An interview with Wendy Cope

Photo0316.jpghttps://www.poetryarchive.org/interview/wendy-cope-interview

 

“What do you see as the role of humour in poetry?

I don’t set out to write humorous poems it’s just sometimes my sense of humour gets into them – well quite often. As a reader I suppose I laugh when I recognise something – I think laughter often is when you recognise something is true but you’d never actually allowed yourself to think that or you’d never heard it put quite so well. I think it’s possible for a poem to be funny and serious at the same time and I get very annoyed with the assumption that if a poem is funny then it can’t be saying anything important and deeply felt. Some of my poems are just playful and could accurately be described as ‘light verse’ but I think in a lot of my poems, although there’s humour in them, they are saying something that matters and something that’s deeply felt and I don’t think…I think those things can co-exist in the same poem.”

The naked and the read

After dinner Mary and Stan often went for a longish walk.They liked to go to a road where the richer people of Britain lived.,where there were some Georgian houses and one Tudor house.
At dusk they would stroll by looking into the lighted windows to see how the rooms were decorated.And if the front garden was large sometimes they crept in to see more
One beautiful house they liked from the outside was spoiled for Mary by the garish tartan wall paper.
What sort of people would live there, she asked Emile who was in her handbag.with his head peeping out
Well,they have a cat called Percy, he mewed softly.
Why Percy?It is a noble name from the British past of course,she answered…
Earls of Percy were involved in affairs of state.
Well.Percy is a Chinese cat,Emile said to her wittily.
He ought to be called Hu Ar U then,Mary joked ,or tried to as her sense of humour was somewhat lacking or maybe just odd.Still she looked lovely despite her moth eaten clothes bought in Sales in colors nobody else wanted like purple and lilac and bottle green.
She and Stan crept slowly up the garden path and peered nervously into the empty sitting room trying to identify the paintings on the walls.
All of a sudden, a woman who was completely naked came into the room and lay modishly on a sofa as if she were a trained dancer.She was a sight for sore male eyes.
Are they about to have a drawing class,Stan whispered.
She must be a model for a Life Class or an abstract woman ,with cat ,if Percy gets into the frame,Mary mused
Percy might scratch her then.Stan muttered.She could scream.
Suddenly a loud voice was booming at them.
What the bloody hell are you doing in my garden?
There stood a big man in plus fours and and an oversized red jumper with matching cheeks
We were admiring your wall paper,Mary said.I think it is very unusual.
He smiled in gratification.
I chose it,he cried.All by my self.
But why is there a nude lady on the sofa,Stan enquired.
I am so annoyed, the man told them.My fiancee likes to walk around nude but she forgets to draw the curtains first.
Does she want to make an exhibition of herself,Stan enquired hopefully.
We wondered if it was for a life class, you know,students learning to draw and become artists of note.
Well,that’s a good idea said Arthur thoughtfully.
The woman got up and came over.She opened the wondow.To their astonishment she was Annie,their neighbour and Stan’s mistress too.Stan might have known but he had kept his face immobile after years of practise.
Fancy seeing you here,Annie whispered creatively in her sweet little voice
I am trying to seduce Arthur but with no success so far except a marriage proposal.
You need to be more discreet and indirect, said Stan.
If you act like this he will think you are an artist’s model and likely to be featured in the Tate Modern Annual Show of Infamy .Now, would a man like this marry or even sleep with such a woman as you appear to be walking around like Eve before she ate the apple?
I don’t know said Annie but my clothes are all in the tumble dryer,anyhow.
Did you wet yourself? Mary asked her kindly.It’s nothing to be ashamed of.We all do it now and then especially since public conveniences were shut down across the UK.And now ,even winter coats are machine washable.
Well,I knocked over some lemon barley water in a big jug and so I decided to wash all my clothes. while I was here as Arthur as a tumble dryer
That’s a very strange tale Arthur told her.You look ravishing hanging out of the window with your nipples pointing up.Let me take a photo of
you.Say,Cheese
But will you put it on Twitter,Annie asked anxiously.
No,dear.I am not so cruel.Why don’t you get your clothes and make us all some tea .
I can’t make tea,she yelled and without pausing she dialledd 999.
What is it Fire or Ambulance the lady receptionist asked politely.
It’s a kettle.
Is it on fire?
No,it won’t boil.Can you send Dave the paramedic ,please, as he makes good tea.
We are quite busy so it may be two hours or more she was told.
I thought this was an emergency service,Annie said.
But who defines what an emergency is? the lady asked her philosophically.
I will die without this tea,Annie informed her in a ringing tone
Ok ,hang up and I will send the ambulance now.
Arthur seemed a little surprised
I have private medical insurance,he cried.But they don’t make tea not even for old people.
Well,in the UK tea has always been essential to the National Health
But it will soon be drying up and we shall get flasks from the dustmen on Sundays instead.
I just don’t believe it,Arthur said and he then passed out on the rug which stood in front of a bookcase full of leather bound volumes of poetry.
Will he live?
Will he die
I don’t know but I shall cry
Awry then

