Would you like to be poet laureate?
Curiously, when I went into the BBC's picture system and typed "Andrew Motion" - this chap was the first photo in the list. It's not Andrew Motion.
The reason we're mentioning Mr Motion is that, as The Guardian reports, his decade as poet laureate is coming to an end. He has some advice for the new person in the linked article.
But I was wondering - if you have a song in your heart, why not pen a few lines about why YOU should be the next poet laureate? Better still, type them. Oh hang on I've found a photo.
1610 UPDATE: Just recorded an interview about this very subject. With someone who doesn't want the job.
Listen to PM
© MMIX~RS~q~RS~~RS~z~RS~59~RS~)
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I *wouldn't* want to be poet laureate,
I'd get into such a terrible sorry state,
With Lines On The Death Of public figures,
And Building Projects' Majestic Diggers,
In a week I'd be a no-hope inebriate!
Alternatively:
Being poet laureate would answer my prayers,
My lines would feature layer upon layers,
Of subtle meanings,
And insightful gleanings,
And then I'd get to meet Pam Ayres.
(And now the serious bit - Pam Ayres for PL! Really! Get a bit of much-needed humour into public life, rather than another purveyor of pretentious blank verse etc...)
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SSC, Or failing Pam Ayres, what about 'Elvis McGonagall' ?
http://www.elvismcgonagall.co.uk/
Today 'Saturday Live', Tomorrow The World...
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Lines upon the departure of Andrew Motion.
The poet at Platform One
Is now leaving.
-----------
Is that good enough, Eddie? ;o)
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Pam Ayres for PL - great idea. Has there ever been a female Laureate?
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LBG (2):
No, Pam Ayres is my heroine,
Or "hero" to avoid the sin,
Of confusing the sense,
Or appearing so dense,
As to get high on a Berkshire word-fitter-in.
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That man with a tan gets everywhere, doesn't he? Next thing we know he'll come up when you google for Andy Murray ....
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As one poet
Slips off to sip his Moët
To the next laureate
We say ‘Floreat!’
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RELEVANT SAMPLE OF WORK (:o)
ONE ON ONE
(The Queen at eighty.)
It’s business as usual at Buckingham Palace
Being a queen is nothing like Alice.
Alice is free to kick over the traces
The queen’s quite constrained even watching the races -
Not Alice.
The queen has to smile when her feet are on fire.
She smiles though she knows that her PM’s a liar.
Alice is free to speak her mind
The queen just goes round being terribly kind -
Not Alice.
Her Annus Horribilis right royal blight is
She said, while afflicted with laryngitis.
When Alice gets sick she can sneeze all she will
Doesn’t wait till some aide holds the handkerchief still -
Not Alice.
When your kids are a problem you’d best not be royal
Your subjects don’t like it and get all disloyal.
Alice’s kids are on crack, E and booze
But the press don’t hang round so she’s nothing to lose -
Not Alice.
With a husband like Phillip the Queen’s on her mettle
She must take good care ‘cos he’s still in fine fettle.
Alice’s husband (the third) is long gone
Well - not to worry - he’d quite gone off song -
Not Alice.
Now it happened that Alice’s locals adored her
They fixed up some tea on The Lawn to reward her.
Alice discovered the queen was quite matey
And who would have thought that the old girl was eighty?
Not Alice.
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Bless Johnny Carson.
If only Johnny Ross could reach such echalons.
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=YvaUa559gMw
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If you prefer the fancy stuff...
Dictionary sits, lurking, waiting,
Beyond the page, a universe,
A million thoughts,
Duck-barking in the fog,
Ideas rise,
Tea slowly grows cold,
Danger of rhyme bebattled by transposing,
'Old' with 'age'.
Seconds move by ant-like,
Pushing Sisyphean concepts into ant-hill,
Tuesday. Tuesday. Tuesday.
Count the seconds.
Or are they thirds?
Five thousand,
Of your pounds,
Please.
Make cheque payable,
Poet laureate.
Or cash.
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Re: The newsletter:
I 'ad no oidea that poems were shunned,
Or that Eddie had aversions to lines that were punned,
'Til oi read the newsletter and then it was clear,
Every ditty we sent, to his oi brought a tear,
So dear Froggers, this post oi do drop,
No more Poetry Please, it must henceforth all stop!
And yet somehow oi think - though he is the bee's knees,
Our esteemed Eddie is quite the big tease,
So oi'll carry on rhyming and that's a real pledge,
And just hope it dunt really set his teeth all on edge...
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For a Cat who the laureate shuns
The Inoxidable loves rhyming puns
And his pledge to forswear
To the great Eddie Mair -
Well, I'll look out for that when it comes!
