The following are what could be called the cream of the versified pieces I have somehow or other compiled over the course of my writing career, and I refer to them as such, because I consider myself to be a writer of verses or lyrics rather than any kind of poet or writer. As much as I treasure them, I don’t take any of my literary creations all that seriously, even while their source material was for the most part serious enough.
Chapter One - Lyrics of Lamentation
Introduction
This section consists of entries created during one of my sporadic ‘glass half full’ periods which come suddenly and depart with equal suddenness, rarely lasting for more than a week or two. On occasion, they might last longer when one such period gives way to another; but they are rare, if intense, occurring approximately three times a year, and centring largely on what I perceive to be past mistakes re. the sentimental and/or professional spheres of my existence.
A Multitude of Woes was based on diary notes dating from the 19th of March 2014, with revisions being made the following November, and I have only sporadically identified with it since. It was removed from this collection possibly in early 2019, with the result that From a Multitude of Woes to the Woodville Hall Soul Boys was renamed And If My Soul is Crying to the Woodville Hall Soul Boys, which was a disastrous decision, so I felt compelled to rewrite the entire verse, which I did on the 22cnd of March 2019, before returning it to Chapter One.
And If My Soul is Crying was penned during an episode of almost unbearable abyssal sadness, although precisely when it occurred I cannot say other than it was in 2015.
How Sad True Sadness possibly also dates from 2015, although it has been subject to some editing since then, including a final edit, or so it is to be hoped, on the 18th of January 2019.
How Things Turn Out to Be was initially included in Chapter Two without deployment of brackets, having begun life as a song, written and recorded in 2016, although, as the lyrics make manifestly clear, it stems from one of my episodic ‘glass half empty’ periods; and so it was moved on the 2cnd of December 2018.
Memories Flow Back Too began life as an idea for a song around about the decadal midpoint, only to be reworked both as a song and piece of verse some three years later in early 2018, when it was included in Chapter Two, while a decision was made to move it to Chapter One on the 2cnd of December 2018, with a final edit taking place on the 28th of June 2019.
Mi Pueblito Perdito was based on diary notes dating from the 28th of August 2014, and while it twice came close to being jettisoned from this collection, it was ultimately included as a result of being edited and re-titled in July/August 2017; while on the 4th of December 2018, it was moved from Chapter Three to Chapter One.
Oh! With What Unspeakable Anguish was initially conceived in a state of genuine anguish (as clearly evidenced by the piece’s title), related to my past; although this has since faded, so that I don’t feel it so intensely at the time of writing, viz., a little under two months after it assumed its final shape on the 16th of May 2019.
Or Happier At Least was written around 2014 during a bout of intense melancholia tinged with nostalgic longing, only to be forged into a song lyric in early 2017.
Seems You Found Love was born of a sudden attack of heartache dating from around the 4th to the 6th of March 2019, and was subject to some editing some five months later to create the definitive version.
Something Precious Had to Fade was written in 2018 as a song of lingering regret for a romance lost several decades ago.
Soon, I’ll Sleep Again dates from early 2017, having begun life as a song which evolved by degrees into the versified piece featured below, and while it had accurately reflected my state of mind at the time of its conception, my mood ultimately lifted.
Source of the Utmost was completed to my satisfaction on 26 March 2019, although it would not receive its title until early the following July, by which time the authentic unhappiness inspired its creation had mercifully retreated into the background of my day to day existence.
This Place of Near-Incessant Mourning is a recent work, fashioned from within ‘a place of near-incessant mourning’ as I described it on the 23rd of May 2019, and then again on the 29th, and yet on this day of its final draft, the 11th of July, I feel no sense of mourning, so the term ‘near-incessant’ is not only no longer applicable, but - in the greater scheme of things - inaccurate.
What’s More (Someone To Love Them) was completed on the 15th of March 2019 as both a piece of verse and a song, having been worked on for some days previously, and inspired by various people who ended up alone, longing for someone.
Yes I Regret was written and recorded as a song in the earlier part of 2017, with new, autobiographical lyrics tacked onto a melody sketched out on piano when I was about 24, and while it was originally part of Chapter Two, it was moved in November 2018.
