It has been a few weeks since I finished my Blog of 70 poems inspired by seventy tracks by seventy artists. Since then I have been doing a bit of editing and have created a book of the blog. I am hoping a publisher will take it up.
I also got the chance to perform some of the poems to a select audience (ie not many people turned up) at a venue in France. It occurred to me that if I could find a way of incorporating the music and video into a stage show it would make for an interesting evening.
Lots to think about but in the meantime, I have been missing my Friday morning posting and I’ve given some thought about what to do next. I am going to take inspiration (steal someone else’s idea) from my friend and fellow poet Rowan McCabe. Rowan is the world’s first Door to Door Poet, he knocks on people doors and asks them what’s
Rowan McCabe
important in their lives and then he writes a poem about it. Check out his website by clicking on his photo.
So here’s the thing…
What is your favourite track and why is it important to you. Let me know and I will attempt to write a poem based on your track and artist. I will then post it up on the blog. Like a Juke Box where you request your record but this way you get a poem back. Or do you think there is a classic track I have missed out that deserves the Three Score and Ten treatment?
Just email your request to me at jeffpricenewcastle@gmail.com and lets see what happens.
Ronnie Lambert was 18 when he returned to Newcastle after spending a year in London working as a brick layer. Ronnie said he never forgot the emotion he felt when he came home and he tried to capture it in this song. I think he did a brilliant job, it’s a bit cliched in parts but for a Geordie it says all it needs to say. This song is regularly played on match days at St James’ Park, the home of Newcastle United.
This poem and the quote that is used as a title came after I was watching an England match at a bar in the South West of France. A few of the English locals had gathered to watch the game and a woman sat next to me and said “You look like a man who knows about football”.
Afterwards I thought about what she said, I wasn’t wearing an England shirt and didn’t look any different to anyone else there that day. The only thing I had that was different to the other people in the bar was a Northern accent. I have been a football supporter all my life. At times, a very halfhearted one and at other times a season ticket holder. Being a Newcastle United supporter requires a lot of blind faith and a certain level of stubbornness but if you are a Geordie it’s in your blood and there is nothing you can do about it.
To celebrate the start of the football season here is a footy poem.
“You look like a man who knows about football”
Football courses through our city like the Tyne in flood It is tattooed in black and white on our hearts and knuckles We hold memories of sepia tinged glory days As a child on the cramped terraces of St James’s Park I crowd surfed to the touch line When in 1968 we won the Fairs Cup I danced in the Leazes End to the sound of “The Blaydon Races” At school I was the runt kid with bottle glass spectacles Whose lack of coordination and spatial dyslexia Led to our ten nil defeat to our protestant rivals I was not picked again Newcastle United is owned by a bully with too much money Our players are overpaid egos in a football strip Our stadium prostituted for corporate advertising Littered with over priced bars and indigestible snacks But every victory is a lump in the throat Every defeat a stone in the shoe I loved the comradery of the terraces The shared identity and common purpose The power of the crowd on match day as we surge through the city Buses,cars and lorries grind to a halt as we stream past It reminds us that we the people have power If we choose to exercise it
Writing can often be a strange journey. Most of the poems I write have a conscious beginning. Some event or random thought will be its starting point. I will make notes or create a rough draft that I can mull over and then rewrite a few times until I am happy with it.
Sometimes a poem will come unbidden. It seems to come from nowhere and is as complete as a poem can be. It is sometimes blocking another poem that I am trying to write and sits there in my subconscious as a defiant gate keeper. My only course of action is to write it down and then I can move on. This happened a couple of weeks ago when I was writing the final blog poem based on Ian Dury and the Blockheads song “Reasons to be Cheerful”.
Here it is and it’s an odd little poem but I like it.
This wonderful song by Marc Cohn brings back lots of memories of my Father. Although his car was not a Silver Thunderbird but a Standard Vanguard, it was his pride and joy.
Standard Vanguard
He was a hard working man with a very strong sense of family values. The Standard Vanguard belonged to a time when we as a family were doing well but hard times were to come. My Dad was an agent for a woman’s clothing firm, he had a special designed Van to take to
The Gown Van was like this one but painted without writing on the side.
his clients as well as a car and we lived in a nice semidetached house. When I was 11 one of his major customers went bust owing him lots of money and leaving him in debt to suppliers. He had to close the business and eventually sell the house to pay off his creditors. After that, he had a succession of jobs with periods of unemployment in between
One of the less appealing jobs he had later in life was as a “Tally Man”. He worked for a loan company in Newcastle and his job was to go door to door and collect the weekly payments from the customers.