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SSC for Poet Laureate
Without a doubt
By the way Scat
I think it's only a butt of malmsey
or something?
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So, farewell then, Andrew Motion,
You've wrote us your last poem,
And now I fear you will head off
into the great unknown.
How we'll miss you, how fill your place?
How will the Telegraph fill their space?
We'll miss your glorious celebratory verse,
and the worry is,
Will your successor be much worse?
Sorry - I could have tried harder but work calls...
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ValP is kind to vote for me,
Though in Scots I must say "Nuht",
In English "No", Esperanto "Nej",
I don't want a malmsey butt!
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There's whales in the ocean,
There's poetry in Motion.
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The Cat is a ringer for Burns
With his well turned and slick rhyming turns
Though he eschews the notion
He won't replace Motion
As the Laureateship he spurns.
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So.
Farewell then
Andrew Motion.
Like me you were
A Poet.
You are not gone I
Know. But in a way
You will be.
I don't suppose anyone
Will ask me.
I'll wait and see.
EJ Thribb(ish)
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Can the laureate
sit at home,
and be comfy and warm drinking tea?
or is it a post
out and about
that requires a face to be see(n) ?
Actually
in either case
I dont think it's quite the job for me.
cos Im no poetic poodle
signed yours, nikki noodle
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Well, if all I ever had to write, was the "odd" obituary, I might apply.
How about this for example?:
John Prescott - a life in the round
Two Jags
Two Nags
Two Pads
Two Jabs
Croquet?
Croaked eh..?
P.S. I could "flesh it-out" a bit, if required...
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It's not Andrew Motion.
Is it Terry Wogan?
Or our own Eddie Mair?
It's not Andrew Motion.
What the heck, then,
Is it doing there?
It's not Andrew Motion.
For he sports no tan
Nor tans no sport.
Not he a tennis fan
(Or at least so I thought).
It's not Andrew Motion.
It's a Peer of the Realm
Into whose Realms we cannot peer
It's not Andrew Motion -
That much is clear.
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I nominate the excellent Rachel Pantechnicon for PL.
She has a website which is her name (all one word) with a dot com on the end. Sample poems freely available.
Recommended reading:
1. Don't hurt your coxxyx
2.The great god Qetzalcoatl green hot water bottle cover
Rachel would be doubly good value because her motivational poems inspire both people and cats.
;o)
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Big Sister compares the Cat to Burns,
An excise man he was,
Extracting taxes on the drink,
Was his unworthy cause,
But not a pillar of the state,
He was in fact quite boozy,
And to the chagrin of his wife,
He dallied with the floozies,
So to live up to his rep,
To live more I must start,
So pass the Scotch, the gin and such,
And send in jammy tarts!
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Here's to you, Andrew Motion -
Ten years it has been
Since you were first summoned
To write Odes to the Queen.
There have been ''many pressures,
Exposures, demands'',
So much gnashing of teeth
And wringing of hands;
Too many critics, and not enough praise.
I wish you peace and contentment
For the rest of your days.
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I know I'm missing my way
Some love my verse they say
I'd be happy not sad
Cos the perks aren't bad
I'd be the people's poet any day.
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Bertie Beetle on the ground,
Bertie Beetle running round.
Bertie Beetle in the sky,
Bertie Beetle flying high.
Bertie Beetle telling lies,
Someone shoots him, Bertie dies.
(Bertie didn't want to be President and doesn't want to be poet laureate either.)
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While Lansley's in the confessional,
I think I'll write 'Recessional' ...
Damn, Kippers beat me to it.
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My brother should be poet laureate - he has just written me a great poem for my birthday. Unfortunately, his nom de plume is too rude to print, and he has used it for so long that I think the muse would depart if he abandoned it. Sorry to deprive you all of brilliance, but Russel Brand I am not.
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The job of Poet Laureate
Is one that I'd appreciate,
So here's my application
For your consideration.
But if I fail, I hope
They'll plump for Wendy Cope.
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Well done, Sid! Eddie clearly likes his poems concise and to the point. ;o)
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Yay! Looks like Sid is the Frog Laureate!
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ODE TO ISAAC NEWTON
Newton watched an apple fall,
Or so it has been said,
And as old Galileo showed,
It fell as fast as lead,
And while he pondered on the fruit,
It hit him on the head.
Then Newton turned his beady eye,
Upon the colours of light,
The spectrum split within a glass,
And fell into his sight,
And though he worked through every day,
He had to stop at night.
Poor old Newton worked so hard,
But ended up with nowt,
Cos Albert Einstein came along,
With bendy space and doubt,
And with his General Theories,
He pushed old Newton out.