Butterfly, goodbye

I know that’s how death will come, Suddenly flying into another orbit when I am photographing flowers

It’s not a gentle transition.

No-one will know where I’ve gone. One step wrong and I’m off the high wire

And plunging into the no safety net. Flying for a while Jumping into hyperspace,spinning electrons Startle my wide eyes.

Transiting the new black sun

I’m on a double gold helix,

Spider on her web,

Knitting furiously Into the future heaven on gossamer wings.

Butterfly goodbye, I’m off to see the stars. And the black holes.

No one will come with me.

I’m shaking off,evaporating into mist.

I’m a flying saucer on a circus mission.

I can’t say no to a new invitation. Make it fast and break with tradition.

Time is passing smoothly till that break In the music,

I’ve been transmuted into a different key someone else will play me on their violin

I’m a tune, I’m a thought, I’m a whisper in your vision. Goodbye,darling. I’m under orders Ready to leave for my performance On the electric carpet.

Death dancing to a tune on a violoncello, Arpeggionne sonata

I’m playing your words upside down In a new foreign translation, Accompanied by solo artists,ice cracking

I’m going in.

It’s too sudden.

I’m flying. Spinning faster to amuse the clowns, too many ups and no downs.

I’m going right out of orbit

I’ve broken the pull of gravity, And fly with pure equanimity Into my future life,

I’m off at some moment

An instant,a crack,a loud smack

That was me passing

The quiet voice of love

The still small voice is easy to ignore.

Why does love speak in this quiet voice

Underneath the bustle and the noise,,

Coming from it’s habitation poor

On the peak the frightened prophet heard

Hiding in a cave, while tempests shrieked

He heard God’s whispers, in this place so bleak

Absent was all life bar little  birds

Now we are cocooned with food and heat

The BBC controls the voices heard.

Jezebel is coming we must act

Lineker the prophet sends out Tweets.

Wisdom is a sparrow on the wind.

Listen to its song for we have sinned

You still live inside my mind today

It seemed to me, my vision and my mind
A template to project into the world
Brought you into being by my side.

I miss you, love, so slow the seconds wind.
I crept into the space between the words
I made you in my vision and my mind

Is there only chaos, no design?
Are we dust around the spaces whirled?
I bring you into being by these lines

I smell your skin and see your eyes alive
I move my head but you have disappeared
I feel both from my vision and my mind

Why did all the pit props fall down blind?
I crept beneath black coal, with darkness smeared;
A person alien to humankind.

Who fears death, when life is sharp and hard?
What means love, when no-one else is here?
I imagined you in vision and my mind
Reality is so much more unkind

Why not?

I’ve got writer’s block. Oh,put your head on it

I have dried up. Are you a river or a man?

I can’t write .You lie,my friend.You contradict yourself

I think I am dead.

I kept telling you to stop thinking! Now,stop dying My eye offends me

Oh,cut it out.

I’m blocke

Get someone to plumb the depths of your mind

What with?

A teaspoon will be enough

Should I pray? Who can answer that?

Can I wear a hat in Church.

Only if you are a Jew.

But they have a synagogue

You are so conceited you could get a synagogue on yours and a mosque as well.Or St Paul’s Cathedrall

You think my head is swollen?

Take some ibuprofen and follow the beat What beat?

The heart has its reasons and it beats as well

I’ve had enough Is it as good as a feast?

Don’t keep asking questions

Why not?

Just do as I say Why?

Not everything has a reason

Why not?

