jab jab jab to the hangover
or it could be that doing it

jab jab jab

an uppercut to gut
too

haymaker now just a long arc of a swing to try out it still being able to move

and

not

fall

down

jab jab jab

jab jab

it can be hard to sustain

jab fat jab fat jab fat

below the belt
is where most of it is at

a
canvas
slip

rope burns from the soap on a
but that was another year

no count
rub the gloves
look into your own eyes

jab jab jab

southpaw stance
mouthawe trance

technical knock out

[*] just a whimsy

[originally posted October 2011]

Buddy Rich – Swingin’ Big Band

Excuse the repetition – as with selecting Bert Jansch’s sampler album as a ‘Top Fifty’ after his recent sad death and the memory this prompted of listening to that album so much when younger, exploring old jazz records these last two days has prompted my return to celebrate this live recording of Buddy Rich’s stonking big band sound and his own phenomenal drumming.

Recorded live at the Club Chez, Hollywood California, this album is a lot of fun. The audience response throughout adds to the album’s energy. There are sharp sax solos by Jay Corre [as on the Stevie Wonder song Up Tight] to satisfy that incipient love of the instrument I have already described, as well as some great trombone work by John Boice on My Man’s Gone Now, and Jim Trimble on the brilliant West Side Story Medley.

My absolute favourite on the album is the medley at 10 minutes of big band excellence. Rich orchestrates a booming opening blast with screaming brass and his drumming laying down a driving beat for Corre’s saxophone to ride early on. Rich uses the drums to signal the song and mood shifts within the whole and there is a beautiful midway trombone delivery of Somewhere that leads to an orchestral crescendo climbing to a Rich drum roll then brass/drum duel sparking a drum solo victory that ignites the audience and this listener. This track closes side 2 of the album but I recently bought a cd copy that adds another eight tracks, Apples including more rolling Rich solos, and a sweet ballad Lament for Lester.

When studying for my A levels at then Ipswich Civic College, students had to chose, as I recall, a ‘Liberal Arts’ course and I naturally chose Music Appreciation. To this day I’m pretty sure I was one of the few who really wanted to be there and enjoyed the range of music, from classical to contemporary, that was presented by the music teacher. Each week students could bring in albums of their choice to be played, and I was one of the keenies who did, bringing in for one session this Buddy Rich album and being, quite likely, the only one there who thought as we listened it was a damn fine and far out choice. And I still do today, so here it is in my existential Top Fifty.

‘Where’s your badge?’

‘What do you mean where’s your badge?’

‘Why aren’t you wearing your badge?’

‘What do you mean why aren’t you wearing your badge?’

‘Why aren’t you wearing your seasonal badge?’

‘What do you mean why aren’t you wearing your seasonal badge?’

‘You know exactly what I mean. Why aren’t you wearing your bloody Academy Santa School Status Christmas badge?’

I love it when I make him swear. Ever since Peter became responsible for badge wearing under our Academy+Santa School Status it has been my personal challenge to never wear one and to force him into swearing when he confronts me about this. I always refuse. He then always ends up sort-of swearing. I know he hates this because he produces a sanctimonious frown when he hears me swearing and so Peter spends most of his time with me frowning. It is a glorious symmetry.

It has been a full year now since the school achieved Academy+SSS and at every significant national holiday, but especially Christmas time, all members of staff are expected to wear ‘seasonal’ badges. My badge was, as usual, placed in my staffroom pigeon-hole and inside a small box neatly labelled with the dates for which it was meant to be worn. I didn’t have any expectations that this one would be any more acceptable than Easter’s badge or The Patron Saint of Special School’s badge, but when I opened the box and read the festive nomenclature Ho Ho Ho Ferguson it confirmed that this was another holiday I would not be honouring on my coat lapel.

‘By the way Peter, where’s your bloody Academy Santa School Status Christmas badge?’ I ask sarcastically.

Peter’s face glows bright red as he makes a panicked look down to his tie and it then turns explosive as he realises that he is of course wearing it and I have tricked him yet again with this simple but what should by now be an all too familiar ruse.

