In the 'Zig Zag' Exhibition in Dumfries, Robert Burns appears as, among other things, a talking heid.
A Hologram of Robert Burns
speaks to a portrait of Miss Eliza Burnett
after the Exhibition shuts
Eliza, go away in:
that arty crew have pickled me,
scooped me out like a mannequin.
I’m a talking head, and my mouth
churns out songs and poems,
not in my rheumy voice,
but in the rich and fruity tones
of some Neil Oliver wannabe.
They’ve made me a museum,
a kist of noise and junk.
In the corner of the room
I see the word Immortality,
but what kind of legacy is here?
Some mad collector’s only.
Does the world need a poison jar
for humanity and honest truth?
Or want to put poetry behind
perspex, as if it wasn’t instead
the core and right of everyone,
the oxygen we have to breathe?
Perhaps now the earth is full
of talking heads in towns like these,
sucking old words like gruel.
Eliza, do you think that passion’s dead?