Poet – Middle Age Fanclub

Book Review: ‘I Wanna Be Yours’ by John Cooper Clarke

If you know of him, John Cooper Clarke comes under a number of aliases. The Poet Laureate of Punk, the Bard of Salford, the punk poet…he’s even sometimes referred to as Dr. John Cooper Clarke. If you don’t know of him, well it’s best you start with the viewpoint that the man is a star. A poet, a raconteur and an entertainer. And as we find out in ‘I Wanna Be Yours’, he can’t half tell a story!

As such, you’d expect his autobiography to be quite the read. And you wouldn’t be disappointed. Having read it recently in fact, I was actually pleasantly surprised at just how ‘eventful’ his life has been, as the book went way beyond my expectations. I thought I knew a few things about the man who’s considered a bit of a national treasure these days, but on reading the book I found that there are layers upon layers to this fella’s life story. What a treat!

Now aged 75, Cooper Clarke is best known as a poet, although in recent years he’s managed to light up several TV panel shows with his wit, humour and way with words. And it’s his gift for language that makes ‘I Wanna Be Yours’ so eminently readable. The sharp delivery meant that I read the whole thing hearing Cooper Clarke’s voice in my head, which for me made the whole thing all the more memorable.

The book takes us through his early years as a sickly child in Manchester where in fact, a dose of tuberculosis meant that he was moved to the North Wales coast to live with relatives in the hope that the sea air would aid his recovery. Once back in Manchester, we hear of a multitude of adventures as Cooper Clarke grows up and eventually begins to get into clothes and music, slowly honing the look for which he’d become famous in later life.

Eventually, with a bit of luck, a good deal of hard graft and not without one or two setbacks along the way, John finds that he has a gift for entertaining people. And so begins quite the extraordinary tale of a bit of a legend.

This is a brilliant book with any number of twists and turns, a whole host of bizarre and incredible tales and no shortage of surprises. So while I was fully aware of Cooper Clarke’s influence on bands such as The Arctic Monkeys, I certainly wasn’t expecting the likes of Bernard Manning to put in an appearance! And then as I carried on reading and found out about his close associations with the likes of Nico and Linton Kwesi Johnson, I was more than a little bit blown away! But that’s the thing about a life like Cooper Clarke’s and in turn this book; there’s never a page wasted, there’s always something curious or funny or just downright mindblowing around the corner.

A genuinely funny man, with a great turn of phrase, Cooper Clarke’s words will inevitably raise a smile and leave you in fits of laughter at times too. But for all of the light there are many moments of shade and the book – and John’s life – has sad moments too alongside many murky tales of Cooper Clarke’s own drug addictions. But even here, it’s all told with such candour and black humour that I found myself not really batting an eyelid and simply accepting that it had all added to the rich tapestry that I’d been reading about.

In the end, I was left wondering if at times, I’d been had. Surely there are more than a few tall tales and embellishments along the way in the book? However, on reflection I decided that either I didn’t really care – I mean wherever the truth lies, this was an amazing read – or more likely, it was all probably very much true. Because, whether it be looking after somebody’s monkey in Amsterdam and just ducking and diving while looking for your next fix of heroin, it could well have all happened to only one man; John Cooper Clarke.

Whether you know of his legend or not, this is a book I’d thoroughly recommend.

I give ‘I Wanna Be Yours’

Poetry Blog: Blackbirds

This is a poem I wrote about a scene I watched from my kitchen window while doing the dishes. It was on a recent Spring evening, just as the sun was beginning to dip behind the trees. It had been a sunny day and crucially, I’d just cut the grass earlier that day.

I looked up to see a couple of blackbirds, which on closer inspection I could see were a male and a female. So, channeling my inner Cilla Black (one for older readers there and an old TV matchmaker if you don’t know) I immediately placed them together. Man and wife, if you like. A mam and dad, probably, foraging for food for their newborn Spring chicks. The birds love it when the grass has been cut; I’m not entirely sure why.

The fact that they were at opposite ends of the garden and that their movements were both graceful and jerky, yet obviously on the same wavelength reminded me of dancers in a ballroom. It was something I remembered days later when I had the time to start drafting the poem. Here it is.

Blackbirds

The lights dim and a sultry dance begins
in the garden ballroom,
tentative at first, but gaining pace and rhythm as the minutes pass.
Trees sway and rustle in the evening breeze,
an audience inspired to move,
adding occasional ripples of polite applause
as our pairing settle to a tantalising flirtation, 
at first far apart, yet soon together tripping the light fantastic,
their dark figures striking a pose,
drawing ever closer with each beat of the dying sun
and as the light sighs its last
this dance will reach collapse
and these two distant partners,
now nestled close, will return to the humdrum beat
of their something else, their everyday
a life away from this brief, glamorous scene
until time and hunger dictates they should do it all again.

The idea with the poem was to use an extended metaphor of a ballroom and a pair of dancers to describe what was essentially two blackbirds out getting food. It was the way they moved, almost in tandem, that inspired the idea of the ‘sultry dance’ in the ‘garden ballroom’ and then it became a challenge to add as many dance references as I could so that a poem was formed.