I am not in the mood to be gentle with Peter. This has been a tough year. It’s not the Academy+SSS business that’s made it so, because as annoyingly facile as it is to state, there are far more important matters to shape reality. It has been a year of loss and struggle. Not the loss of students’ work or important documents or teaching resources or every seasonal badge for the entire year, though these are realities too. Nor is it the struggle with marking or planning or difficult students or having to deal with depressing data and targets, though these are frustrating familiarities too. It has been personal.

Perhaps as teachers we should be allowed to wear our own special and personal badges. In dealing with the individual’s real world of teaching, they could say bluntly I’m Too Tired To Mark or Don’t Talk, Just Listen or Silent Reading All Day or Don’t Fuck With Me. Or they could say cryptically Loss and Struggle: however any is underscored, it’s something to signal that our personal lives can impinge on the grand educational designs others have for us. Something to send a message to students that they too will have lives that transcend learning and today I am acting as an illustration of this. Or just to Peter announcing that I don’t quite feel like cuddling up to his cosy idea of how we are purposeful and focused as a teaching unit.

Christmas is a time of ‘thanks’, whether this is a religious or secular gratitude, and I am thankful that I have the will not to wear my badge and that I have survived one of the worst year’s of my life. As a teacher, I have for years been hit with the reality of the anguish in so many students’ lives and how this explains the pains and miseries behind their behaviours. Only today I have learnt of the most appalling experience one of my students has had to endure in her life and I imagine how her Christmases and all other celebrations struggle against the dark nightmare that will always be there. She will forever wear her badge of despair but I hope that at school we can provide her with a care that can ultimately help her to transcend this.

I am obviously in a ‘transcendental’ mood. Peter’s brash and simplistic demand has made me this philosophical. I wonder if he has any idea how much I have had to endure in order to be here now taking the piss out of his posturing but also seeing beyond his triviality to the greater comfort of the family and friends who see me and my students through their tough times? Does he possess this empathy behind the façade of his ever-present badge?

‘I hope you have a great Christmas,’ I tell Peter just as he is about to storm off in a sulk.

‘Pardon?’ he turns and looks at me.

‘I just hope you have a great Christmas despite your anal proclivity for badge wearing,’ I clarify for him.

Peter walks back towards me. There is a look of utter confusion on his face. It’s either because I have called him ‘anal’, which he will understand only as swearing, or the use of ‘proclivity’ which he will also probably think is some kind of posher swearing because he won’t know what it actually means. His face is returning to crimson again.

‘You really have no idea how important we think…..’

I interrupt Peter with a burst of guffaws before he can continue. Whenever he uses the pronoun ‘we’ to somehow align himself to a corporate power-base in the school, I cannot help but find him ridiculous. It is also the colour of his face that amuses.

‘You really have no idea how important we think badges at Christmas time are,’ he continues in a rising scream and half turning to walk away in disdain from me, ‘because you are so obsessed with being an INDIVIDUAL…!’ Peter fully screams this last word as his sentence comes to an abrupt stop.

As he moves further away, Peter’s hand instinctively moves down to locate the Ho Ho Ho Ferguson I have slammed as hard as I can into his left buttock cheek.

‘That’s what we get for badgering people!’ I scream back in laughter as I too turn to walk away.

Knocking the insulating tape
off the table onto the floor, I swore

knowing I’d have to bend this back
and these knees to retrieve,

but when it returned rolling
I laughed out loud thinking this is

a sign of good things to come today,
yet it was now late afternoon and

soon would be dark, the driveway gate
was already closed to more journeys,

and night’s routines – comfortable
enough – were setting their black store.

So crouching slowly down I slammed it
under that table again, swearing at the

overuse and useless hope of metaphor.

Delighted to have this poem posted today at International Times. Please visit to read.

Like many, I have written much in 2017 about Donald Trump explicitly as President or implicitly as such but also more widely his impact beyond the USA and on the world.

Therefore, when writing my second found poetry sequence this year, American Finds, as an American and based on the Great American Novel, his existence intruded on a number of the poems. This was generally not a conscious attempt to include him and his effects/impacts: but language and ideas in those great historical American works could not help but reflect Trump and the pervasive negativity he not only projects but creates and embeds.