Swiftly say a prayer and then be kind

Anger,rage and fear camp in our minds
The thunderstorm means God has stubbed his toe
A misread prayer, a human  grace denied

Mother left the bacon with its rind
Father thinks the cat must learn to sew
Anger,rage and fear, in our small minds

The children bite the dog,is that unkind?
The old man passing thinks it must be so
A misplaced prayer, a human  grace defied

Many  choose strange  words  to torture  time
Paranoia’s useful,  as science shows
Anger,rage and fear, unpick our minds

I wonder if we’re looser as we rhyme
Or must all difference lead to exchanged blows?
An unknown prayer, all  goodness  man derides

I see I  have a very refined nose
I’ll kill you if you say it’s just a pose
Anger,rage and fear burn up our minds
Say a prayer,  breathe out and then be kind

I have a brother up in heaven

Our brother, Aneurin Bevan, we can feel your pain There is no fun, what will be done On earth, especially in Britain?

Give us this day our daily bread, Save us from  losing our free bus passes Forgive us our mistakes as we forgive those who mistake us

We unconsciously wanted the kingdom the power suits and the glory

Forgive us our naivety,

Save us from our own evil Amen

Now it turns as rapid as dismay

The sky is now pale lilac edged with dark
The   trees where small birds sleep are almost black
A mystic may enjoy a vivid spark
Through having senses other mortals lack.

The sky’s more pale than  it is darker grey
I see a pink, a blue in clarity
Now it turns as rapid  as dismay
Until  devoid of  such variety.

And darker still ,in grey it edges down
Until it’s less distinct from those large trees.
But  with my words  to keep me from a frown
Darkness comes and so my words must cease.

A mirror to the outer world in verse
May save  us all from  wintering with a  curse.

On the motorbike

There were three of us on this motorbike,
Father Dan with me,
And he had Jesus in his bag.
That makes the total three.

Transubstantiation, oh my Lord
I looked at his black bag.
Is Jesus inside there, I thought?
Should it have a tag?

It’s a secret never told
Father Dan gave it me to hold.
So I had Jesus in my lap,
No wonder now I feel a gap.

We zoomed off up an unmade road
As fast as Dan could go.
I felt bewildered and bemused,
I loved my Daddy so.

Father Dan took back his bag,
And went inside our house.
I got my marbles out to roll,
I feared I’d see a mouse.

So Three of had taken a ride
And after that, my Dad had died.
Father Dan said Mass today
Still with Jesus, so I cried.

I have wandered further,longer than

Pamianthe-peruviana_2020-2

I have walked without a map or plan
I have whispered names of people dead.
I have wandered further,longer than.

I have stumbled ,when the able ran.
I have longed for you but never said
I have walked without a map or plan

I have been through places men would ban
I have sung to birds and shared my bread
I have wandered further,longer than.

I have searched for you in nook or cran
I have felt my brain has turned to lead
I have walked without a map or plan

I have sauntered, wandered, I have run
I should have lain down in dry leaves instead
I have wandered further,longer than.

I remember when you shared my bed
I remember all the words we said
I have fallen without map or plan
I am drowning deeper,darker than.

Against sadness.

Against sadness:no-one old must weep

Nor lounge in a melancholy deep Was Van Gogh senseless to permit his muse. For even genius ,is the price too steep?

We see the yellow chair but not his views

Nor his mind where technique made strange leaps.

Nor was his journey broadcast on the news. Against sadness. Happiness or joy is hard to find When we rest, the News lies on our minds

Yet some are cold towards the slaughtered priest His nose a beak of bone in old face lined.

Now Muslims go to Mass and join Christ’s feast Against sadness. What rages in the mind make men kill thus?. In Syrian wars the innocents fare worse.

But these are our near neighbours so we weep. And wonder how to end the frightening curse The sins we once committed hold us deep

We hold our hands out, wanting to be nursed .

Against sadness

Seeing yourself from a distance as my sister did

My astral body floated to the wall

When I looked back I saw myself so pale

I was sitting at the table drinking tea

They told me to be strong but I had failed

I  had never heard of astral  tricks

I was down to earth no mystic bore.

But having cancer tore me into parts.

I felt I could not suffer anymore.

I sent an email to my sister dear

I told her how I felt and felt her near

I asked her could she write a poem sincere

Yet with  some humour to destroy my fear.

Time has passed, I know I’m in my grave

Remember me,oh love me and be brave

Learning and its pleasures

Playing with bright buttons from the tin

I lost myself in patterns colours shapes

Pleasure and  enjoyment is no sin.

Forced learning without joy may feel like rape.

I learnt without the knowledge that I learned.

I lost myself in thoughtless happens tance

And in this way abstraction’s rightly earned.

