A pylon looms like a sini- Two birds puncture the late afternoon blue as th- Cows stare into the distance and wonde- Fields sleep drowsily, waiting for- Buddleia bubbles up along the tr- A woman waves at her youn- Some buildings. Graffiti. Wolverhampton railway station.
in the departure lounge, she drew him near, then softly whispered in his ear, not words of parting’s sweet, sweet sorrow, but don’t forget the bins tomorrow
Ten years ago, You Took the Last Bus Home was published. It was my first collection of poetry and incredibly, it’s still going strong. To celebrate the anniversary, I thought I’d share a poem from it every day this month, starting with the title poem.
You Took the Last Bus Home
you took the last bus home don’t know how you got it through the door
Welcome to my first newsletter, a naive and futile attempt to escape from the horrors of social media: the lack of safety controls; the endless ads; AI; the ‘influencers’; the political agendas of the lunatics who run these platforms; and the messages which say things like “You’re eligible! Start earning with content monetisation today!”
Monetisation
The advert said MONETISE YOUR FOLLOWERS so he thought he would respond
by painting them in the changing light, like waterlilies in a pond.
Over time, I plan to retreat further and abandon electronic communications altogether. I’m currently working through the logistics of hand-delivering future newsletters and transmitting poetry to the world through a series of simple, easy-to-interpret smoke signals.
So what is this thing you have sent me?
Good question. Thanks for asking. I’m not altogether sure, to be honest. But it will feature some poems – new and old – alongside news of where I’ll be and what I’ve been up to. Occasionally it may even include something interesting.
It’s taken me a while to get myself organised and send this out. Since I started to write this newsletter, the UK has had three new prime ministers, the ceasefire in the Middle East has begun and ended about fifteen times, Donald Trump has abolished the men’s World Cup following the USA’s exit, and the UK has just had another new prime minister.
Temp Required
for an office based in Central London –
apply in writing to Number Ten.
Previous experience not essential –
you’ll be out of there by 5, P.M.
But it’s a good time as any to have a go at this, while I find myself in between writing projects. My last book, How to Lay an Egg with a Horse Inside came out in April and I’m trying to figure out what to focus on next. One idea is a book of poems based around the English language and all its glorious absurdities and inconsistencies, etymologies and semantics, grammar and punctuation.
Reader Announcement
I, would, like, to, apologise, for, the, slow
reading, of, this, poem,
this, is, due, to, unexpected,
commas, on, its, lines.
Another idea is to write a follow-up to Days Like These, my collection which contains a poem for every day of the year, with each poem linked to something significant about that day. For example, here’s a poem from that first book – the entry for 13th July, the day in 1944 on which the famous Cubist inventor, Erno Rubik was born:
An Introduction to Cubism
I never could quite work you out, you always were a puzzle, More twists and turns than a Rubik’s Cube, you’d mystify and muddle.
Remember how I greased your joints to make you lithe and supple? Yet still you left me all mixed up, no matter how I’d shuffle.
One layer at a time, you said. Cracked the first without a fumble. But the middle going started wrong while last was. the jumble just a
Or maybe I’ll end up ditching the whole idea of a themed collection and just write some poems and bung them in a book. It could include this one, for instance, a poem about my compulsion to buy more books than I might ever possibly have the time to read:
TBR
The Japanese have a word for it – tsundoku – the act of accumulating books without ever getting around to reading them; or at least, so I think I read somewhere, possibly among these teetering stacks that sprang up unnoticed but now dominate this room like the skyline defines Manhattan.
Over here, though, the bookish remain bullish. TBR, we call them – To Be Read – as if there is no doubt we will get there in the end, all we need is a little free time – a few decades perhaps – a comfortable chair, a glass of whisky, and the proximity of a deadline.
I used to find that acronym reassuring when, having surveyed the turretless towers of my magical kingdom, I would add another storey or two to one such high-rise pile of hope, but lately, I have begun to fear the maths are against me, even if I were to stop writing this poem and make a start on them now.
And I have been wondering about the other piles which have accumulated in silence around me and grown so tall that they, too, will never be scaled – those steep, soaring structures headed To Be Written; To Be Seen; To Be Felt; To Be Said, swaying imperceptibly to some unheard music, their summits disappearing into the clouds.
