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PUNK POEMS
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PUNK POEMS  There are several bloggers who post poetry – grayblue1, [blog Mercenaria1] and [blog veryfunnyguy64] are very good examples. One of my favourite poets is John Cooper Clarke – see photograph; he often gets mistaken for Ronnie Wood, the Rolling Stones’ guitarist. Born in Salford near Manchester, John Cooper Clarke is a performance poet who became popular during the punk era. He performed regularly alongside the Sex Pistols, Siouxsie and the Banshees, the Fall, Buzzcocks and, my favourite band, Joy Division. In my opinion, John Cooper Clarke’s best song was Beasley Street from his hit Snap, Crackle & Bop album released in 1980 – inside are the lyrics of the song. Also on this album is the song, Evidently Chickentown, which was featured in the closing scene of one episode of The Sopranos – again inside are the song’s lyrics. One of his most famous poems, also covered by the Arctic Monkeys, is I Wanna Be Yours. This poem is often played at weddings, though most of John Cooper Clarke’s work is more suitable for funerals! Below are the lyrics of I Wanna Be Yours, best read with a Mancunian accent: I wanna be your vacuum cleaner breathing in your dust I wanna be your Ford Cortina I will never rust If you like your coffee hot let me be your coffee pot You call the shots I wanna be yours I wanna be your raincoat for those frequent rainy days I wanna be your dreamboat when you want to sail away Let me be your teddy bear take me with you anywhere I don’t care I wanna be yours I wanna be your electric meter I will not run out I wanna be the electric heater you’ll get cold without I wanna be your setting lotion hold your hair in deep devotion Deep as the deep Atlantic ocean that’s how deep is my devotion In my youth, I used to write a lot of poetry, probably as part of my teenage angst years. I have just unearthed the first poem I wrote when I was thirteen years old. It was set to music, or rather me banging a couple of metal bins as pretend drums. Here are the first two lines: I was fighting in Korea When I had some diarrhoea As you can tell, I was never asked to recite this poem in public! And, for some reason, I never made it as a poet! Do you like poetry? Who are your favourite poets? Do you write or did you write poetry? |
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[image] Below are the lyrics of John Cooper Clarke’s Beasley Street: Far from crazy pavements - the taste of silver spoons A clinical arrangement on a dirty afternoon Where the fecal germs of Mr Freud are rendered obsolete The legal term is null and void In the case of Beasley Street In the cheap seats where murder breeds Somebody is out of breath Sleep is a luxury they don't need - a sneak preview of death Belladonna is your flower Manslaughter your meat Spend a year in a couple of hours On the edge of Beasley Street Where the action isn't That's where it is State your position Vacancies exist In an X-certificate exercise Ex-servicemen excrete Keith Joseph smiles and a baby dies In a box on Beasley Street From the boarding houses and the bedsits Full of accidents and fleas Somebody gets it Where the missing persons freeze Wearing dead men's overcoats You can't see their feet A riff joint shuts - opens up Right down on Beasley Street Cars collide, colours clash disaster movie stuff For a man with a Fu Manchu moustache Revenge is not enough There's a dead canary on a swivel seat There's a rainbow in the road Meanwhile on Beasley Street Silence is the code Hot beneath the collar an inspector calls Where the perishing stink of squalor impregnates the walls the rats have all got rickets they spit through broken teeth The name of the game is not cricket Caught out on Beasley Street The hipster and his hired hat Drive a borrowed car Yellow socks and a pink cravat Nothing La-di-dah OAP, mother to be Watch the three-piece suite When shit-stoppered drains and crocodile skis are seen on Beasley Street The kingdom of the blind a one-eyed man is king Beauty problems are redefined the doorbells do not ring A lightbulb bursts like a blister the only form of heat here a fellow sells his sister down the river on Beasley Street The boys are on the wagon The girls are on the shelf Their common problem is that they're not someone else The dirt blows out The dust blows in You can't keep it neat It's a fully furnished dustbin, Sixteen Beasley Street Vince the ageing savage Betrays no kind of life but the smell of yesterday's cabbage and the ghost of last year's wife through a constant haze of deodorant sprays he says retreat Alsations dog the dirty days down the middle of Beasley Street People turn to poison Quick as lager turns to piss Sweethearts are physically sick every time they kiss. It's a sociologist's paradise each day repeats On easy, cheesy, greasy, queasy beastly Beasley Street Eyes dead as vicious fish Look around for laughs If I could have just one wish I would be a photograph on a permanent Monday morning Get lost or fall asleep When the yellow cats are yawning Around the back of Beasley Street
