Sunday, July 11, 2010

The best fucking poem fucking ever fucking written by fucking anyone

It is my considered opinion, avid clickers on the google ads kindly provided by my good self at the top of this blog, that John Cooper Clarke, “punk poet” and the “Bard of Salford”, is a fucking legend.

I have already drawn attention to one of his more charming poems, entitled “Twat”. And there are plenty more delightful ditties to be found on his website.

But more than anything else, Mr Cooper Clarke should be celebrated as the writer and performer of indisputably the Best Poem Ever Written By Anyone Ever.

Now, I can hear the cries of my loyal google-ad clicking fan base. Yes, Carlo Sands is also a poet.

And, yes, my masterpiece, I Kill You Now Fuck Off And Get Me A Drink, was one of those rare pieces of art that totally redefined a genre, revolutionised an art form and was so ahead of its time that time travellers from 2750s feel like backward hicks when they stumble across it.

It is true it was an important, if controversial, piece of work that bravely tackled such taboo subjects as the practice of yelling at corpses that fail to bring you a beer. Which, in my experience, is pretty much all of them.

But, if my more fanatical supporters will permit me to say so (and seriously guys, maybe you should relieve a little of that passionate energy with a few google ad clicks), it still falls short of Mr John Cooper Clarke's “Evidently Chickentown”.

Put to music by his Invisible Girls backing band for his 1980 album Snap, Crackle and Bop, featured briefly in the film clip to the Joy Division song “Transmission”, and played over the closing credits of an episode of The Sopranos, "Evidently Chickentown" is really fucking good.

It presents the most vivid picture ever provided in word form of what it is *actually like* trying to live under late monopoly capitalism.

Inspired by the wonders of working class life in northern England in the late ’70s, it describes life for ordinary people in the “developed” world everywhere.

It may also have served as inspiration of a sort to a post of mine entitled “Dear Motherfuckers” — but I warn Mr Cooper Clarke now, he wont ever see so much of a cent of my google ad revenue.




“The reason I like to do this number is, quite simply, I can't do this on TV. They wont let me do it on TV because last time I did it, the beep operators sued for repetitive strain injury. Also, my swear box doubles as a high-yield pension scheme.”


Evidently Chickentown

The fucking cops are fucking keen
To fucking keep it fucking clean
The fucking chief's a fucking swine
Who fucking draws a fucking line
At fucking fun and fucking games
The fucking kids he fucking blames
Are nowehere to be fucking found
Anywhere in Chickentown

The fucking scene is fucking sad
The fucking news is fucking bad
The fucking weed is fucking turf
The fucking speed is fucking surf
The fucking folks are fucking daft
Don't make me fucking laugh
It fucking hurts to look around
Everywhere in Chickentown

The fucking train is fucking late
You fucking wait you fucking wait
You're fucking lost and fucking found
Stuck in fucking Chickentown

The fucking view is fucking vile
For fucking miles and fucking miles
The fucking babies fucking cry
The fucking flowers fucking die
The fucking food is fucking muck
The fucking drains are fucking fucked
The colour scheme is fucking brown
Everywhere in Chickentown

The fucking pubs are fucking dull
The fucking clubs are fucking full
Of fucking girls and fucking guys
With fucking murder in Their eyes
A fucking bloke is fucking stabbed
Waiting for a fucking cab
You fucking stay at fucking home
The fucking neighbors fucking moan
Keep The fucking racket down
This is fucking Chickentown

The fucking train is fucking late
You fucking wait you fucking wait
You're fucking lost and fucking found
Stuck in fucking Chickentown

The fucking pies are fucking old
The fucking chips are fucking cold
The fucking beer is fucking flat
The fucking flats have fucking rats
The fucking clocks are fucking wrong
The fucking days are fucking long
It fucking gets you fucking down
Evidently Chickentown

5 comments:

  1. conehead the barbiturate26 February 2011 at 09:40

    The fucking plane is fucking late
    You fucking wait & fucking wait

    The worst thing is having already gone through passport control I CAN'T SMOKE HAVE A FUCKING CIGARETTE

    To tell the truth, I'm not really down with this passport control shit

    That's my impression of travelling. Like its fun & all that, except for the fucking passport control. And all that security shit where you have to put all your stuff like keys & money in trays and it goes through an x-ray & then because something goes beep they make you go somewhere else to get felt up or your bag rifled or whatever & you think I might need that money & keys & shit that sitting over their in a fucking tray where any fucker could grab it.

    Then you go through, the planes delayed, so you have to wait WITHOUT A FUCKING CIGARETTE!

    Which leads to another question: as you, Carlo, observed in your gritty realist Western Sydney drama the thing you do if a bus or train is late & you want to make it come, what do you do? YOU LIGHT A FUCKING CIGARETTE!

    So how can I make the plane not be any later when I can't light cigarette because I've been through fucking passport control.

    Whoever made up this airport procedure thing obviously hadn't thought things through. The stupid fucker.

    PS. wonder what all those comments in Chinese mean. Like why did 莊雅和莊雅和莊雅和 say practice what you preach?

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  2. AHHHHHHHH! Now they've started making annoucements "Passengers are reminded that smoking is not allowed!"

    Like the just want to rub it in! I DON'T WANT TO BE REMINDED!

    ReplyDelete
  3. people are too close together on the plane it's just not right

    ReplyDelete

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    ReplyDelete