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The Queen's corgis tell me that they'd like the hirsute AF Harrold to be the man for the job. Woof, woof.
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If only I could write in verse
But each attempt gets worse and worse
I think I'll have to give it up
and let some other seize the cup, the prize, the laureate
- replacing Motion's not my fate.
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Goodbye to Andrew's reign, poet supreme;
To step into his shoes would be my dream.
What do I need to do to make the step?
Give up the rhyming couplets is my bet.
So here I go with metaphors sublime,
Iambic lines, conceits that have no rhyme:
Her reign, where'er our loyalty does lie,
Has run the gauntlet thrown down by those nights -
Where sleep be conquered by life's mighty woes,
Her armour wove from duty, weft and warp;
Her noble shield of office guiding truth
When riding on her noble steed of State,
To show her subjects dignity in faith.
Thank you Ma'am
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Don't make me Poet Laureate
No really I decline
To be thrust into the public gaze
My pearls perused by swine
Accused of only being in it
For the wine
Don't make me Poet Laureate
Remove this poisoned quill
Think of all the work of having
Wordsworth's boots to fill
And yet if there is no reprieve
Reluctantly
I will
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Malfresco@36
You protest too much!
The position, insofar as I'm concerned, is yours...
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If I don't get the job I will keep writing rubbish poetry like this. That's a promise.
The Life of a Vicar
A life of a Vicar is one I admire
With a collar so white
And his simple attire
The ladies adore him
They all flutter and froth
“He so understands me”
That man of the cloth.
If only my husband
Could have such finesse
He plays darts once a week
And wants sex even less
The Vicar’s so knowing
So handsome and true
Oh God let me have him,
Before my mate Sue.
I help out at church
And I ask for no fee
Just one look from my hero
Sends me weak at the knee
Sue waltzes around him
In skirts far too short
She’ll go mad when I show her
The one that I bought
He winked at me once
As I glided close by
Sue mocked when I told her
“He had dust in his eye”
Just bitter and twisted
And jealous of me
I’ll show that old bag
Just you wait and see
I was arrested on Sunday
For what I can’t say
It was after the service
He’d asked me to stay
The excuse was some cleaning
But I read his mind
It was cassock removing
Before he went blind
He was knelt in the vestry
When I locked the door
And turned with a fright
When I laid on the floor
He cried “are you ill”
As I lifted my skirt
“My God” Mrs. Watson
Was he starting to flirt?
“Lay beside me” I said
“HELP HELP” he did cry
He rushed for the door
“It’s locked” I did sigh
“Please give me the key
Mrs. Watson I beg”
“It’s safe in my garter
At the top of my leg”
Then Sue began shouting
“What’s going on”?
“The police” yelled the vicar
This was all going wrong
Why don’t you want me?
“Is it Sue?” I did say
“No you’re very attractive
But sorry I’m Gay”
The Police then the Firemen
Arrived at the door
They smashed through the lock
Grabbing me from the floor
Both men were in uniform
All stocky and tall,
I said “You’re both lovely”
“Could I give you a call”?
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Apologies for the ? overload in my first attempt at securing the post of poet laureate, not quite sure what happened there.
Hope this masterpiece has less ?
Me and Chris are swingers
Swingings what we do
We also like to ramble
And crossword puzzles too
So if you want to meet us
It must be out of town
We sometimes go to Threeacross
And sometimes Twogodown.
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The motion is that Motion go,
So motion Motion,
"Motion go",
Motion accepted,
Motion gone!
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we should have a poet laureate
who
existing only virtually
should go by the name
of Andrew e-Motion
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I see Benny Hill is alive and well in the form of Watchery.
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Pam Ayres in Poet Laureate Shocker !
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2008/nov/27/poetry-laureate-andrew-motion
Although interesting to see that a woman is possibly in the frame to 'break up the line of male faces.' Intriguing that past Poets Laureate have had their share of 'sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll..
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My dearest Queen Elizabeth
So noble and so grand
How good it is to have you
As the ruler of our land.
Now the nation seeks a rhymester
With a sycophantic trait
How's about me, your loyal servant
As one's Poet Laure'ate.
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His voice, his choice of music-
All that I recall.
Ten years? Perhaps that's enough...
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From Newsnight - v. amusing..
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/programmes/newsnight/7752133.stm
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This is my application,
To be poet to the nation,
Please hear my supplication,
See my humbly made prostration,
But heed ye my prognostication,
Of the utter consternation,
Were this successful peroration.
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If anybody is confused by the 'Ode To Isaac Newton' in message 32 then I can say that Newton was one of the first to define the Laws of Motion.
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Citizen Thompson, thank you so much for comparing me with the national treasure that was Benny Hill.
You have made my year.
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