02 January 2010 - Craig Raine has a headache

By Richard Evans on 02 January 2010 at 22:22:51

Transcription of a recording made at the third annual interplanetary poetry festival: attempts to assuage a didactic and inquisitive group (replace 'group' with correct collective noun; drok?) of Martians, following the announcement that Craig Raine would sadly be unable to attend due to illness. Only the speaker's voice can be heard clearly on the recording, the various whistles and snaps of Martian language go on throughout, behind a heavy fuzz, but are not loud or distinct enough to be deciphered.

* * *

I'm afraid he has a bad headache, a migraine.

No, there's no smell as far as I'm aware; perhaps bleach and vomit - but that's probably just the smells I'd associate.

Well, a sharp electric blue if I had to say a colour, but no, it's more a manic flickering.

Not in the room, inside his head. I mean, I don't know, every headache is different.

Well, no, they're the same, in that they're a pain located above the eyes and below the crown.

I know - but below that and it would be an eye-ache, or jaw-ache, or chin-ache or something else.

Well, it just hurts.

Because you're very aware of it, and you want it to go away, but it won't.

Yes, a bit like a screaming toddler. So you just have to sit in a dark room and wait till it stops.

I don't know why you would want to sit in a dark room with a screaming toddler. You wouldn't, would you? I suppose you just sit there, hoping it'll go to sleep. And it's similar with a headache.

Well, no, of course they don't sleep as such, but they sort of sink away, like a toddler going to sleep, but in their own time.

What? No. Not at all. The only lullabies available for a headache like that are bloody strong painkillers and a dark, cool room.

No, I can't sing them to you. They're not . . .

If you stop nagging at it, it'll go of its own accord eventually. Or it won't, who knows. Now I must . . .

Of course not, that's impossible.

Because it's a sensation, not a physical object that can be removed or handled.

Well, if you could, I suppose it would be some kind of sharp-clawed ant, very hard to catch, very quick. And the worse the headache, the more you'd have of them. They'd leak out everywhere in a violent panic, but I'm afraid we must fini -

Okay, but this must be the last one.

Yes. I suppose they would be harder to catch in a dark room. But you must understand that was just a turn of phrase, in reality a headache can't be removed so simply. It IS the head it's in, so to speak.

Oh, you mean a chameleon? No, it's not anything like that.

No, I told you. It's not solid. It's not a metamorphosising parasite or a head-snatcher or anything else. It's just an unpleasant sensation in the head. And I'm afraid that is where we will have to finish.

Well, it might not sound very much to you, but I can assure you it is not nice at all. Now, I am very sorry that Mr Raine could not be here, but on your way out could I trouble you all to sign the get-well postcard?

No, it's not medicine. It's a kind of . . . oh forget it.

Craig Raine, 'A Martian sends a Postcard Home'

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