I remember one Christmas Eve he was leaving the house and I asked him were he was going and he told me he was going to collect the weekly payments. “But, its Christmas!” I said. He told me that if he didn’t collect the payments this week then they would owe double next week and the firm would add extra interest and it was best for the customers to pay now and that he was doing them a favour. In this piece I imagined what happened next.
The Tally Man calls
Even on a good day, kids would be sent to shout through the letter box “Me Mam’s out” but no one expected him to call on Christmas Eve. So, Ada Johnson didn’t think twice about flinging the door open and saying “Merry Christmas” actually she never got further than the “Merry”. Then a “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Before her stood a slight figure of a man dressed in a brown suit. His hair thin and pressed close to his scalp with Brylcream. Out of a briefcase he pulled a small leather ledger.
“It’s a Wednesday, Mrs Johnson and I always call on a Wednesday, and sometimes on a Thursday if you are not in and then a Friday and a Saturday until your payment has been made.”
“But it’s Christmas Eve” she protested.
“It’s a Wednesday, I collect on a Wednesday, there are no exceptions for holidays. If I don’t collect this week it will mean you owe twice as much next week and then extra interest will be added and you will end up paying more. I’m doing you a favour by coming today.”
Mrs Johnson was stunned none of the other collectors had called this week, she went back into the house and got her purse.
“Here, you heartless bastard.” She thrust her last few poundnotes into his hand.
“Thanks Mrs Johnson I’ll see you next week, Merry Christmas”
Labi Siffre has a wonderful voice and his compassion and understanding of life shines through his work.
First a little background on Labi, He was born in London as Cladius Afolabi Siffre, his
Something inside so strong
mother was of Barbadian-Belgium descent and he had a Nigerian father. Siffre was educated at a Catholic independent day school St Benedict’s School in Ealing. Despite his Catholic education, Siffre has stated that he has always been an atheist. Labi’s long term partner was Peter Lloyd. They met in 1964 and they were together until Peter’s death in 2015. Over fifty years is a long time. I’ll never manage that.
The background to the poem was the weeks when there was the appalling attack on Westminster and the divisive Article 50 was passed for the UK to leave the EU. On Facebook, I see friends argue and insults flying between people who should be working together. This week, I wanted to write something that reminds us all we have different ideas but we should never forget that we have more in common than divides us.
In 1973 I attended the inaugurating meeting of the Chile Solidarity Campaign in London. The military under General Pinochet had just ousted the democratically elected socialist government of Salvador Allende and begun a campaign of terror against the workers movement, resulting in the deaths of many thousands and the exile of thousands more.
Salvador Allende
The campaign was supposed to bring together the left in a unified campaign of solidarity but instead the meeting descended into chaos as the Socialist Workers Party and the Communist Party squabbled over who should be running the conference. Beside me a Chilean woman was in tears. She told me that this was the problem that led to the defeat in Chile; instead of fighting the enemy the left spent most of its time fighting itself.
I draw huge comfort from listening to”Something inside so Strong” by Labi Siffre. It is a song that gives hope and is as beautiful as any poem I have ever read. He remains as clear and incisive as ever. Labi has a blog that is well worth following called “Into the Light”
North and South
We all have that mental list of hurts and grievances
The memories of the bullies bitter words and fists
Lover’s parting accusations and cruel put downs
Scar tissue whose details are undiminished by time
We are a nation of differences North and South
We are a complex of languages East and West
We are Sunni and Shia, Protestant and Catholic
We are roasted vegetables and grilled steak
We all have a mental list of our mistakes and regrets
When we accused the innocent and ignored the guilty
The incautious remark and the insult we do not remember
But sits like a stone wedged in the heart of others
We are a nation of similarities Laughter and Smiles
We are a complex of shared experiences
We are a stranger’s smile on a sunny afternoon
We are Curry and Chips, Sunrise and Sunset
We all have a mental list of what make us stronger
When we stood up to those who point the finger
When we championed the blameless against the accuser
I decided to rewrite some of my earlier blog posts. This one has a much more comprehensive introduction than the original.
Steve Earle is a man of many talents. He is a singer songwriter, musician, short story writer, actor, playwright and record producer.
Born in Virginia in the USA in 1955 he was always a rebel. He ran away from home at fourteen to follow his idol, singer-songwriter Townes Van Zandt, around Texas. He eventually dropped out of school at sixteen and went to live with his Uncle in Atlanta.
He has had a very varied career including problems with drugs. He has been married seven time and lately has been an anti-war activist and campaigner against the death penalty.
I picked this track because it unblocked a poem I had wanted to write for years and couldn’t get right. To break the deadlock I decided to sit down and take notes as I listened to the track “Galway Girl” on a loop. The poem “Unnoticed Shadow” was the result and it also started the idea of using music as an inspiration for poetry which led to the blog.