A Multitude of Woes
Yes, there was a time
I was obsessed by melancholy,
I saw deep sadness,
The quality that so tormented
My former favoured idols,
Poets, painters,
Musicians, actors,
Creators of every kind,
As glamorous and romantic,
But it’s not,
It’s not remotely romantic,
When you yourself are adrift,
And weighed down
By a multitude of woes.
And If My Soul is Crying
It’s happening again,
Such unbearable pain,
And if my soul is crying
As my heart is breaking, then that’s fine…
I’ve let so many people down,
Lost so many beautiful opportunities,
I feel so failed and forlorn,
But is that really such a tragedy?
Perhaps, rather,
It’s a positive thing,
Shouldn’t a true artist be suffering?
At least I’m feeling something…
It’s happening again,
Such unbearable pain,
And if my soul is crying
As my heart is breaking, then that’s fine…
How Sad True Sadness
There was a sadness I revered,
But never possessed,
Because there was youth
And opportunity to spare,
But as life ebbs,
And opportunities recede,
I know that sadness for real,
And how sad true sadness feels.
How Things Turn Out to Be
When I was young,
I was so carefree,
At least that’s how
It seems to me,
Ain’t it sad
How things turn out to be?
Full of hope,
Full of passionate dreams,
A thrilling new world
Lay right before me,
Ain’t it sad
How things turn out to be?
Glass half full,
Then it’s half empty,
My mood can change
So very unpredictably,
Ain’t it sad
How things turn out to be?
Memories Flow Back Too
I go back, though
Sometimes it’s filled with pain,
I go back, ’cos
Nothing will be the same,
Precious places
I first knew,
When life and youth
And love were new,
I flow back, and
Memories flow back too.
Mi Pueblito Perdido
O how
Ruefully I pine
For mi pueblito perdido,
What I wouldn’t give,
To be young again,
And happy as I was back then.
Maria, full of peace,
Do you remember
Francis Albert softly keening
O Amor Em Paz,
And other songs by Jobim,
Happy as you were back then?
O for
That wide-eyed
Impression of yours,
Paquita (la de Murcia),
Of your beloved Mary Lyn,
Happy as you were back then.
O how
Ruefully I pine
For mi pueblito perdido,
What I wouldn’t give,
To be young again,
And happy as I was back then.
Oh! With What Unspeakable Anguish
Oh! With what unspeakable anguish
Do I regret the vocation
I came so close
And so oft to having
The sweet acclamation
That might have been mine.
Had I tried and failed,
That would scarcely concern me,
Yet, I squandered my resources
Time and time again,
And failed so unnecessarily,
That is what so torments me.
I only wish I could contemplate
More than a mere handful
Of past achievements with pride
And satisfaction,
But even this paltry compensation,
Remains stubbornly beyond me.
Oh! With what unspeakable anguish
Do I regret the vocation
I came so close
And so oft to having
The sweet acclamation
That might have been mine.
Or Happier At Least
I was happy,
TV nightly,
As a family,
Simple pleasures,
‘Any Umbrellas?’
Family holidays,
I was happy,
Perhaps the world was happy,
Or happier at least.
Seems You Found Love
Oh, at long last,
I’ve found you,
Although, the news
Ain’t so good,
Seems you found love…
You seem happy,
And so fulfilled
But did I think that,
You’d be lonely,
For all those years?
Oh, what was I
Looking for?
You tried so hard,
I never thawed,
Seems you found love,
I’m so unhappy,
Cos I never knew
What I found,
And, what I lost,
And how much I’d miss you.
Something Precious Had to Fade
Dear one, what did you say?
A dining hall, a distant day,
It seems it was time
For goodbye,
Speaking of my eyes,
‘They shine so bright’,
Words said (or words of this kind),
If this was true and that they did,
Because of feelings that I hid,
I must have longed
For you to stay,
But I didn’t beg you, ‘please don’t leave!’
I must have seemed so cavalier,
And something precious had to fade.
Soon, I’ll Sleep Again
Soon, I’ll sleep again,
I will feel no pain,
For a little time,
Peace will be all mine,
My mind will seek
Freedom from the past,
I’ll be carefree,
Although it will not last,
Soon, I’ll sleep again,
I will feel no pain,
For a little time,
Peace will be all mine.
