I went to one of his gigs once . . bloody miles away . . . and he never turned up.
The National Trust of all people have commissioned a poem from him; it’s called ‘Thats where the sea comes in…’
A big fat sky and a thousand shrieks / The tide arrives and the timber creaks
A world away from the working week / Ou est la vie nautique?
That’s where the sea comes in…
Dishevelled shells and shovelled sands, / Architecture all unplanned
A spade n bucket wonderland / A golden space, a Frisbee and
The kids and dogs can run and run / And not run in to anyone
Way out! Real gone! / That’s where the sea comes in
Impervious to human speech, idle time and tidal reach / Some memories you can’t impeach
That’s where the sea comes in / A nice cuppa splosh and a round of toast
A cursory glance at the morning post / A pointless walk along the coast
That’s what floats my boat the most / That’s where the sea comes in…
That’s where the sea comes in
Don’t know how they got hold of him because famously, he doesn’t have a phone or own a computer.
My favourite John Cooper Clarke poem is Fitness Fanatic. The version I have is on an ancient tape from one of John Peel’s Radio 1 shows. You can see it here on you-tube however: they call it Health Fanatic.
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