I was brought up a Catholic in the West End of Newcastle upon Tyne. It is a little city with a big reputation in the far northern corner of England.
Growing up, I would be taken by my Father on a Sunday Mornings to St Robert’s Church and Wednesday evenings I would go to the Youth Club in the church hall. The Catholic population of the West End of Newcastle was mainly of Irish extraction, as was my Grandmother.
In the youth club we would dance with the girls and sometimes, out of sight of the ever watchful eye of the parish priest, if we were lucky, we would have a stolen kiss. There was a look to these young girls with their dark hair, ivory skin and blue eyes.
Years later I would visit Ireland through work and later, after one of my daughter moved to Dublin, my wife and I would make regular visits to see her and our grandchildren.
Steve’s song reminded me how ideas and images are imprinted in our minds from an early age.
Galway Girl
“I ain’t seen nothin’ like a Galway Girl” Steve Earle
Sunday morning St Robert’s Catholic Church 1960
She is thirteen and I am twelve and I am in love
Complete, undiscovered and unrequited love
Her crown of twisted black curls, her steel blue eyes
Have seduced me, stolen my heart and taken the strength from my bones
A glimpse of her knee socks makes my knees knock
The click of her heels is symphony on the stone slabs
The choir’s hymn a hallelujah to her beauty
She is an Angel
She is my salvation
She is out of my league
I am invisible as dust
I ask you friends what’s a fellow to do
because her hair was black and her eyes were blue
Sunday Morning O’Connell Street 2000
The airport coach drops me off by the Old Post Office
I blink in the sullen sunlight of an Irish morning
Ian Dury and the Blockheads “Reasons to be cheerful”
I did it, Hurrah, 70 poems inspired by 70 songs by 70 different artists in 70 weeks. I have reached the end of my birthday blog. Although it isn’t my actual 70th birthday until 27th November it feels good to be here. Thank you to all the people who tuned in every week from all over the world. There were 2000 visitors mainly from the UK but a big contingent from USA and France and a special mention to a regular visitor from Trinidad and Tobago, a grand total of 36 countries altogether.
Thanks to those who sent me supportive messages and comments on the blog. I am not sure where I am going next but looking back at some of the early posts I would like to rewrite a few and when I have I will re-post them. Any suggestions for a new blog please email me jeffpricenewcastle@gmail.com or post a comment on the blog, the link is at the bottom of the page, I would love to hear from you.
If you have enjoyed the music on the blog I have created a Spotify playlist click of all 70 tracks
I have made a Three Score and Ten YouTube channel with all the videos and you can watch them all at . Apologies if some of the videos start with adverts.
What have I learned from this journey? I started off simply intending to follow the brief I had set myself but it turned out to be something a little different. The songs took me on a journey into the past and long forgotten memories began to bubble up to the surface. In the end it became a sort of autobiography, I say, sort of, because I can not swear that every story was completely factual and every anecdote was just my memory and I am sure others will have their own versions.
It reminded me how grateful I am for my life and the people I share it with, it reminded me how much fun was mixed in with the losses and the sadness that came with it.
I want to end on a joyful note and who better than the man who sums all this up, Ian Dury. He brought joy to the world despite his struggles with it, he had a wicked sense of humour and he is one of my heroes.
Ian’s songs (written in partnership with Chaz Jankel) were full of humour, hope and love of life. His death in March 2000 a sad loss to the world. It was hard to choose a track but I have always wanted my version of “Reasons to be Cheerful” So here goes and thank you for tuning in.
Apologies if some of blog followers received a notification of this week’s blog earlier in the week rather than the normal Friday morning. This was due to a technical error (I pressed the wrong button when I was saving the post).
This track is from the fabulous album “Bop till you drop” one of my favourites and it’s hard to find a duff track on the whole album. He combines blues, country and even a sprinkling of gospel in this track. The lyrics say to watch out for trouble coming and that for a lot of people it can disrupt their lives but we have to press on and not let it stop us. Look for the positive.
“Well, you know, everyday can’t be Sunday …and you know one thing, behind every silver lining, there isn’t a dark cloud“
Listening to this album always makes me feel positive. I love the way music can lift you in much the same way that poetry can. I have met many people over the last seventy years who are like that. They don’t look at the negatives in their lives but the positives. In a contradictory way they are also often the ones with the biggest burdens to bear. It might be because of their background (read Benjamin Zephaniah autobiography) or a disability that rather than hold them back has spurred them on.
One of the things I have learned from life is that every day can’t be Sunday and that on those days you just have to suck it up and get on with it but also steps backwards can often be just as important as steps forward. You learn more from failure than you do from success.
