Of Poetry, John Cooper Clarke, and Chickentown (NSFW)
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According to Wikipedia : “Poetry is a form of literature that uses aesthetic and rhythmic qualities of language — such as phonaesthetics, sound symbolism, and metre — to evoke meanings in addition to, or in place of, the prosaic ostensible meaning.”
What? Eh? Come again? Say what Tarquin? And here’s little old me thinking poetry was just something that rhymed or perhaps that’s limericks or some such thing. A good friend of mine has recently announced that he is now ‘very into poetry’ and this, to me, is a worry.
Considering an in depth conversation with him regarding immigration resulted in him saying “Well, anyway, Britain has always been a mongol race” and me pointing out to him that he should have said mongrel as mongols are from Mongolia followed by him saying “Don’t be silly, mongrels are dogs” it came as something of a surprise to learn he was into something as ‘highbrow’ as poetry.
Now don’t get me wrong. There’s a place for poetry. Preferably some other place than wherever I happen to be but each to their own and tally ho! on you go if poetry is your thing.
I mean I have tried reading poetry but, frankly, the moment I read “I wandered lonely as a cloud” it just wasn’t for me. What’s all that about then? Wandering lonely as a cloud? Clouds don’t wander, they sort of float. How can a cloud be lonely anyway it isn’t a sentient being it’s made up of moisture and things. “Oh, I’m so lonely” said the cloud, “I wonder where all the other clouds have gone?”
Really? Don’t be so bloody daft. You’d have to be as daft as Wordsworth to think clouds get lonely.
There is the odd poet that’s fine by me. John Cooper Clarke springs eternally to mind. He was known as ‘the punk poet’ back in the 70’s and beyond. Now, he’s a poet and a half.
Well, not literally. That would be just daft too if there was another half of him attached to the full bit of him but he is a poet worth reading. No bloody clouds wandering about in his poems I can tell you.
Evidently Chickentown is one of JCC’s goodies :
the fucking cops are fucking keen
to fucking keep it fucking clean
the fucking chief’s a fucking swine
who fucking draws a fucking line
at fucking fun and fucking games
the fucking kids he fucking blames
are nowhere to be fucking found
anywhere in chicken town
See? A bit more meat on the bone than lonely clouds, or what about this drivel then?
Shakespeare
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen
Excuse me? I have no idea what old Willy Waggledagger is waffling on about. Garbage. Utter drivel. Doesn’t rhyme or make any bloody sense does it?
Give me a good limerick any day of the week:
There was an old man from Leeds
Who swallowed a packet of seeds
Great tufts of grass shot out of his ass
and his cock was all covered in weeds
There you go! Humour and it rhymes. Did Shakespeare’s rhyme? Did it eck as like. Call yourself a poet Bill? You’re having a laugh mate.
Derek and Clive, creations of Peter Cook and Dudley Moore could rhyme Shakespeare or Wordsworth out of town with their eyes shut.
Little Flo I love you so
especially in your nightie
When the moonlight flits
across your tits
Jesus Christ Almighty!!!
Sir Walter Scott? Tennyson? Get real! John Cooper Clarke and Derek and Clive blow them all away. Now that’s what I call poetry!
I’m meeting up with my pal tomorrow night. I can’t wait to discuss his new found love of poetry with him. Daft as a brush he is. Nowt wrong with being a heathen 😉
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My pal said he loved e.e.cummings….e.e.cummings is some bloke who wrote his name without capital letters at the front which, according to my pal, makes him a great poet.
Actually he never used capital letters at all as this exert shows.
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
So, not only doesn’t it rhyme or make any sense at all it looks like it was written by a 9 year old dyslexic and he’s rated as great???
Now this is great!!!
There once was a man from Bel Air
Who was doing his wife on the stair
But the banister broke
So he doubled his stroke
And finished her off in mid-air
There once was a plumber from Caldeach
who was plumbing his girl on the beach
when she whispered “stop plumbing,
someone is coming”.
He cried “the only one coming is me!”
Ha! Good one!
Excellent!!!!!
🙂 🙂
I know I’m starting something that I’ll probably regret, but I’m a weak, evil person.
There once was a girl from Madras,
Who had a magnificent ass.
Not pretty and pink,
as you probably think.
It was gray, had long ears and ate grass.