Does thinking need such joy for  eloquence?

Then children learn unknowing they have learned

I wish I were at home in that old room

The coal fire burning red, the cat asleep

My brother and my sisters went  too soon.

The joy and woe are mixed and so I weep.

How short each stage of life,oh, all too brief

The caterpillar gnaws upon the leaf

Oh,Cumbria

Oh,Cumbria I wish I were with you
Near Ambleside, the stepping stones, the slate
The Langdale Pikes , the valley and the view

The sinking sands, the sprawling sea so blue
The tempting  path across the bay , it’s bait
Oh,Cumbria I wish I were with you

The  thunderstorms, the heavy clouds, the dew
Water is your element, your fate
The Langdale Pikes , the valley and the view

By Buttermere the waterfalls renew
My shoes were pools,my socks a Plathian plaint 
Oh,Cumbria I wish I were with you

I may be human,,I may be astute
My feelings, punctured ,let me lose my state
By Langdale Pikes , huge shadows   stripe the view

The sky is black, the candles  flicker,night
Fear and awe, I kneel  here , faith ignites
Oh,Cumbria I wish I could  see you
The Langdale Pikes , the cliffs,  the distant view

Our house

Outside owa house ‘t new umbrellas drip
~Wun is red and wun is pretty beige
They’re wa sunshades, t’weather’s hit a blip

If A wer a child A’d sail a ship
Or stamp in pools u’ water in mi rage
Outside wa house,’t new umbrellas drip

Times there were Mam’s moods ‘ed get a grip
Then it wer quite hard to re-engage
Hide wa sunshades,mother’s hit a blip

Mam wer clever but she lost her top
The hint of h’ mad sayings has no wage
Outside wa house ,’t new umbrellas drip

Nuns told me off for speaking in my voice
To get to Oxford, I must Me erase
Now I am a foreigner down here
No self, no mam, no sisters,just mi feah

This is called eye dialect: misspell words to make them sound like they do in your dialect.

Foggy park

I went  into the middle of the park
Thick grey fog had made it almost dark
I stood there with my cello and my books
I had found a space where noone looked

There was not much privacy  at all
The front door was left open, neighbours called
Grandad came with Lassy his sheepdog
He gave us sweets and  ate my mother’s bread

Now I have chubb locks on my front door
The neighbours do not walk here anymore
They jump into their cars and speed away
No little chat, no  updates on their day

Locked in metal cars without a map
We’re distant  or too close, so mind that gap

 

 

 

 

w

Bill,Bill,my mother’s dad

Bill.Bill.my mother’s dad
Down the coal mine he did dig
When he was but a young lad

He was never very big
He spoke in the old dialect
He had a dog, a pipe, no cig

Silent,smiling, starving wrecked
He sent kids to a soup kitchen
Learned to read, but knew few facts

Went to London,saw Big Ben
Still angry from the General Strike
Aye,he were a silent man

He walked at night, he had no bike
To the coal mine with his cat
The cat sat waiting till first light

Then they walked, he did head maths
His wife had died, the son was born
When he got home, he had a bath

His father worked in fields of corn
Peasants on the Chesire farms
The pay was poor, were up at dawn

He himself were on good terms
With his neighbours, Irish, torn
He went to Mass,so Latin learned

My mum was th’eldest of those born
She had me,my own dad died
She went mad, she was forlorn

Lost her mother, then she tried
To help her Dad with all her heart
Never wept and never cried

Then she made a different start
Met my dad and married late
So I am here with my own charts

Is it destiny or fate
Why am I down here, d’you ken?
I see you grandad, is it late?



Let your mind wander, don’t retire and stop worrying: surprising ways to help save your brain from the cognitive cliff

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2026/sep/07/dr-norman-swan-new-book-science-of-ageing-cognitive-decline?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

No  bridge destroys its power, no currents sin

The geese have moved their flight path to the East
I miss the  gladness of their graceful wings
And wish I were a bird and not a beast

In the river, they have had their feast
While the sparrows watched and gently sang
The geese are gone, their flight path’s to the East

Seeing their grace at sunset gave me peace
The  natural  world such beauty to us brings
The wish I were a bird and not a beast

North East London’s  cut up by the Lea
No  bridge destroys its power, its currents sing
The geese have moved their flight path  further East

The geese do not  make nests  in a  tall tree
But dwell upon the water  like the swans
I wish I were a bird or honey bee.

