All through our summer of low comedy –
with knave competing with knave for the
approval of a paltry coterie
of complacent fools and fearful bigots,
justifying thievery and ignorance,
jingoism, contempt and cruelty,
with the Queen finally awarding the prize
to the witless winner then promptly dying –
I have dreamt repeatedly of the French
Blue Riband ’30s ocean liner
the transatlantique SS Normandie,
sailing Le Havre-Southampton-New York.
Its suites de luxe were equipped with baby grands
and servants’ quarters. Its first class dining room
was three decks high, and its crew outnumbered
all of its three classes of passengers.
The government borrowed to build the ship
pour la gloire de France. Critics berated
the debt acquired in the Depression.
By chance it was docked at Pier 88
opposite the Jersey shore when the Nazis
invaded Poland, and France declared war.
The USA prematurely ‘interned’
the vessel, renaming it USS
Lafayette, with a view to transforming it
into a troopship. Out came the pianos,
the Lalique, the thousands of bottles of wine.
A vast glass mural in a corner
of the Grand Salon ended up at the Met.
But incompetence set the ship on fire.
Water from the hoses turned it on its side.
It was righted in ’43; considered
redundant; and scrapped in ’46.
…I am driving on the West Side Highway –
not as it is now but as it was then –
and approaching Cunard’s Pier 90,
where the Lusitania used to dock,
when I see smoke ahead, and crowds watching.
The Chrysler behind me rams my Buick.
The driver gets out. It is The Joker…
…The ship is on its side in the icy mud
of the Hudson. Batman and Robin
are trying to right it. Meanwhile Poison Ivy
is making off with the Art Deco light fittings…
…I have been cast adrift by the Penguin –
and other deranged, illustrious
inhabitants of Gotham City –
in a flimsy craft in the English Channel.
Bearing down on me is Adolphe Mouron’s
iconic poster advertising
the SS Normandie’s maiden voyage.
The elegant blade of the bows –
lit on one side, shaded on the other –
is almost upon me. Silhouetted against
the dark side are thirteen white birds. Their cries
are almost the last I hear except
for the Marseillaise – ‘Aux armes, citoyens,
Formez vos bataillons, Marchons, marchons!‘…
Adolphe MouronBatman & RobinCunard's Pier 90Elizabeth ReginaGotham CityPier 88Poison IvySS Normandiethe Blue Ribandthe Jokerthe PenguinTory Party leadership contest
John Huddart
September 30, 2022Now that is a tour de force! That amazing sentence which is verse 1! The superb account of the Normandie, and her exquisite vulgarities and ignominious end. Then that extraordinary fantasy of the real and comic worlds in v4. There are not enough superlatives in the OED to congratulate with!
Ian Craine
September 30, 2022Well said, John, I completely agree. It’s a magnificent poem, David.
Catherine Reynolds
October 4, 2022An extraordinary poem, and no mistaking. Your juxtaposition of the crass and comedic fools who we are cursed with in government alongside the brash bombast of the Normandie when so much of the world was struggling with the Great Depression is a nice touch. In the 30’s everything enjoyed by the upper classes was about self-indulgence, showiness and speed; on land, by sea and in the air. Then in the midst of this excellent adjacency you introduce the characters from Gotham City – a touch of bizarre genius.
Mary Clark
October 4, 2022The Normandie’s demise was a tragicomedy of errors. Stupid idea to convert it to a troop ship as its size, even though fast, would attract German fire. Then the people trying to convert it said they needed more time, but were refused, so they rushed to complete the job, and a welder set fire to lifejackets. Then the ships’ designer told the (US Navy) Admiral to open the sea cocks and let the ship sink slightly, but he said no, and the fire department dumped tons of water into it, setting it off balance. Your comic plight on the West Side Highway mimics this farce. All against the backdrop of wealth, financial crisis, and war.
Alan Horne
October 12, 2022Sorry to be slow to comment, David, I was at a meeting of the Anti-Growth Coalition. It’s going well. Funnily enough I’ve just finished reading Britannia Unchained, the contribution of our masters to World Thought. So your poem comes as a blast of sobriety and realism. Gotham City here we come!