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I first came across John Cooper-Clarke entirely by accident,
but, I always find that the best people are those you find by mistake. He's a "punk poet" from Salford, a town in Manchester
which he says was where they invented dyslexia, "although we called it phonetic spelling ....Mind you I think the technical
term was daft twat."
I was at a NEAB Poetry Day in the Dominion Theatre, London
watching some of the worst poets ever born read their inspired works, in preparation for the GCSE English Literature exam.
Simon Armitage, for his part, was very good, with that accent of his, and he read his poems beautifully, but he came on first,
and only stayed for fifteen minutes, so I spent the next four hours not listening, and trying to read "The Diary of Jack the
Ripper" in the gloomy half-light of the theatre.
It was just one of those school trips I wish I'd never gone
on: I was cold (it was a government funded project, they couldnt afford heating) I was bored, I was hungry, and the other
schools were... God, I dont even want to think about the other schools! We had the Ilford massive at the front: ninety Ali
G clones, lead by their God, who we christened "Skinny boy". Skinny boy was their leader, and he made the man leading the
poets very cross, because he kept making his phone ring the Haribo tune really loud. The other schools just encouraged Skinny
boys behaviour, though, because they were singing along ("Kids and grown ups love it sooo the happy world of Haribo.") apart
from the public school boys at the back, who were dressed in suits left over from the last Royal Wedding and sneering at everybody
who looked vaguely state educated.
But then, a poet came onto the stage who made even the Ilford
Crew fall silent. He was the legendary John Cooper-Clarke, and he had a message for us: Poetry can be fun.
Yes.
You didnt misread me: Poetry CAN be FUN. It aint all Shakespeare
and that, no, you can have poems which are spelt all wrongly (mind you Chaucers one of the greats, and look at him) and said
in the style of a wait for it.... Rap! Mind you, the Ilford Crew already knew that, of course, what were they even doing there,
you dont need GCSE English Lit to be an MC do you?
John started off with a few gags about school. Everyone, including
the teachers liked that. Then he told us a few gags about marriage to introduce a poem about how bad marriage is. "A wedding,"
he said, "is simply a funeral where you can smell your own flowers." Ha ha, indeed. And then he asked if there were any Essex
girls in. Cue ninety hands shooting up in the air, hoping, against hope that Mr. Cooper-Clarke wanted an Essex Girl for a
bride. But alas, all he wanted was to read a poem about Essex girls- which you can read right here on this page.
So, read the poems, visit the links, and be sure to remember,
that poetry can be fun. Huh, some people'll believe anything.
HIRE CAR- A favourite of the Ilford Crew
double park - don't lock the door
push the pedals through the floor
give
it loads and then some more
it's a hire car baby
grip the stick - grind the gears
watch that distance disappear
never yours
in a thousand years
it's a hire car baby
hire-car, hire-car
why would anybody buy a car?
bang it, prang it, say
ta ta
it's a hire car baby
bad behaviour on the street
save yourself a couple of sheets
collision
rate keeps it sweet
it's a hire car baby
show this motor no respect
bump it, dump it, call collect
what else do
the firm expect
it's a hire car baby
drive the fucker anywhere
just like you don't care
put it down to wear
and tear
it's a hire car baby
pray the person who hired it last
didn't drive it quite so fast
this dakarum
dodgem doesn't last
it's a hire car baby
try not to kill yourself
or injure anybody else
don't forget to fasten
your belts
rent it, dent it, bang it, prang it
bump it, dump it, scorch it, torch it
crash and burn it, don't return it
lost
deposit, let 'em earn it
who cares, it's on the firm
it's a hire car baby
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