Like many schoolboys, there was a lot about poetry that I struggled with. Why was Keats writing about a nightingale? How did this bird sing? Was its song really that beautiful? If so, why hadn’t I ever heard one? And who was Ruth?

I’d enjoyed the poems that my Dad read and recited, among them Edward Lear, Spike Milligan and Hilaire Belloc: ‘The Chief Defect of Henry King / Was chewing little bits of String’.

I loved them. But Keats, not to mention Blake and Auden, didn’t resonate with me.

Then along came Thomas Hardy. His poetry spoke to me. Five Students who became four, then three and then two as life took its toll. And then An August Midnight in which Hardy writes at his desk and is slowly surrounded by the creatures of the night:

‘“God’s humblest they!” I muse. Yet why?
They know Earth-secrets that know not I.

I chose to copy this out and put it on my bedroom wall, incongruously sitting alongside pictures of footballers Billy Bremner, Terry Yorath and Tony Currie. And then I saw that poetry (like musicals and bands) was a huge category. Some poets you like, some you don’t. And never will. But those who call to you become friends you’ll never forget. 

Up North

I ended up studying English at Leeds University. But when my tutor, Richard Brown, took a detour into Philip Larkin one morning, I felt lost. Unlike my fellow students, I’d never studied, read or heard of Larkin. I wrote my first poem in despair, but it felt good.

I wrote more poems while still at university, inspired stylistically more by Dylan Thomas’s prose than anything else, especially the opening page of his Holiday Memory which my Welsh English teacher, Mr Griffiths, proudly and patriotically put in front of us one day. It changed my life.

I still hadn’t read any Larkin by the time I went on to study acting at Guildhall School of Music and Drama in London. Nevertheless, I found great solace in my poetic outpourings, all of which I still have and most of which are totally embarrassing. When I left drama school in 1989, I started work on the stand-up comedy circuit.

Back then, there were several ‘performance poets’ about. What they did always fascinated me. The rhyme and the rhythm seemed to thrill an audience in a totally different way to a regular joke. And I loved the way that puns could get laughs rather than groans in the hands of skilled poets.

Whenever I was on a bill with John Hegley, Henry Normal or Dave Gorman, my heart soared. John was a master of timing and the tortured rhyme, as was Dave. Henry was able to mix short and often very rude verses with sudden pierce-your-heart poems about love.

So, I started to write funny poems, largely in their style. I soon had enough (just) to do a few poetry nights, with impressions in between to keep the audience happy and to give myself some certainty. After doing poetry festivals in Swindon, Manchester and Ledbury (and finally being brave enough to throw in the odd ‘serious’ poem – including one about the university ex), I was often asked, afterwards, if I was published.

With this in mind, I tried a few big publishing houses, and some smaller ones, but was rejected by all of them. Sometimes this was before I’d sent them anything, sometimes afterwards. I wasn’t sure which was worse.

Poetry Please

As a result, my poetry sat in a folder for 20 years, only occasionally being shyly added to. Until now. After performing a few of my dusty poems as part of poetry events in Ludlow and Evesham in 2023, I was surprised at how well they were received and how moving that I (and the audience) found them some 20, 30 and 40 years on.

A chance re-acquaintance with Henry Normal led me to Flapjack books and, after a long trip down memory lane collating, omitting and editing, with the help of the fabulously precise and sensitive Paul Neads, they are now available to all.

Some are comic, some romantic, some personal, and several are snapshots of incidents and people met or seen, fleetingly. Often on trains.

It’s amazing what a little belief from someone else can do. After Paul agreed to publish what was largely a back catalogue, I found that new ideas flowed and I have probably almost doubled the collection in the last six months alone.

Meanwhile, the few ‘live‘ performances I’ve done to date have been incredibly fulfilling. Happily, there are more to come. After spending most of my performing life hiding behind a myriad of voices and personalities, it’s wonderful to finally be able to speak as me.

By Alistair McGowan

All photographs: copyright Alistair McGowan

 

Not What We Were Expecting by Alistair McGowan is available to buy. For more information, click here.