I've never been partial to girls who swear
original poetry and monologues by
Barrie Clubb
**~~**
written to be read aloud – go on!
This collection is designed to be read aloud. I started writing this book in 2006 so it's been a wee while in the making – the curse of constant editing. I've been helped enormously by the many kind people at folk festivals around New Zealand who have encouraged me to get up every now and then to say something – thank you.
Being Scottish, this book features some dialectical oddities that may not be familiar to you. That’s part of the challenge of performing the pieces. It allows you to indulge in a (fake or real) Scottish brogue. For a similar reason, it is written in British English – but hopefully that all adds to your enjoyment.
Copyright © Barrie Clubb 2013
If you enjoyed this book, please drop me a line at
[email protected] **~~**
Table of Contents
It takes you back
Would you know me
Land of Giants
Sins of her brother
I’ve got the view
Missed the plot
Silent but deadly
It might cling
The right words
The dug and the MacIntosh
Sarah’s recurring encounter with a moth
Spark of Greatness
Lunch without you
Oban
Puddles
Queen of the Foodcourt
Around a burning oil drum
Bela Lugosi did his own makeup
Take me home
My Father
Going Steady
The Map
The giraffe and the tattie howker
An intelligent mistake
Space Cadet
I’ve never been partial to girls who swear
Bee-ware
The fly knows
Gentleman in Training
Hummingbird wings
Sometimes you just can’t win
Hobbies for advancing age
Ratquiem
If I asked you to stay
The drummer’s song
Best part of the day
it takes you back
Childhood memories of holidays by the seaside – not Blackpool – the folks could never afford that – but smaller places like Havant, where we'd hire a caravan for two weeks most summers. Us kids would save up for ages – seemed like years, so that we'd have enough to last us right through the holidays. Of course, we'd need to spend the first couple of days looking around for a decent souvenir – but eventually we couldn't resist the attractions of the penny arcades. Mum and Grannie would sit all holidays in the bingo halls – saw my first topless bingo caller there when I was about fifteen – I think I was the only one not playing the game that day.
it takes you back
Granddad waiting on the sand
rolls a gasper sleight of hand
racing paper – his day’s well planned
Mum and Grannie like machines
should be crowned the bingo queens
still see them playing in my dreams
candy floss, penny arcades
redolent of a bygone age
when seaside holidays were the rage
brothers fight for Queen of the Nile
make those pennies last a while
lose the lot and try to smile
down the chip shop spot this girl
smiles at me and rocks my world
walk for miles head in a whirl
got a time machine inside my head
it starts up when I go to bed
rather be asleep instead
but, it takes me back
yes, it’s funny what takes me back
these dim and distant memories
do they form to form the truth that’s me
it takes me back but I find it hard to see
the child I was
inside the man that’s me
**~top~**
would you know me
I've always found Christchurch an interesting city. When I first arrived I was amazed that people would erect massive two metre high fences to protect their properties – mainly from the wind – it's a unique feature of the city and makes a Sunday afternoon walk more solitary than in other cities. It makes you wonder what's going on behind the wall, and as we get older whether this defence against the elements eventually becomes a prison for the elderly that live inside.
would you know me
would you know me if you saw me
would you pass the time of day
could you spare some conversation
if by chance I passed your way
would you smile if you just met me
walking slowly past your gate
would you recognise a neighbour
have your eyes been shut of late
do you feel a sense of safety
behind a fence that’s six feet tall
does it truly keep the wind out
do you hide behind that wall
how many years have you been like this
your only friends are out of bloom
it’s just a little conversation
if you can only find the room
do you think we’ve lost some traction
one step forward, two steps back
are we just lacking firm direction
is our leadership so slack
do you practice isolation
is it habit, is it need
you only talk to TV stations
that’s a sorry state indeed
yes, you’ll know me when you see me
cos I often pass this way
I can spare some conversation
on such a sunny winter’s day
yes, I can spare some conversation
on such a sunny winter’s day
**~top~**
land of giants
A few years ago we took a trip across Western Australia. We were amazed at the massive Red Tingle forests. Marguerite forced me on a treetop walk – and being terrified of heights I suppose it made a lasting impression – but boy, was I glad to be back on terra firma.