Further published poems from this sequence are posted on this site and can be found by accessing this link.

The poem can be read here. Thank you to Bare Fiction.

[originally posted June 2011]

Fill Your Head With Rock – CBS Two LP Sampler

Choosing this as one of my top fifty albums is a cheat, but I’m Prospero over my musical world so I can do what I like.

I have mentioned this LP earlier in this blog when writing about the huge impact and influence of the sampler albums of the late 60s and early 70s, but this is, for me, the zenith of that promotional tradition. It introduced so many great bands – and their best ever tracks – at a time when I was the most influenced by such inspiration. It has been a quest to collect the albums from which these songs were taken as well as others from those various artists’ careers. Here is the hall of fame:

Chicago – Listen
Santana – Savour
Spirit – Give A Life, Take A Life
Steamhammer – Passing Through
Blood, Sweat And Tears – Smiling Phases
The Flock – Tired Of Waiting
Black Widow – Come To The Sabbath
Argent – Dance In The Smoke
The Byrds – Gunga Din
Skin Alley – Living In Sin
Laura Nyro – Gibsom Street
Leonard Cohen – You Know Who I Am
Moondog – Stomping Ground
Amory Kane – The Inbetween Man
Trees – The Garden Of Jane Delawney
Al Stewart – A Small Fruit Song
Tom Rush – Driving Wheel
Janis Joplin – Try (Just A Little Bit Harder)
Al Kooper – One Room Country Shack
Taj Mahal – Six Days On The Road
Mike Bloomfield – Don’t Think About It Baby
Pacific Gas & Electric – Bluesbuster
Johnny Winter – I Love Everybody

This will have been the precursor to obtaining most of the albums I will now recall. Chicago’s Chicago Transit Authority will in fact be one of my ‘Top Fifty’ albums, and Listen is a great pop track from that album’s brilliant mix of orchestrated balladry to heavy rock. I may have had Spirit’s Spirit before this sampler [having been introduced to Fresh Garbage from another sampler The Rock Machine Turns You On], but I can’t be sure: Give a Life Take a Life is such a gentle, calm song from their glorious offerings. Steamhammer’s Passing Through is a stunner and the best thing they ever did, just trumping Junior’s Wailing. The Flock’s Tired of Waiting introduced rock violin to those of us who hadn’t heard much jazz before, and Come to the Sabbath was simply weird and wonderful in the way that was often all you needed in those experimental days. Skin Alley’s Living in Sin has that wonderful rolling drum and flute core that breaks into a memorable guitar solo.

The Byrd’s Gunga Din has those sublime harmonies, and Laura Nyro’s Gibsom Street wrenched me to her soaring vocals. Trees’ The Garden of Jane Delawney is so beautiful it is painful, whilst Al Stewart’s A Small Fruit Song is so short it is subliminal: a lightning flash of acoustic excellence sparking off the aphorism of its ridiculous lyric. It was this album’s mix of ‘heavy’ and ‘folk’ that appealed too, eclecticism tapping into the idealism of sharing and exploring everything.

Pacific Gas & Electric like so many bands of that time simply had a cool name to complement their take on the blues, as did Taj Mahal. But the blues got ripped to electric shreds of tension in Johnny Winter’s I Love Everybody where his opening laugh launches one of the great guitar pumped songs of all time, his voice growling out the lyrics along the guitar lines with the stereo oscillations slamming around inside your head, filling it fully.

I haven’t mentioned all of the tracks but they are all superb. I have every album from which these tracks were taken, though not all of them are vinyl. Not yet.

Most satisfied to have a poem up at this fine site again: Satisfied, here. With thanks to Dai.

Listening to
the palpable

wistfulness
in its ennui

minor piano
lush foreign

words sung
by women

in bobs or curls
flowing skirts

muted horns
orchestrally

adorned in
sixties streets

passing sixties
cars and

deep nostalgic
sensibilities

so bright and
light and hopeful

the pain of
loss sweeps

across me like
the strings

painting love
scenes in

panting breath
with harpsichord

plucks and
woodwind death