by Brampton House Creative Agency
Rights Reserved G. S. Mattu 2017
G. S. Mattu 2017
authors have asserted their rights under the Copyright, Designs and
Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Authors of this work.
rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or
retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the
responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization
acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in
this publication can be accepted by BHCA or the authors.
to Brexit Ballads
by Article 50
Brexit Ballads 2017 [return
fundamental part of poetry is the pursuit of music in words. The
terse, brief words that make up Article 50 of the Lisbon Treaty must
now go down as one of the most influential poems of our times. It is
epoch-making poetry. We reproduce it below, its metre a bold
declaration of its unknowability and years spent in inactivity, dusty
on a ledger, now the focus of a crowd of desperate seekers of
meaning. We join these ranks, peering into this hieroglyph for a
glimpse of the future. Our noses are up against the glass.
with these vague words we grasp at our vague fate. The clumsy
rhetoric, full of holes, of bureaucratic arseholes, holy politicians
and journalistic blackholes, now makes us a society in (wholly) grey
margins. We have unknowable meanings. We are inchoate. Poetry has
never dealt with absolutes and so Article 50 is perfect, convoluted,
hearkening to some unwritten and unwritable ‘constitution of the
British Isles and the Commonwealth’ that never existed and never
will exist, even as the Union itself unravels like (‘UK’-produced)
spaghetti on fork.
plunge now into the madness of an early election, scheduled for June
8 2017. What will it bring? With whatever it brings, it must bring
Article 50 [return
am an article, 50, male,
White, words, motive words,
little words that gasp and
mean, you’re okay, but
no constitution for this, snowflake,
is hard. It takes a man.
a man-size job.
The standard issue phone
the news as an egg
into a cup of love.
covered in the grease of your
pork banger mitts.
mean nothing even to yourself.
crashed the car because
pain was something you desired
and bonnet rash.
majority votes clings to your
like sat-down-upon shit stains
another evening hunting for truffles
the cavities of favour.
mean, you’re okay but
just different ain’t they.
said, “I smelled curry on my Woman’s Own”
face of Brexit is a reddened black cab
still peeling from Tenerife and
the wheel of an TXII,
blubbery heart attack faces
acts of great violence
shank in the guts on the
flyover at Barking.
fumbling back door sex
Theresa May MP
in the Privy council, ooh
country’s full up, urgh
it aht, ya kant
have I done? Oh my God
have I done my
In the sun
country kin folk
Have churlishly changed
last few years
we wrote opinion pieces
the liberal media
we till the soil
food wrapped in foil
heartily! It’s been hard
all of us
won’t you answer
used to write for CIF?
// Hear me now.
already a site of dismay // run of the mill wreckage
steel bird to T-O // still an X marked on a video
today we rest in repose // red drink of ruin
100s of miles hence // but I am rendered hale by
Brexit in our lungs // like this metal dust and dirty dollars
in the basement // laughing at our leaders
fifty active// and actually honoured
of the masses made // by parliamentary power
truth! Hear the bells! // Tell the story, Gurdalf
you grew strong // gabbling in tongues wrong
by the English // from the winds of life and promise
Windrush of energy // fuelled the Black Country
a second class existence // stones through the windows
with no protection // working the bellows and anvils
machine of promise // cut down by devils
out of the kitchen by your mother’s
arse, I take shelter in the Osborne issue
lain like a limp cock
the living room table
I realise that Brexit smells
spilt beer smashed into carpets;
that shit Post Office that only sold
postal materials and Silk Cut
the man had a face as grey as
four day old condom.
overdone stew flavoured
with salt, ash,
dried parsley. Your wooden spoon black
wet onyx; Brexit smells
a 70s TV stand sat rotting out in the rain
chipboard interior warped like a fat slug
it was funny
you’re a bastard
the rest of us.
Member State may decide
withdraw from the Union
accordance with its own
decides to withdraw
notify the European Council
the light of the guidelines provided
the European Council,
Union shall negotiate
conclude an agreement
out the arrangements
account of the framework for
future relationship with the Union.
agreement shall be negotiated
the Functioning of the European Union.
shall be concluded
behalf of the Union
by a qualified majority, after
the consent of the
Treaties shall cease to apply to the State in question from the date
of entry into force of the withdrawal agreement or, failing that, two
years after the notification referred to in paragraph 2, unless the
European Council, in agreement with the Member State concerned,
unanimously decides to extend this period.
the purposes of paragraphs 2
member of the European Council
of the Council representing
withdrawing M e m b e r
shall not participate in the discussions of the European Council or
Council or in decisions concerning it.
accordance with Article 238(3)(b)
the European Union.
a State which has withdrawn from the Union asks to rejoin,
request shall be subject to the procedure
to in Article 49.