Source of the Utmost
I betrayed myself
During my younger days,
And opened myself up to shame,
I betrayed myself
During my younger days,
Over and over again,
And there are times
That knowing what I did
Is too much for me to stand,
And there are times
That knowing what I did
Is a source of the utmost pain,
I betrayed myself
During my younger days,
Repeatedly wrecked my dreams,
I betrayed myself
During my younger days,
Over and over again.
This Place of Near-Incessant Mourning
I do not understand
Why he sabotaged me so consummately,
And made me look like
Such a pathetic old patsy,
Could he not discern the misery
He was shoring up by degrees,
Over the course of the years
For the self he would ultimately be?
It was perforce a former version of me,
Who led me to this place
Of near-incessant mourning,
A narcissistic anomaly,
Who never wanted the precious gifts
Of peace and domesticity,
The little ones that might have been,
He spirited them all away from me.
What’s More (Someone to Love Them)
How my heart can ache for the lonely,
Then I’d like to comfort them all,
Hold them close
Until their sorrow goes,
This great big world
Can seem so cold,
O woe, some end up alone,
Forlorn souls
Longing for someone,
That’s all,
Someone to save them,
What’s more, someone to love them.
Yes, I Regret
Yes, I regret
The scornful dissipation
Of my salad days
When I was strong,
Believe me,
They didn’t last too long,
Believe me,
They didn’t last too long.
Yes, I regret
All that I squandered
O’er the course
Of about fifteen years,
Believe me,
I’ve cried quite a sea of tears,
Believe me,
I’ve cried quite a sea of tears,
Yes, I regret
If I e’er acted cavalierly
Towards any who sought to love me
With a trusting heart,
Believe me,
I’m not so proud of my past,
Believe me,
I’m not so proud of my past.
Chapter Two - Verses Forged from Songs
Introduction
A Calf Love Crisis existed in its original form as a song written when I was around 19 in memory of an early love of mine, an especially painful case of calf love suffered during swimming classes in West London as I remember it, before being reworked in 2003, and then again in 2015; with a freshly edited version being prepared in June 2017.
At a Long Lost Party was a lyric I penned in response to listening to a song from Prefab Sprout’s 1985 album Steve McQueen, also known as Two Wheels Good, at some point during the evening of the 3rd of June 2017, which clearly took me back to the titular long lost party, although the melody I wrote it to has since escaped me. While the preponderance of the song was drafted on the 3rd, minor modifications took place on the 4th, almost certainly between 7 and 8.30 a.m., and then again on the 6th, while the 16th witnessed the removal of an entire verse to produce the definitive version.
But a Love Now Long Gone was written in late June 2017 as a translation of a song, originally penned in French around 2013, itself based on an earlier song, autobiographical in nature, written and recorded on cassette when I was about 19.
Costa Calida Sun was written and recorded in 2016, with lyrics inspired - as the song states - by ‘Memories of Spain’. It was very nearly left off the collection, but I included it as a result of it acquiring an unexpected ‘like’ at an online poetry site.
I Have Let Love Pass Me By dates from early to mid 2018, having been based on a handful of lyrics I improvised to guitar when I was 18 as a lament for a lost love.
In Puerto Rican Skies dates from 2015, while having been based on an autobiographical song, relating to incidents from my childhood, written at the age of 18 for one of the first in a series of self-made cassette albums, if you can call them that.
In Remembrance of My Lost Angel, a lamentation for lost love and lost opportunities, was written in early 2016, although it was an updating of a similar lyric dating from 1999.
Lament for a Classmate was written in 2015, notwithstanding a few later minor alterations, in response to the passing of a classmate whose name remained with me over the decades, but of whom I had - and still have - little memory.
My Past in Peace constitutes the French to English translation of a song’s mournful middle 8, the song itself having been recorded in 2012 or ’13 as part of a series of songs, several being either in French, or having French sections of varying length.
My Travels is a partially autobiographical lyric dating from 2003, which has been little altered since apart from the inevitable process of versification.
On the Blue Baltic Sea was written as a surreal ‘collage’ of a song around 2014, having been inspired by a rough sketch I recorded when I was around 19 or 20 for another of my cassette ‘albums’, ‘Baltic Melody’, which explains the title.
