Elvis McGonagall Performance poet

 

Elvis is a regular performer on national radio, as well as in theatres, pubs and festivals – his show One Man and His Doggerel is highly recommended! Further info at www.elvismcgonagall.co.uk.

 

He writes: I seem to have agreed to write a blog.

 

Ugly word.

 

“Blog”.

 

Redolent of something nasty in the woodshed.

 

Yet not as flighty as the flibbertigibbet that is “Twitter”.

 

Apropos of which, a wee verse: “Frankie Says Leave It To The Birds”

 

You are not a digital Samuel Pepys

Nor the Oscar Wilde that time forgot

Nay, nay, thrice nay

Ooh missus, no, please, Twitter ye not

 

Anyway, on with the bloggerel.

 

Boredom, desperation and the fear of putting on a bright orange apron and working in B&Q (Aisle 6 – Widgetty Things) drove me into the twilight world of stand-up poetry. The sole resident of The Graceland Caravan Park somewhere in the middle of nowhere, I scribble political satire and gratuitous celebrity bashing verse whilst drinking malt whisky, listening to Johnny Cash and throwing heavy objects at my portable telly.

 

Occasionally I venture forth into the wide blue yonder to appear on BBC Radio 4’s “Saturday Live” and “Today”, at comedy, literary and music festivals, and other venues where I shout at strangers in dark rooms whilst wearing an increasingly tight tartan jacket. And once in a while I host the Blue Suede Sporran Club (“it’s poetry Jim but not as we know it”) in the world’s finest pub down in deepest, darkest Dorset.

 

I often find that red-letter days pass me by (International Talk Like A Pirate Day has come and gone once more without any acknowledgment chez McGonagall) but I have been reliably informed that National Poetry Day is imminent and that this year’s theme is “Heroes and Heroines”.

 

Which begs two questions.

 

What shall I be doing to mark the occasion?

 

And who are my own “heroes and heroines”?

 

Well, having spent August in Edinburgh performing in a sweaty wee turret every day I am still disorientated and bankrupt. So, I may (or may not) be doing any one of the following on October 8th:

 

(a) reclining on my diamond encrusted loganberry velour daybed whilst puffing on a rosehip scented hookah; or

 

(b) bestriding the headland in an ocelot fur-coat, Cuban heels and fedora declaiming iambic pentameter and being all windswept, lovelorn and fey; or

 

(c) playing a sold-out Wembley Stadium because poetry’s the new rock ‘n roll - oh yeah baby yeah; or

 

(d) lying on a sun drenched beach on an idyllic Greek island; or

 

(e) staring at the cows at the bottom of the garden who stare back balefully as the rain tosses down whilst we all (the cows and I) contemplate the futility of existence; or

 

(f) trying to write a new poem which will probably result in (e) above

 

Moving on to question two, as Sir Hugh of Cornwall once asked, “Whatever happened to all the heroes? All the Shakespearos?” What indeed? My heroes are firstly Clive Stafford-Smith, the lawyer who runs Reprieve and acts for people on death-row in the USA - an extraordinary man. Secondly, despite the fact that he’s insisted that he’s no hero, the Iraqi journalist Muntazer al-Zaidi who threw his shoes at George Bush – an act of courageous defiance. And finally let’s have a heroine – my beautiful wife for putting up with me.

 

Happy National Poetry Day!

 

And for those in Peru – Happy Navy Day!

 

And for all denizens of the French Republic – Happy Pumpkin Day!