It’s the second time I’ve written about blackbirds as I like to watch them in the garden. They can be quite territorial and there have been several occasions when one has flown way too close, squawking at me as if to warn me off. I don’t think they understand the idea of home ownership! Anyway, maybe somehow they’ll sense that I’m writing about them and make me the honorary president of their fanclub!

I quite like this poem. I’d have liked to spend more time drafting, but given time constraints – I’m a busy boy at the minute – I’m quite pleased with how it turned out. Maybe it’s one I’ll return to in time. I hope you like it too though!

Poetry Blog: What next?

About two years ago I started writing poetry. It was something that I’d experimented with before, but never really formally or with any kind of purpose. I must have written poems back in the stone age when I was at school, but would have no written record of such ramblings. And anyway, my school wasn’t the kind of place where a boy wrote poetry, unless he was ordered to by one of the psychotic teachers. Boys did sport, yelled a lot, swore and most likely spat on the ground like their life depended on it. Boys. Did. Not. Write.

Any poetry written in class would be hidden away from prying eyes and mocking tongues. Any hint of a notebook being carried around would provoke instant hatred and could only lead to years of cruel abuse from your peers (and probably even some of your friends).

As a younger adult, I’m sure I’d tried to write poems, but I’m pretty certain that when they existed, it would have been on scarps of paper and that these were long ago confined to the recycling plant.

I’ve never been a confident person. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that I’ve learnt to wear a convincing mask in order to hide what is actually a rather crippling lack of confidence. So, although I felt like I had something to say and that I could write, it was going to take a seismic shift to make me commit ideas to paper in the form of poetry.

It turns out that ‘thing’ was lockdown. I was locked down almost immediately once the decision was made. While colleagues stayed in school and battled to keep some sense of normality in people’s lives, I was told that I was vulnerable and had to stay at home. Couple that with a complete failure in terms of remote learning with my laptop and there were a huge amount of days waiting to be filled.

I’d started my blog by then and so was in the habit of writing. As can be the case with me, I wasn’t really in the habit of sleeping regular hours though. And one night, lying awake with words whirling round my head, I realised that I had the bones of a poem keeping me awake. So, I crept downstairs, opened a notebook and wrote a poem; one draft and what felt like no particular thought needed. I don’t know whether it reads like a one-draft-no-effort poem, but it was done! I thought I’d published that poem as part of the bog, but looking back, it doesn’t seem so.

From there I came up with the idea of a lockdown writers’ group – Lockdown Literature, you can read about it on the link below – where friends and colleagues could publish anything they’d written; whatever it took to stave off the boredom of being isolated like never before. Inspired by others, I was able to write a few more poems.

Lockdown Literature

Our Lockdown Literature group made me think about what to do with my poems. By now I was writing them regularly and so, once I’d decided that a) I had the confidence to share and b) I didn’t feel it was too much of a pretentious thing to do, I started to publish some of my poems as blogs, adding a little bit of explanation about the poem and about my thinking when writing it. They seemed to go down well and it gave me another blogging avenue to explore.

Now though, I want to develop things a bit. It’s lovely that people who read the blog like my poems, but I want to really test myself with it and I must admit that I’m unsure of how to move forward. I’ve considered things like poetry competitions, but from what I can see, a lot of them require entries to be unpublished and I don’t really know if my own blog counts in those terms. However, it’s stopped me entering anything so far. It’s certainly something that I need to look into and if anyone has any advice, I’d gladly listen.

Another route I’ve wondered about with my poems is to attempt to put together an anthology, but it’s an area that I know next to nothing about. I realise that I could self-publish, but without adequate promotion, even an anthology is not going to gain any interest. Is it the kind of thing I can send to publishers? If so, how do I group poems and how do I approach agents or publishers? Again, it’s something I really need some advice on, so if you’re reading this and you have any insight, I’d be really grateful for your help.

The third and final way of developing my poetry terrifies me. In actual fact, I’ve only considered it because a few people have suggested it. One kind soul even invited me along to actually take part. What am I talking about? Performance poetry! This is something that I can’t deny tempts me, but despite my advancing years and the fact that I talk at people for a living, the thought of standing on a stage – makeshift or otherwise – in a room full of people, reading out my poems, makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my tummy feel a little bit poorly!

It’s not actually the thought of an audience that bothers me very much. No, it’s more the thought of exposing something as personal as my poetry to what would likely be an entirely new audience. Every day of every week brings an audience of harsh critics in the form of pupils in a classroom, so speaking in front of people is second nature. And not to play the tortured ‘artist’ here, but the idea of reading so many personal words (does that make sense?) and even considering myself any kind of poet, feels very much beyond me.

Still though, I find myself trying to pluck up the courage and find the time to attend such an evening, not as a performer, but as a punter just to try and see what it’s all about. Maybe once that step is taken, I could find the courage to put myself down for some kind of open mic slot. Even typing the words fills me full of dread though, so it would be one hell of a step to take!

So 2022 has to be the year that I trying and ramp up my poetry game. It reality feels like something that could develop and something that I believe in somewhere at the back of my mind! I just need to work out how.

As ever, feel free to leave a comment, especially if you have any suggestions that might help me!