land of giants
mighty Karri
reaching up to the heavens
born from the fire
you stand so tall
four hundred years
of ancient wisdom
right there to guide me
if I just hear your call
you know I’ve been touched
by the hand of giants
freeing my spirit
unlocking my core
you know I’ve been touched
in this land of giants
you’ll stand beside me
for evermore
the red, red dust
gives life to the children
sunshine brings fire
many will fall
great Red Tingle
takes strength from the ashes
I know you’re beside me
when my back’s to the wall
I’ve stood in your arms
looking over the mountains
sat at your feet
feeling ever so small
in this jungle of life
you’re right there to guide me
building strength from my fires
when I ask for your call
**~top~**
sins of her brother
I've always found it enormously sad how some people find great difficulty in living life to the full, or taking opportunities through being caught up in the
daily difficulties of family life. One of my philosophies with my children when they've come up with grandiose plans has always been “someone's got to do it – so it might as well be you”. I'm grateful that my parents had a similar philosophy, allowing me to take on life's great adventure without carrying too much emotional baggage.
sins of her brother
fall in love, start a life, start to smile
seventeen and hatching dreams
living to the full
didn’t know, never thought
life could be so cruel
hand in hand through the park
beating hearts as one
how could I know, I didn’t know
parting had begun
out at last, he’s home again
prodigal has returned
how could I know that he could steal
love that I had earned
you cast me away, you call it free
do this all your days
deny yourself, to make amends
for the error of his ways
you had it made, we had it made ... for a while
**~top~**
I’ve got the view
The cycling group used to spend the odd weekend away in Hamner Springs. As a walker rather than biker, I found myself wandering and wondering around this beautiful Alpine holiday village – what exactly has been sacrificed along the way to achieve these palatial alpine holiday homes?
I’ve got the view
slaved for a whole lifetime
following the plan
most people see success
but I’m only half a man
started out so low down
on the bottom rung
really thought I’d make it
if I cut off everyone
couldn’t live with your distraction
in my facts and figures world
didn’t know what I was losing
when I chased away my girl
now the mountains tower above me
and the vistas are so grand
but all I see is desolation
without you by my hand
they say I’ve finally made it
after working all these years
but the beauty of my kingdom
is just reflected in my tears
have you heard the news
I’ve got the view
but I ain’t got you
**~top~**
missed the plot
On poets – with a bit of a Burns feel. This was written after a dinner party where we ended up discussing our favourite authors – one elderly lady was horrified at my preferred choice of reading material, accusing me of being “one of those penny dreadful people” referring of course, to the low-priced post war detective fiction novels of which I have a fair collection.
missed the plot
you poor unlettered, feckless hack
what makes you think you’ve got the knack
of formulating back to back
words so unclear
that meaning in this lonely shack
just quakes with fear
I’ve tried to time and time again
to see the message from your pen
you drop me down, through depths of pain
with visions drear
now from the pit I wait in vain
should truth appear
I do not profess to stage myself
in pride of place on mantle shelf
I merely wish this mental skelf
be gone with grace
restore to me such mental health
as is my place
I wonder did you have a plan
when sending words across the land
words that neither rhyme nor scan
but refuse to die
while alone amongst my fellow man
I search the why
did fate bestow on you the muse
to walk this world in wisdom’s shoes
and sprinkle out these cryptic clues
on lowly minds
or is this just a mental ruse
oh how unkind
I lief, that I will leaf no more
these missives that do surge and pour
with words who seem unwilling to store
coherent thought
but low, I once again must pore
lest I’ve missed the plot
**~top~**
silent but deadly
Party at Kate's house – we were new on the scene and knew virtually no-one there. As usual the kitchen was the place to be – but Sharon had a laugh going on there that could shatter glass – so we sat around on the lounge floor listening to Strawbs on the Dave (sadly departed – much too young – one of the few Bonzos fans I've ever met over here)... this one's for you mate.
