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vineyard. For some reason, this congenial practice was later abandoned, but it was doubtless continued when Patrick was alone with my mother.^fn2

      In September 1978 Patrick noted in his diary:

      My poems discourage me: too personal, often too trifling. There are some I like that would do for general consumption but probably not enough to make a book.

      However, he had earlier noted:

      These last 2 days I’ve been looking through my poems, with the idea of picking out enough of those that do not make me blush for a volume: many I had quite forgotten & some surprised me agreeably.

      Although he sent a batch shortly afterwards to his sympathetic literary agent Richard Scott Simon, only a handful saw the light of publication during Patrick’s lifetime. Now, however, this handsome collection has been brought together, containing both polished versions and drafts that for one reason or another were left in an unfinished state, which I do not doubt will give Patrick’s legion of admirers around the world the pleasure they afford me.

      NIKOLAI TOLSTOY, 2018

Part I: Poems

       Blitz poetry

      Lines of unpredictable merit written on the back of Miss Patz, a rough-haired Dachshundin in the year of Grace a thousand nine hundred and forty-one, on Wednesday, the eighth day of January, at about half after one in the afternoon, it being a cold day, dismal with half molten snow.

      The people of this [Chelsea ambulance] station are disconsolate and rude,

      All English to the tonsils, and filled with British phlegm.

      They blow their noses horribly, and between the blast is spewed

      A flux of ghastly small-talk. Why, O God, did you make them?

      ¿Was other clay not handy?

      Was there nothing else to please?

      O Lord that gave us brandy

      And lamb and fresh green peas

      ¿Why did You turn your hand to these?

      The last line is (I think) an Alexandrine,

      which is very clever indeed, probably.

      That is affected, I must admit. ¿But am

      I inferior to a Spaniard? ¡No!

      In dispraise of the Personnel of 22 St[ation].

      L.A.A.S.^fn1

      The people of this station are disconsolate and rude

      they are English to the tonsils, and with British phlegm embued

      In proof of this opinion to their handkerchiefs I point

      And not only to their kerchiefs, but oyster eyes and rheumy joint.

      But also to their tempers, habitually vile

      The fruit of grave distempers and coagulated bile.

      All wart-hogs in comparison are quite high-souled and mild

      Which leads to the conclusion that the better beasts are wild.

      This may be sung (though the notion is grim)

      To the tune of a well-known American hymn.

      viz., or vide licet, if you should prefer the word

      Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord …

      [Miss Patz]

      Patz went out in the dead of the night,

      in the dead of the night went she.

      But first she carefully put out the light,

      And closed the door with a key.

      [Miss Patz’s invitation to the pub]

      Sie sagte sich «Im ein Augenblick»

      Ich werde haben ein grosse Trink.

      Und so in kleiner

      Moment werdet in meiner

      Turn, zwei-drei steiner

      Sein, oder bier als wein.

      Gut. Geh’ich nach Klub.

      Nein; erst hab ich lust für ein Pub.

      She went quite straight to the Lion called Black^fn2

      Tossed down a quick pint, and never looked back

      For a wicked old Owl, who took his dram raw

      Determined to try the truth of the saw …

      mark the Saw.

      In wommin vinident [‘full of wine’] is no defence,

      ðus knoweth lechours by experience.

      Dan C[haucer].

      So he plied her with whiskey, with gin and with rum

      And said that he wished she would instantly come

      To a very fine party to be held at a club

      So complaisant and willing she then left the pub.

      At the club she encountered a motley crew

      Hard-drinking and raffish and lecherous too

      They drank bottles of whiskey and magnums of gin

      Till Patz felt uncertain what state she was in.

      The Owl broke off in the midst of a tale

      (It was singularly dirty – exclusively male)

      And said ‘Liebe Fraülein, what makes you so pale?

      Come, drink up a glass of red pepper and ale.’

      She said ‘it’s my head, the air, heat and the smoke,’

      And giggled like one who has just made a joke.

      The Owl thought, ‘Aha, now may I eat grass,

      But this is the time when I make the first pass.’

      And through his foul mind there passed devious shapes

      Of libidinous bitches and lecherous apes.

      [Jetzt kommt er bei Patz,^fn3

      Und flüßtert ganz leise

      ‘Heraus liegt ein Auto,

      Kommst Du für ein Reise?’

      ‘Ach nein! Du alt Teufel!

      Wie kannst du mir’s fragen?

      Ich weiß schon gehörts

      L.C.C. dieser Wagon!’

      Alors les autres

      Se mettaient à rire

      En se moquant de l’hibou

      Qui ne savait quoi dire.

      Il saisit d’un coup

      Une bouteille de vin,

      La vidait toute suite

      Et la jettait du main.

      ‘Je paris’, dit-il,

      ‘Je ne quitterai pas

      Avant que la chienne

      Se sert dans mes bras’.]

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