So much to do and so little time, as the old saying goes, although I’m sure Seneca or Schopenhauer would have something more illuminating to say on the matter, and so I resolve – on finishing these words and thereby chalking off one, at least, from my TBW pile – to cycle into town
and head for the bookshop to see what else I can find on the subject, and maybe I’ll pick up that new biography of Bob Dylan, a brief introduction to behavioural economics and six or seven more novels while I’m there.
First Time Fringer
In other news, I’m going to be reading some poems at the Edinburgh Fringe for the very first time this year. I’ll be there for a week, at the Assembly Rooms, between 24th and 30th August. Tickets are on sale here.
My main motivation for doing this is to use it as an excuse to go and see lots of other performers while I’m there. I’m particularly looking forward to the street entertainers.
Silent Witness
And then they came for the mime artists And I did not speak out – For I was a mime artist.
The last time I did a show in Edinburgh, a woman came up to me afterwards and told me how upset I had made her when I shared this poem online:
Frisbee
Frisbee whizzing through the air, above our heads, over the sand, into the water, onto the waves, out to sea.
You cried a lot that day. Frisbee was a lovely dog.
I still have no idea what could have upset her.
Poetry, Pets & Music
On the subject of pets, I’ve been getting together again with indiepop sensations The Catenary Wires, who have put another of my poems to music. It’s called ‘Under a Cat’ and features on a brilliant compilation album, entitled Pets Sounds, consisting of songs about our (mainly) furry friends. The LP comes out on 17th July and includes contributions from a bunch of wonderful bands including The Burning Hell, The Magnetic Fields, Jetstream Pony, Railcard, Sassyhiya, The Cords, Swansea Sound, Special Friend, Caleb Nicholls and Lande Hekt. I’m very proud to see my much-missed cat Buttons make the album cover.
We’ve also made a video to celebrate the release of ‘Under a Cat, comprising some of the many photos sent in via social media of people who are, well, under their cats.
Pets Sounds is available on vinyl, CD and the various music streaming platforms. It’s not available, however, on compilation cassette, which is something I’ve not made since about 1986.
Compilation Cassette
It was about three weeks after we met that I began work on that compilation cassette. Each track the result of a deliberation worthy of the Congregation of the Causes of the Saints, subject to a process of veneration and beatification before acceptance into the cassette tape canon. It’s a miracle it got made at all.
I can’t remember now which songs made the cut. There would have been no Country & Western (there was never any Country & Western), but they would have shown me to be discerning yet eclectic, both acoustic and electric, vaguely exotic, mildly erotic, quintessentially quixotic and other things I was not.
I don’t know whether you ever played my cassette. By the time I posted it through your letter-box, you had already started going out with Colin Hancox. He was good at rugby.
You will be able to hear the above poem, though, with musical accompaniment on 25th July, when we’ll be at the Cambridge Corn Exchange with a bunch of brilliant poets: Henry Normal, Mike Garry, Toria Garbutt, Jan Brierton, and the one and only Dr John Cooper Clarke. Tickets available here.
Festival Fever
I had the pleasure of reading poems at some literary festivals last month: the Leek Arts Festival, Chester Literature Festival and the Nottingham Poetry Festival. As ever, thank you to all those who came along – and particular thanks to those unsung and often unpaid volunteers who gave up their free time to enable arts and culture to flourish in their communities. Spare a thought, though, for the poor residents of those towns who had to contend with the presence of poets in their vicinities.
Poetry Festival: Advice for Residents
Check your doors are chained and padlocked. Keep your hatches battened down. Lock up your jewellery and your whiskey. There are poets in the town.
They’re kicking cantos down the high street. They’re crooning in the chip shop queue. They’re selling cinquains on street corners. They’ve sprayed the bus stops with haiku.
Do not venture out past midnight. Stay in bed. Don’t make a sound. Clutch your crucifix and garlic. There are poets in the town.
They’re soliloquising down the precinct. They’re expounding on the tram, as well. They’re slipping sonnets into handbags. They’re lacing drinks with villanelles.
If one’s near, approach with caution. Lend them not a single pound. Walk in pairs. Stick to the footpaths. There are poets in the town.
