The Patent Larkin-Betjeman Verse Machine
Somewhere (round 1914) Art went wrong. Poets no longer versified for bread. They scorned to take a penny for a song.
Journeyman Shakespeare sounded like a gong And countless thousands mourned when Byron bled But somewhere (1914) Art went wrong.
Bob Dylan's doggerel moved the unlettered throng But poets write for critics. Overbred, They scorn to take a penny for a song Though secretly each yearns to be King Kong, Publishers trembling at his hairy tread. Somewhere (round 1914) Art went wrong.
The Prisoner's Dilemma — either prong Poisoned? pop-pap or Lit Supp stuff unread. Naught but Arts Council pennies for a song Where image and allusion play ping-pong, `But where s the bloody horse?' Roy Campbell said. Somewhere (round 1914) Art went wrong.
A poet when he's old expects a gong, For being old I suppose. And he'll be dead Before he gets our pennies for a song Where wit is short and obfuscation long, And human interest very thinly spread Because (round 1914) Art went wrong.
Who'll put the poets back where they belong? A human audience gapes and is not fed. They'd willingly give pennies for a song, So Muse descend from Mars to Earth. Be strong.
Larkin and Betjeman sound in my head. Though somewhere (1914) Art went wrong Poets must live by pennies for their song.
John Whitworth
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