So Secluded That I May Be was completed as an autobiographical song lyric on 10 December 2018.
To Save Them, To Love Them was written as a song and piece of verse in early 2019, and completed around the 9th of April of that year.
Under Blue Berkshire Skies, was written in 2003 in praise of a friendship enjoyed several decades previously as a ‘new boy’ at college in the beautiful English county of Berkshire, and yet haunted both by the Spirit of ’68, and the Beach Boys masterpiece, Surf’s Up, which, originally written by Brian Wilson and lyricist Van Dyke Parks for the near-mythical lost album Smile, somehow serves to evoke the twilight of an era of historic momentousness.
Who Lives in My Perfect Love is a reasonably faithful translation of a song I wrote in French aged ca. 19 years old, and which I renovated around 2013 with its original title, Mon Parfait Amour.
A Calf Love Crisis
I couldn’t be more sure
Of all the nostalgia I’d endure,
If I were to explore
A calf love crisis
That was so hard to cure,
How your mummy, she knew mine,
They’d been friends
For a little time,
And the time that you explained,
Your first name, it was Jane,
I really loved you, Jane,
But you only
Gave me pain,
You said ‘hello’ the first,
But it only ended for the worst.
In our local swimming pool,
I swam so close to you,
Did you smirk
To your bob-haired friend,
Between the deep and the shallow end?
So I just shyly slinked away,
Feeling such a fool that day,
Pet Clark reinforced
My bitter woe,
Singing My Love on the radio,
I really loved you, Jane,
But you only
Gave me pain,
You said ‘hello’ the first,
But it only ended for the worst.
At a Long Lost Party
I yearned for another,
Who wasn’t you,
But she wasn’t there,
Unlike you,
At a long lost party
In old Cambridge town.
Did I fall
Just a little for you,
While longing for another,
Who wasn’t you,
At a long lost party
In old Cambridge town.
But A Love Now Long Gone
One summer’s eve in Spain,
I fled through an open window,
Butterflies aflight
In the very pit of me,
And I tramped the streets,
My heart abrim
With such a love,
But a love now long gone.
With my final matches,
I forged a heart
At that maiden’s doorstep;
I was like a thief,
On that torrid night,
My heart abrim
With so much love,
But a love now long gone.
And what of the maiden in azure?
O! What an inferno raged
Within my soul for her,
But that love
Never bloomed beyond a dream,
My heart abrim
With such a love,
But a love now long gone.
Costa Calida Sun
Costa Calida sun,
I hope we’re reunited,
Though I can’t say when,
I may see you again,
Costa Calida sun
Means memories romantic,
Of when that I was young,
Memories of Spain.
I Have Let Love Pass Me By
You told me that your name was Maria,
And that you came
From the Netherlands,
But you looked more like a Latina,
With flowing dark hair, maybe a natural tan,
I was in love,
So much in love,
But I let love pass me by,
All through my life,
So much of my life, I have let love pass me by.
You left me with a casual ‘I’ll see you’,
But I looked for you
All over London town,
It’s as if I had been paralysed with fear,
Did I see you on the underground?
I was in love,
So much in love,
But I let love pass me by,
All through my life,
So much of my life, I have let love pass me by.
In Puerto Rican Skies
Kind faces smiling,
Nodding politely at words
They don’t seem to understand,
Show me pictures
Showing the richness
Of a faraway distant land,
Multicoloured motor cars,
Brown apartments rising high
In Puerto Rican skies.
In Remembrance of My Lost Angel
I feel a deep, deep sorrow,
As life nears its final page,
The hard times that come with age,
It’s enough to make a good man rage,
But somehow, there’s a special sorrow,
In tears cried for love long gone,
By eyes that look back filled with pain,
At my lost angel.
I feel a deep, deep sorrow,
In promise that’s unfulfilled,
In youth that has been misspent,
In a life with so much regret,
But somehow, there’s a special sorrow,
In tears cried for love long gone,
By eyes that look back filled with pain
At my lost angel.
Angel, I remember you,
I’ve missed you for so long,
Angel, you belong
To memories,
Angel, when I think of you,
I think of sad romantic songs,
Songs that make me long
For yesterday.