They’ll say one thing and mean another. They’ll lie to you. They’ll tell the truth. They’ll coax you in with words of honey. They’ll comfort you, console, seduce.
They’ll break your heart or make it leap. They’ll leave you battered, soothed, or warmed Then leave your town in search of others. Please take care. You have been warned.
‘How to Lay an Egg with a Horse Inside’ Autumn Tour
Those June festivals helped me get my head around what poems and material to include when I’m on my gigantic 44-date tour in the autumn, covering England, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland. The show will be based around ‘How to Lay an Egg with a Horse Inside’ and along the way I’ll be talking about AI, Clare Grogan and how to achieve a basic level of competence in a limited number of simple unremarkable things.
Tickets are selling well and some shows have sold out. Here’s the full list of where I’ll be.
September
23rd: MONMOUTH: Savoy Theatre Tickets 24th: ABERYSTWYTH: Arts Centre Tickets 25th: CARDIGAN: Mwldan Tickets 26th: WINCHESTER: Guildhall Tickets 27th: GUILDFORD: Yvonne Arnaud Theatre Tickets 30th: HARPENDEN: Eric Morecambe Centre Tickets
October
1st: COVENTRY: Warwick Arts Centre Tickets 2nd: DARWEN: Darwen Library Theatre Tickets 4th: MALTON: Milton Rooms Tickets 7th: CROYDON: Fairfield Ashcroft Theatre Tickets 8th: DEAL: Astor Theatre Last Few Tickets 9th: NORWICH: The Halls Tickets 10th: COLCHESTER: Arts Centre SOLD OUT 14th: LOUGHBOROUGH: MMC SOLD OUT 15th: MANCHESTER: Stoller Hall Tickets 16th: ULVERSTON: Coronation Hall Tickets 21st: KIDDERMINSTER: Town Hall Tickets 22nd: GLASGOW: Mackintosh Queen’s Cross Tickets 23rd: ABERDEEN: The Lemon Tree Tickets 24th: STIRLING: Tolbooth Tickets 28th: STAMFORD: Corn Exchange Tickets 29th: BURY ST EDMUNDS: The Apex Tickets 30th: CORSHAM: Pound Arts Centre SOLD OUT 31st: OXFORD: The North Wall SOLD OUT
November
4th: WORTHING: Pavilion Tickets 6th: BELLAGHY: Seamus Heaney HomePlace SOLD OUT 7th: BELLAGHY: Seamus Heaney HomePlace Last Few Tickets 11th: LEEDS: City Varieties Tickets 12th: SUNDERLAND: The Fire Station Tickets 13th: HELMSLEY: Arts Centre Last Few Tickets 14th: POCKLINGTON: Arts Centre Last Few Tickets 15th: SHEFFIELD: Memorial Hall Tickets 18th: OXFORD: The North Wall SOLD OUT 19th: STROUD: Sub Rooms Tickets 20th: BRIDPORT: Electric Palace Tickets 21st: EXETER: Corn Exchange Tickets 22nd: BUDE: The Parkhouse Centre Tickets 25th: NEWARK: Palace Theatre Tickets 26th: BAKEWELL: Town Hall Tickets 27th: CHORLEY: Chorley Theatre Tickets 28th: LIVERPOOL: Tung Auditorium Last Few Tickets 30th: BRISTOL: St George’s Last Few Tickets
December
1st: CARDIFF: Glee Club Tickets 4th: LONDON: Union Chapel Tickets
Libraries are ace
I do love a library. I’ve been writing this in Harrogate Public Library. Opposite me is a quote from Jorge Luis Borges: “I have always imagined that paradise will be a kind of library”. I would like to think that, too, although preferably without the man across the table from me, who has taken off his shoes and socks and keeps staring at me intensely while noisily picking his toenails. Perhaps I am typing too loudly.
LIBRARY NOTICE
PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS A LIBRARY
SO WE ASK THAT YOU WORK QUIETLY
AND IF YOU’RE TYPING ON YOUR LAPTOP
DON’T FORGET TO TURN OFF CAPS LOCK
He’s still staring at me. I think it’s time I got out of here.
Brian
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