'Ah, a Celtic Vibeiste.'

'Piglet?'

'Hmm?'

'How did Rabbit's book launch go?'

'Launch?'

'Last Thursday…for National What Was That Thing We Can Forget About Again Day?'

'Ah…the poetry doings.'

'You'd forgotten, too, hadn't you?'

'I so had.  See how I dropped that in there?'

'I so did.  So how did his launch go?'

'Sooo…great success, Tigger said.  Rabbit--'

'--Brer Baudelaire--'

'--sorry, je suis desultory, M. Baudelaire was reading with a Celtic vibeiste.'

'What?'

'Her words channel the valencies of all things Hibernian, Tigger's proportional representative said.'

'Tiffany Breathless?'

'That's the pied-a-terre occupant.'

'Who is this vibeiste?'

'Meabh Na Bandwagonagh.'

'Hibernian herself?'

'Sooo, apparently her grandad was a barman on the Isle of Man ferry.'

'Ah.'

'For a good three months.'

'And Rabbit read what?'

'From his collection.  His slim vacuum.'

'I thought he'd only written that poem about having a leaf in his gob.  How did he--'

'--he got help from Tigger's PR and her PR.'

'She's got one?'

'Viola de Gapyear.'

'So what's it called, his slim vacuum?'

'Deep In My Heart, Where No-one Can See, I'm Oppressed But Photogenic.'

'Gosh, that's a real mouthful.'

'Oddly enough, what you just said is a line from another poem of his...theirs.'

'About what?'

'I didn't presume to ask.'

National Pottery Day 3: Brer Baudelaire

'Well, Pooh, it's all go.'
'Really. I'm sorry I missed it.'
'No, no, Thursday. National Pootling Day.'
'Oh, that, yes.'
'Tigger's been visioning Rabbit.'
'He doesn't want to make a habit of that.'
'It means getting him ready for his poetry launch.'
'Oh, really?'
'Yes. He has a proper poet name and everything.'
'Proper poet name? "Rabbit" not good enough?'
'Well it would have been last year. Tigger says that National Ptomaine Day '15 was all about channelling the edgeland-glade-and-wistful-wood vibe, so "Rabbit" would have done nicely. But as Tigger also says, we were then in the then then but now we're now in the now.'
'He does know he's talking out loud?'
'Yes. Tragically. Anyway, they found a name format that's been lying around for a few months because the previous owner no longer has need of it. Having…you know…'
'Having what?'
'Gone to meet his Mater.'
'Oh…oh, you mean that Mr Bowie.'
'No the other one…the one word--'
'Prance.'
'Yes. Only he stopped being that and became The Artist Formerly Known As Prance.'
'So Rabbit became what?'
'The Poet Formerly Known As Rabbit.'
'Doesn't make sense…'
'No, they realised that--'
'I mean, Mr Prance, that was his name. He could stop using it and keep prancing.'
'Yes, Pooh, they--'
'Whereas Rabbit is called Rabbit and is a rabbit.'
'Pooh, they did--'
'He can't un-rabbit himself, National Potiphar Day or not.'
'Pooh, they modified it.'
'They?'
'Tigger and his PR.'
'Gosh, he has a proportional representative.'
'Or is it PA?'
'Gosh, he's bought Philadelphia.'
'Personal Assistant.'
'Who is?'
'Tiffany Breathless. She came up with what she called an interim-facing-fix-going-somewhere-or-other.'
'Which is what?'
'The Poet Still Intermittently Called Rabbit.'
'Mmm. No. Timing problem, Piglet.'
'Timing?'
'How will we know when he's a poet and when he's a rabbit? We might see him out and about and say, "Hello, Rabbit, how are you?" but if we, you know, pick the wrong time, we might never get "I'm well, thank you" out of him.'
'Well actually, Pooh, they realised that, too, so--'
'I mean I might just want to pass the time of day with him--as him--but instead I might get an earful of that…you know…stuff.'
'Well, that's why they did what Tiffany called an assessment and unfurther-doingness implement, so--'
'I might say "Hello Rabbit" and he might give me the old, you know, "Thou still unvarnished bed of quietness" and all that.'
'They've decided--'
'Or start wittering about that Arthur League and how he kept going onwards--'
'Pooh, they've changed his name again.'
'To?'
'Brer Baudelaire.'
'What?'
'French poet, Baudelaire was. Tigger says he wrote Fleurs du Mal.'
'What's that mean?'
'Flowery and bad, apparently. But he's really famous. Tiffany says the name has cashew.'
'Fleurs…you sure it isn't Mal's Flowers?'
'Ah, well, now, she and Tigger didn't rule that out either.'
'So we're talking about bouquet-facing sponsorship.'
'A tee-shirt, at the very least.'
'"How's my emoting?" No, can't see Rabbit in a tee-shirt. Or writing a poem, come to that.'
'Oh, that's not a priority. The main thing is to be a poet.'
'Has he written any?'
'Just the one.'
'Which is?'
'"With a wife and twelve kids
and a leaf in my gob
that's amore.…"'
'They've got their work cut out.'
'Going forwards.'
'Backwards, Piglet. Emphatically backwards.'

'There must be a cream for that.'

'Well, Pooh, it's all happening.'
'Thank goodness for that. What is?'
'The BBC's commitment to supporting National Pottery Day.'
'Oh…good.'
'Tigger says more presenters are lining up to re-vision poems which are old and therefore by definition useless.'
'Re-vision?'
'An ancient phrase, he says. It's Old Orthopaedic for have another butcher's.'
'Fancy. So who's re-visioning now?'
'A couple from Long Lost Motorway Cops are doing John Clare's senate, "I am, yet what I am none cares or knows".'
'Senate?'
'Special sort of poem, Pooh. All the words have to sit in rows according to power and function.'
'Ah, yes…like that "Shall I compost thee in the summer hay".'
'The very example I was about to give, Pooh.'
'So did it go all right, then? Their butchering of "I am what I am"? Always thought that was Popeye.'
'"I am, yet what I am none cares or knows," Pooh. Well, there were some teething troubles.'
'Oh, dear.'
'Yes, one of them thought John Clare was the other one's new stylist.'
'Ah, it happens. Let's hear the butchering, then.'
'"I so am but wtf I so am totes nobody gives a monkey's".'
'It has a certain….'
'Plangent yearning, Tigger says.'
'There must be a cream for that.'
'Several, I should think.'