I feel a deep, deep sorrow,
As life nears its final page,
The hard times that come with age,
It’s enough to make a good man rage,
But somehow, there’s a special sorrow,
In tears cried for love long gone,
By eyes that look back filled with pain
At my lost angel.
Lament for a Classmate
I knew you when you were a child,
I don’t recall you,
Although I tried,
Were you sweet while I was wild?
The precious pet
Of the classroom kind,
An image of a smiling child,
I beheld your face,
Like my soul sighed,
I knew you when you were a child,
I don’t recall you,
Although I tried.
My Past in Peace
One day, I’d like to go
In search of my past,
Of the memories
Of a misspent youth;
I cry for my souvenirs,
I dream of a beautiful future,
Where I can atone
For all my follies,
And contemplate my past
In peace at long last.
My Travels
My travels start
Right here
Deep in my mind,
My travels take me just where
I please, I don’t have
To leave my warm room.
My travels start,
Sixteen, sun
Beating down,
Sinatra’s crooning Jobim,
And I’m just dreaming of my
Great romance to come.
I don’t need a little ticket,
Tells me I can take the train,
I don't even to risk it,
There’s no blistering sun,
Or driving rain,
And it’s here that I remain.
My travels end
With a sweet
And peaceful time,
I’ve found such sense deep within,
No more will I feel
The need to go travelling again.
On the Blue Baltic Sea
Love on the blue Baltic Sea
The love I call
Baltic melody,
Love, there’s a love
That’s hard to seize,
Love carried by the summer breeze,
Love on the blue Baltic Sea
The love I call
Baltic melody,
Love, there’s a love
That’s yours with ease,
And there’s the elusive love that flees,
Love on the blue Baltic Sea
The love I call
Baltic melody.
So Secluded That I May Be
Another me,
There was another me
But not the better me,
But so carefree,
A better me,
That’s who I am today,
So secluded that I may be,
A better me,
I brought
Happy-go lucky-joy,
To many,
You might say I was a golden boy,
A better me,
That’s who I am today,
So secluded that I may be,
A better me,
I can’t be the me that
I used to be,
Simply,
I would not wish to be,
A better me,
That’s who I am today,
So secluded that I may be,
A better me.
Under Blue Berkshire Skies
Stevie, we were free,
Stevie, you and me,
On that golden day,
Was it ’68?
The decade’s last few days,
The whole wild world was crazed,
But where we were was peace,
For you and me at least.
We walked and talked
For many hours,
Safe under blue Berkshire skies.
If I stop for a moment,
I dream groves and country paths,
Green’s Albatross is playing
In this our past,
Whole empires were falling,
The old ways were fading fast,
Things never last,
But you and I found peace at last.
We walked and talked
For many hours,
Safe under blue Berkshire skies.
Who Lives in My Perfect Love
Perhaps she lives
In our dreams alone,
She whose face is
Illumined
By the rays
Of the sun,
While the dansette plays
Some romantic melody,
O how I love
The one
Who lives in my perfect love.
It’s so strange,
The morning comes,
And there are tears in my eyes;
My dream has disappeared,
Lost in the wind of time;
She who looked at me
With such tenderness,
While the dansette played
Some romantic melody,
O how I love the one
Who lives in my perfect love.
Chapter Three - Verses Forged from Prose Pieces, Earlier Verses, Journal Entries and Missives Unsent
Introduction
A Cambridge Lamentation centres on my brief sojourn at a constituent college of the University of Cambridge. Its primary source is a letter written on campus on the Hills Road just outside the city centre at the age of 31 some time before Christmas, but never finished, nor sent, and which, according to what I have written, was adapted into various pieces, which were subsequently fused to forge A Cambridge Lamentation, notwithstanding later edits, one of which took place on the 18th of August 2019.
An Actor Arrives at the Bristol Old Vic has as its origins the barest elements of a story started - but never finished - in early 1980, while I was working at the Bristol Old Vic, playing the part of Mustardseed the Fairy in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I rescued it in 2006 from a battered notebook in which I habitually scribbled during spare moments offstage while clad in my costume and covered in blue body make-up and silvery glitter, and while doing so, some of the glitter was transferred from the pages with which they were stained more than a quarter of a century previously onto my hands; it was an eerie experience. It was subject to further minor modifications on the 28th of August 2018.