As the infant  wisely grabs and clings
So the geese will fight  if threat descends
The geese have moved their flight path to the East
Oh, to fly at sunset  with the least

 

 

 

The way into the park

The end of Essex Road, the slope, the gates,

The entrance to the park, the green invites

The swans and geese are wrangling with their mates.

I idle on a bench and contemplate.

In indolence quite diligent I write

The end of that old road, the curve, the gates.

I must embrace this life, enjoy my fate

The scent of hot damp trees, the feel of sight

The swans and geese are mingling with their mates

Oh joy of greeny grass, oh glorious state.

Oh dandelions and weeds, mosquito bites!

I like the way the road slopes through the gates

Oh heaven above, oh,earth beneath, all’s right

The celandines are brilliant with delight

The swans so white are gliding with their mates

The end of this dear road, the curve, the gates.

Your dear eyes

Those dragonflies
Your blue eyes
Lawns with daisies
Poetic phrases
Sparrows cheeps
No mobile bleeps .
Foxes’ eyes
Scrutinize.
Let me be.
Don’t squash me
BBC
Poetry
Earl grey tea.
Rabbits run.
Let’s have fun,
Knitted hats.
Tabby cats
Hot red fires.
Dark quagmires
Lambs and sheep,
Lover’s leap.
Windermere
Glass of beer.
Sun on hills
Watermills
Rabid leavers
Damned deceivers
Facial cancer
Ballet dancer
Skate on ice
Do think twice
Acrobats
Habitats

God was absent then or in some other place

When he went away
He said,”Lehitraot,mama.”
Do vstrechi.
He died, but I’m still here
Yes,in my heart I feel his love.
But why did I live,
And he did not?
Auf wiedersehen
Lehitraot.
Yes,darling,I’ll see you later
,When the sky turns black and all the stars blaze bright
I’ll see you shining in the night.
I’ll see you in my dreams alas.
Do vstrechi.
But why you and not me too?
Araka
I can’t understand
.Lehitraot,beloved.
A plus tard
Some where in this world,you fell
But no-one,not even God, can tell.
God was absent then or in some other place
He’s gone again
.They said He’s died too
,But He didn’t have a mother like you.
Do vstrechi.
My breasts ache and my heart and soul,
My breasts were made to make you whole.
To feed, give love and to console.
A plus tard
And now they ache with grief as my tears fall
.A bientot
My body trembles in the night
As dreams may bring my lost ones to my sight.
A plus
I’d walk across the roughest bleak terrain
If l I could find my loves and hold your hands again.
Do vstrechi
.The bell rings on the ancient clock
As time goes on as normal,  never stops.
Araka
I wish the hands of time could be reversed,
And I was not living with this curse.
People forget that I once had a son.
They think my grieving has been done.
Araka.But grief and loss and pain will never end
Until the curtain of my death descends
Auf wiedersehen.
Meantime I look at flowers and birds and trees
,But it’s really you my deepening insight sees.
Lehitraot.
The inscape of my heart is shown to few.
An artist of the lost would know this view.
I know I want to see just you.
Do vstrechi.
But for me there is no Auf wiedersehen
Never again will you say
What you said that day
Lehitraot,Mama.Papa
A plus tard
Tot ziens.
See you later
See you ,darling
See you soon

Tha end of the Holy Land

Evoking the beauty or stars far away,

I like to watch geese at the end of the day. Patterns and poems disclose other worlds.

Feel the hand of a baby with the fingers all curled See the trust and the smile when the mother is home,

To create entire worlds for the one she has borne.

For chaos and panic are not far away

Even in adults who don’t care to say.

The little hands touch me so deeply, so well;

⁰ How come the world is diving to hell?

How can we kill little wains by the score

Was it for this that I opened your door?

Was it for this that love electrified us,

And we were lost in each other, in the holy white dove.

Was it for war that we gave love our wombs.

Making more soldiers and filling more tombs

The bombs are a-loading they’re having parades. It’s not North Korea, it’s Washington, dude.

Let the tanks roll on Corrie and the Bedouin tribes

Let the allies laugh blindly as the Lord Jesus dies.

O take me, dear mother.Please take me away

I can’t see the point in saying my prayers.

The leaders’ religions are making God frown.

The desert is empty, the tents all dragged down. The centuries of living so free , so mobile;

The holy land blessing as they pause for while.

The little black tents like wombs of the night

Are all gone to shredders as we sing, Silent Night.