Every day can’t be Sunday
Weary to work, scraping the Sunday memories from your eyes
Another Monday morning of cold starts and crowded buses
Standing room only for the passengers who bury their faces in screens
Holding the world in the palm of their hands ignoring the world around them
There are shelves to stock, records to update and reports to file
There are boxes to deliver, screws to turn and lines to draw
There are streets to patrol, wounds to heal and children to teach
There are sods to turn, crops to pick and cattle to milk
Count even the smallest victory and keep the losses in perspective
In your blood are generations of survivors, honour their fortitude
Sweet sleep will come when a hard day has been put to bed
No saviour Friday without a treacherous Monday morning
This is what happens if you fuse Acid House and Country music, you get the Alabama 3. Strangely the band are not American but from the UK but this song made them famous as it was used as the theme tune for the TV series “The Sopranos”
Their Wiki page says “The band is notable for their fusion of styles, ironic lyrics, intentionally humorous personae and outrageous live performances. Every member of the group has an alias, the band’s founding members adopting the personas Larry Love (Rob Spragg) and The Very Reverend Dr. D. Wayne Love (Jake Black).”
If you have not discovered this band then check them out.
“Well, you woke up this morning Got yourself a gun Your mama always said you’d be the chosen one“
In the 1970s I went shooting with the Father of a girl I was going out with. He was a farmer in Northumberland and I was trying to impress him. He liked to go duck shooting. There was an area of his land that the ducks would fly into at dusk. He would hide behind a camouflaged fence and shoot a couple of them. He never shot more than two at a time (They were for the pot).
He told me that a couple of fields away someone had flooded some land to use as a commercial duck shoot and they would have ten or more guns blasting dozens of ducks out of the sky. He hated that. He said a hunter should never take more than he could eat. He flooded part of his land so the ducks had somewhere else to go but the ducks had to pay their rent.
It is easy to take a very binary view of hunting and this farmer taught me that things can often be more complicated than they appear. Although I fired a gun a few times at the ducks I never hit one and I decided that guns and hunting were not for me.
Across the Pond
Flight plan locked and destination in sight
It has been a long flight from Siberia
Five thousand kilometres as the duck flies
Crossing the Northern coast twenty minutes ago
Our destination and a much needed sleep beckons
The new moon reflects on the pond’s surface
Feet down and wings arched for landing
Suddenly a flash of light and a crack of thunder
We land in a cacophony of panic and noise
The pond scattered with blood stained feathers
In the silence that follows our fears evaporate
The water is soft beneath our bodies
The moon slips behind a cloud and darkness hides us
I love this track, it has everything going for it. A great tune, funny and at the same time interesting lyrics and no one can mug a video better than Jarvis Cocker. Jarvis was born in Sheffield in 1963, he and his sister were abandoned by their father when he emigrated to Australia, leaving his Mother to bring them up alone. The realism of working class life in the song doesn’t come from a book but from hard experience. Jarvis now works as a DJ on BBC Radio 6 Music.
The song tells the story of a posh girl who wants to experience what it is like to be working class.
Laugh along with the common people, Laugh along even though they’re laughing at you, And the stupid things that you do. Because you think that poor is cool.
I think this is a brilliant song and also a story of our times. Working class people seen as a curiosity by those who have privileged lives. What became Poverty Tourism or Poverty Porn in those dreadful reality shows like “Benefit Street”.
Jarvis said himself about the song “I’d met the girl from the song many years before, when I was at St Martin’s College. I’d met her on a sculpture course… I was studying film, and she might’ve been doing painting, but we both decided to do sculpture for two weeks… It would’ve been around 1988, so it was already ancient history when I wrote about her.”
Although never confirmed by Jarvis it is widely believed that the woman who inspired the song is Danae Stratou, wife of Yanis Varoufakis, a former Greek Finance minister. Stratou studied at St. Martins between 1983 and 1988 and is the eldest daughter of a wealthy Greek businessman.
Having read this week’s poem several times, I am struggling to find a connection between the song and the poem I wrote but that’s how it works sometimes. I listen to the song, I make notes, I write and sometimes the muse mocks me.
Driving me Crazy
I want to cook like a poet
Seeking out the unusual ingredient
Combinations no one else has thought of before
letting each one compliment the other
The flame for just the right amount of time
Seasoned so that every note sings to perfection
I want to drive like a poet
Cocooned inside the cab alone with road
Thoughts wandering further than the car can ever go
Following different routes to the same place
Sometimes stopping to admire the view
The journey just as important as the destination
I want to write like a poet
Sure of each verse, every dot and comma
Picking the perfect word and placing it in the perfect place
Using a metaphor that young people will write on walls