For Something I’d Done was adapted from an online diary entry made on the 15th of September 2014 relating to a recently suffered nightmare, and which was subsequently versified.
Incident in St. Christopher’s Place is an edited and roughly versified version of a letter written to a friend, and referring to a series of events that took place in ca. 1990 during a very dark period for me, but never sent.
Lone Birthday Boy Dancing was almost certainly drafted as a makeshift journal entry on 8 October 1992, or perhaps a year earlier, before being very roughly versified many years later, even while its perhaps somewhat harrowing authenticity prevails.
My Life Story was extracted from an email sent to a friend, possibly around 2010, and subsequently versified.
Oblivion in Recession first existed as a series of rough notes scrawled on a piece of scrap paper in January 1993, relating to incidents that had only very recently taken place. The piece was subject to some minor edits in late summer 2018, and I have no reason to doubt its veracity as it now stands. A final edit took place on the 21st of August 2019.
Some Sad Dark Secret was inspired by words spoken to me by a former tutor and mentor of mine at university in London, as well as my own reflections on them in the shape of makeshift journal entries. She passed in 2008 and was laid to rest in the churchyard of St Martin’s Church, Bladon, close by to the grave of Sir Winston Churchill, who was the subject of one of her published books.
Such a Short Space of Time was based on some kind of confessional piece of writing I briefly worked on sometime in the mid 1990s, but which was never truly realised. It was partly inspired, as I remember it, by playing 10cc’s How Dare You, among other vinyl records, on my parents’ stereo twin record and cassette player while they were away on vacation in France, and so hearing them for the first time in what at the time seemed like an eternity.
Tales of a Paris Flâneur consists of a patchwork of memories and impressions of Paris compiled between autumn 1982 and spring ’84, and possibly partially originating as notes or makeshift journal entries. It came close to being rejected, but was ultimately saved in May 2017 by being fused with another Parisian piece, and then restructured.
There Once Was a Long Vanished England was definitively included, courtesy of a final minor edit, in Chapter Three on the 11th of January 2019, having originated partly in the early 2000s as some kind of unfinished short story which was subsequently versified, and partly as an earlier short story, begun when I was 21.
The Wicked Cahoots of Bedford Park has its origins in an unfinished story written around the age of 21 about my childhood in the Bedford Park area of West London, which first saw the light of day in versified form in 2006 as Wicked Cahoots.
The Woodville Halls Soul Boys was adapted ca. the mid 2000s, with some minor editing having almost certainly taken place since, from an unfinished story dating from when I was around 23 years old; although looking back to some two years previously to a time I was a trainee Radio Officer at Merchant Navy College near Gravesend, Kent, home to the eponymous Woodville Halls, which I would occasionally frequent in times long past.
A Cambridge Lamentation
This place is always a little lonely
At the weekends...no noise and life;
I like solitude,
But not in places
Where there’s recently been
A lot of people.
Reclusiveness protects you
From nostalgia,
And you can be as nostalgic
In relation to what happened
Half an hour ago,
As half a century ago, in fact more so.
My capacity for social warmth,
Excessive social dependence,
And romantic zeal,
Can be practically deranging;
It’s no wonder I feel the need
To escape,
From my own
Drastic social emotivity,
And devastating capacity
For loneliness.
I feel trapped here;
There’s no outlet for my talents.
In such a state as this,
I could fall in love with anyone.
The night before last,
I went to the ball,
Couples filing out,
I wanted to be half of every one,
But I didn't want to lose…
I’ll get over how I feel now,
And very soon.
Gradually I’ll freeze again,
Even assuming an extra layer of snow.
I have to get out of here.
An Actor Arrives at the Bristol Old Vic
I remember the grey slithers of rain,
The jocular driver,
As I boarded the bus
At Temple Meads,
And the friendly lady who told me
When we had arrived at the city centre,
I remember the pub on King Street,
With its quiet maritime atmosphere…
I remember tramping to the little cottage
Where I had decided to stay
Between rehearsals,
Along Park Street,
Whiteladies Road and Blackboy Hill,
My arms and hands,
Aching from my bags,
I remember the grey slithers of rain…
For Something I’d Done
I was in a tawdry bar,
Or public house,
Being threatened,
For something I’d done.
