Tuesday, 13 December 2011

Christopher Logue (23/11/26 -02/12/11) - Some Poetry and some Jazz (R.IP)

Very late with this post, was round my mates ken's last night where we shared a few smokes and a beer, we like to talk about poetry and jazz, he was there back in the day, mid 60s on the edge of Ladbroke Grove, we talked about old black and white  memories, improvised imaginings.
We listened, shared.... talked about powerful writers, we agreed that Christopher Logue had been good, a poet who succesfully merged jazz and poetry together, he had copy of red bird on tape, it was on it's last legs but still inspired. Mr Logue he had a fine voice clear, like an actor.Quite posh
His poetry like himself beyond categoriation, resolute with strong moral anger. My mate Ken said he'd written for Ken Russell another old rogue gone, acted too. His words public and dramatic, focused and confrontational,seriously mocking,above all darkly humourous, we liked that...
Also a pacifist, he too had walked on aldermaston , became a war poet but remained a man of conviction. A pornographer who saw no contadiction.
Remembered by some as 'spaghetti eating fanatic' in the film jaberwocky.
Another original gone. Silent or spoken - verse performs.

The song of the Outsider

This city and its citizens are green.
Quickly, those  who come from far off
and enter the city, turn green.
Many have rushed here suffering dangers unnumbered,
just to be green. And othe, with contacts,
with money, with skills that are wanted,
And have brought their children, dogs and servants,
so that all they possess shall be green.
Only one dweller herein,
only one, has not become green.
How much he would give to be green!
If he could be green, why nothing would matter.
He suffers from this. He may well go Pop!
As night, beneath the huge green stars,
he goes about crushing young greenies
to ease his hatred and fears.
It is bad to do this. He knows it is bad.
And thinking of his evil deeds he sheds
deeply felt tears 'If only I was green,' he says,
'life would  be like a children's game.'

To a friend in Search of Rural Seclusion

When all else fails,
    Try Wales.

 Rat, O Rat...

never in all my life have I seen
as hadsome a rat as you
Thank you for noticing my potatoes.

O Rat, I am not rich.
I left you a note concerning my potatoes,
but I see that I placed it too high
and you could not read it.

O Rat, consider my neighbour:
he has eight children (all of them older
and more intelligent than mine)
and if you lived in his house, Rat,

ten good Chritians
(if we include his wife)
would sing your praises nightly,
wheras in my house there are only five.

Air for the Witness of a Departure

A high wind blows
over the long white lea
O lover
over the white lea.
who knows where my love is riding?

Thrush in the maybloom
high winds blow
over the long white lea.
who knows where my love is riding?-
riding over the long white lea.

'Woke  up this morning '

Woke up this morning
In the middle of winter
Salt in my coffee
Swat in my hair.
The letter said: She's dead,
We know you will miss her.
Woke up this morning
In winter in winter.

Started my answer
But failed to remember
The sound of her voice
Or the shape of her head.
Wrote I was sorry
Will be there on Thursday
found myself busy
Sent flowers instead.

Several years later
I met her while dreaming.
Fingernails bitten
Her hands in her hair,
Lovely as ever:
I have to get started!
She shouted: Get started!
And parted the air.

Woke up this morning
In the middle of winter
Salt in my coffee
Sweat in my hair
All I could think of
Was sleeping beside her
And how she wore nothing
In winter in winter.

Reprinted from

Seleced Poems - Christopher Logue
faber and faber, 1996

Parlaphone L.P  Christopher Logue and Tony Kinsey ( side 1)

Guardian Obituary

No comments:

Post a Comment