Thanks for posting the poem! I appreciate the comments after it, also. But I have a few more questions:
Can anybody explain “Blavatsky”? The only Blavatsky I can find is a 19th century Russian Helena Blavatsky who was the founder of Theosophy. I don’t think she had any connection to Scotland, but I don’t know for sure. What does “Laird o’ Phelps” mean. Laird is Scottish for Lord, so does this mean, the Lord of Phelps? Is Phelps a region of Scotland? Lastly, are you sure the poem was written during the Depression? It sounds post-WWII to me.
Thanks! Chris
Fludernik · 9 July 2005
Does anybody know what the Herring Board is? Does it have to do with herring (i.e. fish), but that does not seem to fit the line. It also cant be herring bone, I guess. Thanks for any info.
Blavatsky is indeed that Madam Blatvatsky about whom Yeats and the theosophists were wild. In conjunction with the yogiman (i.e. yoga man), the line suggests that spiritualist approaches are no longer “in”.
Monika
Malcolm Coggins · 26 May 2006
Hi Everyone,
If you like this poem, try to listen to a Rock Version of “Bagpipe Music” by The River Gods circa 2004 London England
Sadly, no longer together
They were a tremendous line-up
Les Binks Drums Ex Judas Priest
Pete Fresen Lead Guitar Now with Alice Cooper
Tommy Lundy Guitar & Vocals The late, great (deceased)
Phil Rynhart Bass & Vocals
The lyrics have been taken in their entirenty from Louis MacNieces poem.
It is awesome !
So much so, the lead guitarist Pete Fresen is now part of Alice Coopers Band
Find and enjoy !
Malcolm
Malcolm Coggins
Purchasing Officer
Triage Services Ltd
Tel:Fax:
www.triage-services.com
Gordon Alexander · 8 February 2007
To the writer who said that as MacNeice was born in Belfast in 1907, you are right and wrong. As Ireland was part of the UK, he would have been a UK citizen, born in the Irish area of that political entity. He most certainly saw himself as British.
Alexander Gordon
Support Scotland’s Bid to host the 2014 Commonwealth Games in Glasgow - visit www.glasgow2014.com
JT Thompson · 11 May 2007
Ah yes, and ‘went upon the parish’, by the way, means going on the dole, accepting unemployment benefit paid by the government. And a ‘mother’s help’ is what we’d now call an au pair - a woman who helps a mother with her children. A packet of fags, for our transatlantic brothers, refers to cigarettes, nothing more sinister. And the ‘glass’ that is falling refers to a barometer showing falling air pressure, and so forecasting ill weather.
JT Thompson · 11 May 2007
MacNeice spent a lot of time in Ireland, and was friendly with Irish poets, actors, writers and artists - particularly with Donagh MacDonagh, for instance.
He would certainly have been familiar with the Irish use of céilidh; Dublin was constantly ag céiliúradh in the 1930s!
The Herring Board - there were a bunch of ‘boards’ of this, that and the other at the time, government bodies overseeing farming, fishing, tourism, and so on, certainly in Ireland, probably in Britain as well.
Blavatsky was a reference to Madame Blavatsky all right. The Theosophists are just one of the groups of purveyors of easy solutions MacNeice satirises here.
The poem starts out by using the format of the skipping rhyme to mock modern (then) life. Skipping rhymes were always political - we skipped to ‘Vote, vote, vote for de Valera…” so he’s using what’s already there.
He also pulls in current sentimentalities - “playing of old Vienna” and mocks them too.
What is the point, he’s saying, of all the lovely dreams sold to us: the country cottage with its pretty pot of pink geraniums on the windowsill; the profitable fishing boat bringing in many cran (a cran is 37.5 imperial gallons, by the way; the word comes from a Gaedhlig and Gaeilge word for a basket) of herring but being barred by pointless government rules from selling them.
He’s mocking socialism, with the Stakhanovite working woman, mother of many children for her nation, who says “I’m through with overproduction”.
In the end, disillusioned with any attempt at self-sufficiency, aided by government grants, or any attempt at power and control, aided by the electoral process, he recommends the intellectual reader to the course of action taken by most of the poets of his generation: sit on your arse (in a government or academic job) for fifty years and hang your hat on a pension.
Ah, and a laird - not a lord but a small landowner, normally seeing himself (however his neighbours may see him) as a kind of chieftain.