Darting furiously…
Through city streets,
Running, running,
For something I’d done.
My companion hailed,
And stopped a bus,
Its metal doors flew open,
For something I’d done.
Had to get to them,
Had to get through them,
Under furious pursuance,
For something I’d done.
Incident in St. Christopher’s Place
Dear, I haven’t been in touch
For a long time.
Sorry.
The last time I saw you
Was in St. Christopher’s Place.
It was a lovely evening...
When I knocked that chair over.
I am sorry.
Since then,
I’ve had not a few accidents
Of that kind.
Just three days ago,
I slipped out in a garden
At a friend’s house...
And keeled over, not once,
Not twice, but three times,
Like a log...clonking my nut
So violently that people heard me
In the sitting room.
What’s more,
I can’t remember a single sentence
Spoken all evening. The problem is…
Lone Birthday Boy Dancing
Yesterday for my birthday,
I started off
with a bottle of wine...
I took the train
into town...
I had half a bitter
at the Café de Piaf
in Waterloo...
I went to work
for a couple of hours or so;
I had a pint after work;
I went for an audition;
after the audition,
I had another pint
and a half;
I had another half,
before meeting my mates,
for my b’day celebrations;
we had a pint together;
we went into
the night club,
where we had champagne
(I had three glasses);
I had a further
glass of vino,
by which time,
I was so gone
that I drew an audience
of about thirty
by performing a solo
dancing spot
in the middle
of the disco floor...
We all piled off to the pub
after that,
where I had another drink
(I can’t remember
what it was)...
I then made my way home,
took the bus from Surbiton,
but ended up
in the wilds of Surrey;
I took another bus home,
and watched some telly,
and had something to eat
before crashing out...
I really, really enjoyed
the eve, but today,
I’ve been walking around
like a zomb;
I’ve had only one drink today,
an early morning
restorative effort;
I spent the day working,
then I went to a bookshop,
where, like a monk,
I go for a day’s
drying out session...
Drying out is really awful;
you jump at every shadow;
you feel dizzy,
you notice everything;
very often,
I don’t follow through.
My Life Story
my life story
is littered
with the ghosts
of golden
opportunities gone.
Oblivion in Recession
The legs started going,
kept awake with water,
breathing,
arrogantly telling myself
I’d stay straight.
Drank gin and wine,
went out,
tried to buy more,
unshaven,
filthy white shorts,
lost, rolling on lawn,
somehow got home.
Monday, waiting for offie,
looked like death,
fear in eyes
of passers-by,
waiting for drink,
drink relieved me.
drank all day,
next day,
double brandy
just about settled me,
drank some more,
thought constantly
I’d collapse;
then what?
Fit? Coronary?
Insanity? Worse?
Took a Heminevrin,
paced the house
all night,
weak legs,
lack of feeling
in extremities,
drank water
to keep the
life functions going,
played devotional music,
dedicated my life
to God,
prayed constantly,
renounced evil.
Next day,
two Valiums
helped me sleep.
By eve,
I started to feel better.
I made my choice,
and oblivion has receded,
and shall disappear.
Some Sad Dark Secret
‘Temper your enthusiasm,’
She said,
‘The extremes of your reactions;
You should have
A more conventional frame
On which to hang
Your unconventionality.’
‘Don’t push people,’
She said,
‘You make yourself vulnerable.’
Was I was hiding
Some sad
Dark secret from the world?
She told me not to rhapsodise,
That it would be difficult,
Impossible, perhaps,
For me to harness my dynamism.
The tone of my work,
She said,
Is often a little dubious.
She said
She thought
That there was something wrong.
As if I was hiding
Some sad
Dark secret from the world.
Such a Short Space of Time
I love, not just those
I knew back then,
But those
Who were young
Back then,
But who’ve since
Come to grief, who,
Having soared so high,
Found the
Consequent descent
Too dreadful to bear,
With my youth itself,
Which was only
Yesterday,
No, even less time,
A mere moment ago,
How could
Such a short space
Of time
Cause such devastation?
