Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

Poetry Library Southbank Centre - The Poetry Library housing the Arts Council Collection at Southbank Centre

« Previous item
Contents of this issue
Next item »

Liz Cashdan

print this page

Macbeth

Last week my son, Jon, rang from South Africa,
wanted a recipe for cinnamon cake.
‘Just put the two mixtures in anyhow’, I said,

‘they always run together as it cooks’.
Tonight he rings again from the theatre -
it’s Macbeth in Zulu and he doesn’t know the plot.

I remember the fifteen-year-olds struggling
with Shakespeare.  Then it was Macbeth,
Scotland’s striker, wanting to be manager,

bumped off Duncan, ran the team himself,
couldn’t keep his best players, sacked
Banquo:  Macduff resigned, joined England.

Neither Macbeth nor his wife could get
a proper night’s sleep after that.
His wife died and Macbeth found he’d scored

nothing but own goals, the last one thinking
he was a match for Macduff.  Macbeth lost
Scotland and his head.  Duncan’s son took over....

‘Well, there’s this fellow Buthulezi, O.K?
ambitious sort of bloke, envies Mandela’,
I say, desperate to squash a five-act play

and the whole of South Africa into a long-
-distance telephone call.  ‘Got the picture’,
says Jon, ‘cheers, it’s about to start’.

Page(s) 9

Back to top