Fuck You- by Tom McGrath: a working class Scottish poet

https://standupandspit. Alexander Trocchi Tom McGrath

Tom McGrath was a working class Scottish poet (23 October 1940 – 29 April 2009) He was a founding editor of International Times and worked variously with Alexander Trocchi, Billy Connolly, and Jimmy Boyle.
This poem is from Aquarius, No. 6, 1973. This was a Scottish issue.

Who was Tom McGrath? | Edinburgh International Film Festival



Fuck You

Fuck you and your public dole that doesn’t have a toilet.

Fuck you and your employment exchange
your dreadful dearth of vacation employment,
why don’t I try the breweries
fuck tedium death on assembly lines

Fuck you and what you’d have me do with summer
sweating over proofs in a publishing house,
or growing green mould selling books for John Smith
sorting through cobwebs in nonpublic libraries

Fuck you and your hardback books
your polite poets who never touch earth
and never are read except by each other
and the withered few they’ve fooled
and brainwashed in the lecture halls

Fuck you and your examination system
and comment present a detailed analysis
of this poem if you like/if you don’t like
fuck you then and your tobacco
your Carlsberg special brews and all you’ve based
your empty empire on, your precious democratic right to vote,
choice between lies and lies, fuck it too

and fuck your newspapers and your television
and all purveyors of human value wilderness
fuck you and your motorcars and what they’ve done
to street and field and fuck your hideous office blocks
your controlled parks and men in uniform

Fuck your uniformity and your void
of blabbing justices, fuck your corrupt screws
and primlipped schoolmarm social workers
fuck your mad psychiatry
trying to train us back
to Pavlov’s dogs

and fuck you and your church and collars
trying to be hip and please the young
trying to be responsible and please their mothers
trying to be revolutionaries and conform

fuck them and fuck you I can reach God my own way fuck your wars
and the blue flowers sprout in my garden and tell me
fuck them and their industrial smoke

their whiskey-steeped reporters
giving accurate distorts

and I say fuck tidying up this poem
and making it more accurate
YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN?
You know what I mean –

unless you give me the truth
that serves the flesh and feeds the sensibility,
I’m going to have to pounce on you some night
and fuck you fuck you fuck you hard
in cunt and mouth, asshole and nostril
until you scream with it
scream with joy
and shout fuck it!
fuck their images
their skyscrape institutions
fuck the dreary digitry they have reduced us to –
a man’s life is worth so much more than this!

then my sweetie, I will love you too

Tom McGrath

Who was Tom McGrath? | Edinburgh International Film Festival

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