Tales of a Paris Flâneur
My Paris begins with
Those early days
As a conscious flâneur;
I recall the couple
On the Metro,
When I was still innocent
Of its labyrinthine complexities;
Slim pretty white girl,
Clad head to toe
In new blue denim,
Wistfully smiling,
While her muscular black beau
Stared straight through me
With fathomless, fulgorous orbs;
And then one of them spoke
(Almost in a whisper):
‘Qu’est-ce que t’en penses?’
Until it dawned on me,
Yes, the slender young Parisienne
With the distant desirous eyes
Was no less male than I.
Being screamed at in Pigalle,
And then howled at again
By some kind
Of wild-eyed wanderer
Who suggested I seek out
The Bois de Boulogne
For what he saw as my destiny;
Cash squandered
On a cheap gold-plated toothbrush,
Portrait sketched at the Place du Tertre,
Paperback books
By Symbolist poets,
Second hand volumes
By Trakl and Delève,
Metro taken to Montparnasse,
Where I slowly sipped
A demi-blonde
In one of those brasseries,
Such as those
Immortalised by Brassai
In the famous photographs.
And where an ancient loup de mer
In a naval officer’s cap,
His table bestrewn
With empty wine bottles
And cigarette butts,
Repeatedly screeched ‘Phillippe!’
Until a patient young bartender
With patent leather hair,
And an affable half-smile,
Filled his wine glass
Quite to the brim,
With a mock-obsequious:
“Voila, mon Captaine!”
Losing Rory’s address,
Scrawled on a page
Of Musset's Confession,
Walking the length
And breadth of the Rue St. Denis;
‘What an artists paradise,’
Comme on m’a écrit une fois.
There Once Was a Long Vanished England
There once was a long vanished England;
Of well-spoken presenters
Of the BBC Home Service,
Light Service, and Children’s Favourites,
Of coppers and tanners, and ten bob notes;
And jolly shopkeepers, and window cleaners.
I remember my beloved Wolf Cub pack,
How I loved those Wednesday evenings,
The games, the pomp and seriousness of the camps,
The different coloured scarves, sweaters and hair
During the mass meetings,
The solemnity of my enrolment,
Being helped up a tree by an older boy,
Baloo, or Kim, or someone,
To win my Athletics badge,
Winning my first star, my two year badge,
And my swimming badge
With its frog symbol, the kindness of the older boys.
The Wicked Cahoots of Bedford Park
When he made
his first personal appearance
in the dirty alley
on someone else’s rusty bike,
screaming along
in a cloud of dust,
it rendered us all
speechless and motionless.
But I was amazed
that despite his grey-faced surliness,
he was very affable with us...
the bully with a naive
and sentimental heart.
He was so happy
to hear that I liked his dad,
or that my mum liked him,
and he was welcome
to come to tea
with us at five twenty five...
Our adventures were spectacular:
chasing after other bikesters,
screaming at the top
of our lungs
into blocks of flats,
and then running
as our echoed waves of terror
blended with incoherent threats...
“I’ll call the Police, I’ll...”
Wicked cahoots.
The Woodville Halls Soul Boys
Soon after I’d paid
My sixty
Or seventy pence,
I found myself
In what I thought
Was a miniature London.
I saw girls
In chandelier earrings,
In stiletto heels,
Wearing evening
Dresses,
Which contrasted with
The bizarre
Hair colours
They favoured:
Jet black
Or bleach blonde,
With flashes of
Red, purple
Or green.
Some wore large
Bow ties,
Others unceremoniously
Hanged
Their school ties
Round their
Necks.
Eye make-up
Was exaggerated.
The boys all had
Short hair,
Wore mohair sweaters,
Thin ties,
Baggy,
Peg-top trousers
And winklepicker shoes.
A band playing
Raw street rock
At a frantic speed
Came to a sudden,
Violent climax...
Melodic, rhythmic,
Highly danceable
Soul music
Was now beginning
To fill the hall,
With another group
Of short-haired youths...
Smoother, more elegant,
Less menacing
Than the previous ones.
These well-dressed
Street boys
Wore well-pressed pegs
Of red or blue...
They pirouetted
And posed...
Pirouetted and posed.
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