Snatched from the Burning

How best to say goodbye to a small literary magazine which has run its natural course? I have been running the Fankle for five years now and it was more or less washing its face – which is about all you can ask of a small-scale literary pamphlet to be honest – until my printing costs doubled and I decided it was time to pull the plug.

I could have just quietly folded it up (appropriately enough if you know how it is made), but I decided its farewell should be marked in more dramatic fashion so we gathered together as many of our past contributors as could make it, to drink wine, read out some of our greatest hits, and then it seemed to make sense to give it a final, Viking-style sendoff by fashioning one into a boat, setting fire to it, and then sending it off flaming across the nearest loch.

When I dreamt this idea up, I hadn’t quite factored in the fact that it would still be broad daylight at 7 in the evening, which made it less dramatic a sight than I had hoped. Nor had I quite taken into account the onshore breeze – or the fact that when a party of people comes down to the edge of the water in an urban location, all of the local swans make a beeline for what they hope will be some food. It’s quite difficult to shoo a swan, it turns out, let alone a dozen of them. Indeed, even setting fire to a small literary pamphlet and floating it in their general direction doesn’t do much more than bemuse them. It takes a lot to faze an urban swan.

swan audience

Come to think of it, this isn’t a bad turnout for a poetry reading…

But it takes even more to faze a party of poets – who weren’t even all that drunk as they were driving so I had had to do my best with the wine – so we said farewell to it anyway (and then fished the remains out of the loch and disposed of them properly; we’re not litter louts). And perhaps after all, adding a touch of farce and an audience of swans to the proceedings wasn’t the worst way to see something off that has always run on a wing and a prayer.

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