silent but deadly
it sneaked in
unheard
unseen
slithering across the axminster
deviously skirting the bodies
littering the room
slowly
it crawled up my right leg
didn’t even notice it
till suddenly
it reached up
with grubby little hands
and grabbed my nostril hairs
you wouldn’t think a smell could do that
but it did
if only I’d left after the last song
split
skedaddle,
shot the craw
but I’m rooted to this chair
suffocating in silence
the weight of an older brother’s taunt
still paralysing after 40 years
dogs smell their own dirt first
**~top~**
it might cling
I think this was the one that gave me the reputation of writing nothing but fart poems – probably the first one I wrote using that dreaded four letter word.
it might cling
then I catch it
a whiff of your disgust
that glance
disapproving
with a touch of nose wrinkle thrown in for good measure
and I just want to jump up
shout
proclaim my innocence
join the clean people in the kitchen
but it’s too late
suspicion strengthens embarrassment fuels suspicion
a bitter circle
truth now would have a hollow ring
so I suffer in silence
a hapless romantic with a fart on my sleeve
unwilling to stay, unable to go
for here’s the thing
it might cling
**~top~**
the right words
Memories of early attempts at dating. I grew up cooking for the younger kids while my mother worked several jobs and dad was on continental shift-work. It was natural to attempt to impress the girl with cooking prowess – not that it ever paid off. This is a flight of fancy recalling those early flatting days when you were trying to impress the girl and appear debonair and sophisticated but were generally thwarted in your grand plans by an obtuse flatmate. If only we had the courage to say what was going through our heads at times...
the right words
how can I tell you
to sling your hook
on your bike
take a runner
take a hike
it’s not that I don’t value your company
in a penny dreadful
gasp and goss
mates together
in like Flynn
kind of way
it’s just that I’d sort of planned things differently tonight
in a dinner for
two’s company
three’s a
spare prick at a wedding
and well, you know
it just takes two to tango
and if you can’t dance
you should get the hell ou
t of my kitchen and keep right on going
‘cos there’s too many cooks already
and tonight’s my big chance
and you’re just hanging round
like a bad smell
in a useless
one-armed paperhanger
tartan paint
bump on a log
kind of way
and I really, really could make it if
I could only find
the right words
**~top~**
the dug & the macintosh
Lewis's was a huge department store in Glasgow. We used to love going there on those rare shopping occasions when we caught the train to the big city – mainly because right around the corner was El Greco's magic Emporium – but Lewis's was huge – several levels high and must've covered a couple of city blocks. All kinds of exciting things seemed to be going on all the time. What better place for a sad, sad fantasy tale – most people on hearing this for the first time imagine that the poor dog has one leg missing – but it's much, much worse than that...
the dug & the macintosh
a dug with one leg
tried to sit up and beg
for a biscuit
outside Lewis’s
on a Friday
but balance was tough
and he’d soon had enough
so he hopped it
in search of a more fruitful
location
now it’s a sorry situation
in a life full of trepidation
for there’s no real occupation
to be found
for such
as a one-legged dug
not if he’s looking quite so strange
half baldin’ with the mange
and with a ruddy great big chunk
missing
from each lug
well
not an hour later
down by the regent theatre
I happened to see the poor creature
lying there
prostrate
on a skateboard
that was missing one wheel
progress seemed pretty slow
but that could’ve just been the snow
or the fact that the missing wheel
was on the wrong side
still
I believe he wagged
what was left of his tail
as he legged it slowly along
with a wailing plaintive song
when suddenly out o’ the throng
popped an old geezer
in a macintosh
reeking of neglect
he took one look at the dug
an popped ten P in the mug
that was hanging
from an old shoelace
round its neck
plonk!
as the money hit the tin
the dug’s one good fang sank in
to a fingerless glove
smelling faintly
of wet wool
the macintosh
no longer so neglected
showing talent unsuspected
to an audience unexpected
danced a jig
to the purists in the audience it seemed