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[image] And below are the lyrics of John Cooper Clarke’s Evidently Chickentown: the bloody cops are bloody keen to bloody keep it bloody clean the bloody chief's a bloody swine who bloody draws a bloody line at bloody fun and bloody games the bloody kids he bloody blames are nowhere to be bloody found anywhere in chicken town the bloody scene is bloody sad the bloody news is bloody bad the bloody weed is bloody turf the bloody speed is bloody surf the bloody folks are bloody daft don't make me bloody laugh it bloody hurts to look around everywhere in chicken town the bloody train is bloody late you bloody wait you bloody wait you're bloody lost and bloody found stuck in fucking chicken town the bloody view is bloody vile for bloody miles and bloody miles the bloody babies bloody cry the bloody flowers bloody die the bloody food is bloody muck the bloody drains are bloody fucked the colour scheme is bloody brown everywhere in chicken town the bloody pubs are bloody dull the bloody clubs are bloody full of bloody girls and bloody guys with bloody murder in their eyes a bloody bloke is bloody stabbed waiting for a bloody cab you bloody stay at bloody home the bloody neighbors bloody moan keep the bloody racket down this is bloody chicken town the bloody pies are bloody old the bloody chips are bloody cold the bloody beer is bloody flat the bloody flats have bloody rats the bloody clocks are bloody wrong the bloody days are bloody long it bloody gets you bloody down evidently chicken town the bloody train is bloody late you bloody wait you bloody wait you're bloody lost and bloody found stuck in fucking chicken town
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 I can see you had a rough start in poetry . I have never been one for poetry, I guess it may be a lack of imagination ? But I do admit, that seeing the poetry in blogland here is opening my eyes a bit
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I find it a shame, To click onto your blog During an Olympic hockey game My mind is in a fog. No I'm not one that's into much poetry! In your post poem it mentioned Ford Cortina...That was the first car I purchased on my own. The few years that I had it, it was a lemon, so I got rid of it.
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Love poetry and the three bloggers you mentioned are awesome.. If you have not visited their blog drop in! hugs V PS I like to read poems I don't write them. I am still working on erotic stories instead.. Have a great weekend. Become a blog watcher sweet_vm
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I love poetry....Chaucer, Shakespeare's sonnets, Tennyson, Coleridge, John Dunne....almost anything lol! I write poetry at times...mostly emotional times! I've posted a bit here now and then. ~~Anais Nin~~
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Ooops I forgot my favourite....Dylan Thomas...Do not go gentle into that good night. ~~Anais Nin~~
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I can see you had a rough start in poetry. I have never been one for poetry, I guess it may be a lack of imagination ? But I do admit, that seeing the poetry in blogland here is opening my eyes a bit
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I'm very selective about the poetry I like, poetry just because that's how it is defined doesn'tnecessarily impress me... Many poems are long-winded, boring or ugly (I'm ok with some sad poetry). It really is down to the individual poem, not the poet, some lauded poets create some really tiresome poems. I have no favourite poets for the reasons cited above. Sometimes a complete unknown will write something profound or beautiful but I just like that piece of work, I don't become a fan until I read at least a few dozen poems and think 'Yeah, I can really feel and get into what this person is saying'. I have written a small handful of short poems... I find that I don't enjoy anything of more than 4 stanzas and as such, I would never write anything longer than that. 
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I find it a shame, To click onto your blog During an Olympic hockey game My mind is in a fog. No I'm not one that's into much poetry! In your post poem it mentioned Ford Cortina...That was the first car I purchased on my own. The few years that I had it, it was a lemon, so I got rid of it.  And Canada won!
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I think blogland are ready to read your poetic creations, especially if it's worse than my efforts!  A challenge?
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Love poetry and the three bloggers you mentioned are awesome.. If you have not visited their blog drop in! hugs V PS I like to read poems I don't write them. I am still working on erotic stories instead.. Have a great weekend.
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I love poetry....Chaucer, Shakespeare's sonnets, Tennyson, Coleridge, John Dunne....almost anything lol! I write poetry at times...mostly emotional times! I've posted a bit here now and then.
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I bet you can write poetry.
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