Comedy

The idea sounded simple and easy to do,
I’d interview a poet about his new show,
I’d use emails to send all my questions in verse,
It may prove a disaster but let’s have a go…

I haven’t written poetry since I was 16,
When I sat in my room lost in angst and despair,
My muse was my youth and my absence of love,
So, what motivates you to pluck words from the air?
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‘What motivates me to pluck words from the air?
No! They pluck themselves I just seem to be there,
Its like there’s a voice that lives under the stair,
Saying “Murray, today you must write about hair!”

Hair, yes, hair, at the ginger hair fair,
Sold by the bushel both common and rare,
The shock and the clump and the tuft and the bush,
The lash and the tash and the pit and the tushe.’

You write about hair?
Now that’s quite bizarre!
But not the oddest subject that I’ve ever seen,
I once read a poem about a purple butt plug.
If you weren’t a poet what might you have been?

‘A priest or a juggler, a cook or a rake,
A fishmonger dealing in haddock or hake.
But a purple butt plug! Well, that’s right off the scale!
The poet involved, tell me, female or male?’

Okay, I admit it, I made that bit up,
But I bet there’ve been poems about that kind of stuff.
Back in the ’90s you sealed a huge deal,
With those lovely people at EM and I,
For a mighty and marvellous £1 million,
How did that affect you, if it’s okay to pry?

‘The muff and the stole and the cape and the cap,
Favoured by those who subscribe to The Chap (magazine),
Yes, spend, did I spend, like a footballer’s wife,
Then the taxman jumped in with his filleting knife.

A media firestorm first started out fun.
Warholian casualty caught in the glow,
Limousines, rock ’n’ roll, cash by the ton,
The poet was dragged to the valley below,

And down he went.

Like the subject of one of his own cautionary tales,
Down, down with his motley cast of stalkers, junkies, sycophants, hustlers.
Ah yes, the fool became the hanged man and the hanged man’s only destination was the tower.’

Where are you now?
What have you done,
To pull yourself back,
To seal over the cracks,
To become what you’ve clearly become?
‘Made movies out in France with Depardieu. Gazed navel, drank a little too much beer. Danced naked in the Spanish mountain dew. Dug holes in Sussex clay for five lost years. Got over myself. Realised that, in the words of Noël Coward, ‘Inspiration is for amateurs.’ In short, grew up a bit.’

So what’s the new show about? What’s the balance of comedy to poetry?
‘Weeeeeeeeeell… It’s observational comic poetry and off-beat fantasy linked with improvised chat. Old classics like “Ode to a Scrotum” mixed with newer works such as the hashish-induced “Hair trilogy”. There’s also unaccompanied folk songs such as the sing-along “A dogging I will go” and “The Fluffer’s Demise” about post-Viagra job losses in the porn industry. It’s a good balance, not gag-laugh-gag-laugh and not some poet with his head up his arse either (that’s my story and I’m sticking to it).’

Who are your poetic influences?
‘I suppose Dr Seuss was a fairly big one.’

Is performance poetry one of those things that’s actually better than it sounds like it’s going to be?
‘It depends who’s doing it. It’s a very broad scene. Rap, surrealism, horror, comedy and beyond so it’s hard to give it a public image. However, the image of the self-indulgent, middle-class twat, grubbily engaging in a faux “street” shouty personal therapy session is one that haunts performance poetry.’

Larkin said ‘They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do.’ What’s your line on parents now you
are one?
‘Okay Timothy, I can see the way this whole thing is heading. So let’s keep it simple. You can either be a good boy and finish this interview nicely and recommend that everyone comes to my two shows (adult and children’s) at the Soho Theatre or go to bed without checking Facebook or playing on the Wii. The decision is yours. I’m waiting.’

Wow, you really are a parent,
In the old sense of the word
Short and sharp in your response,
Was my question too absurd?

‘No, no, no, 'twas a joke,
A Victorian stance,
An attempt on my part,
To augment and enhance,
To riff off your riff,
To be wacky and cool,
Did I get it so wrong?
Oh, I feel such a fool.’

So, Mr Lachlan Young, we’ve tried an experiment,
Tried something new,
Now there’s just one thing left I’d like you to do.
Tell the readers why they should go to your show,
And don’t be too modest ’cos it’s your very last go.

‘Roll up, roll up, ladieeees and gentlemen!

'This is your chance to see the great stand-up poet and performance artist Murray Lachlan Young live and in the flesh! Marvel as he shows the last word in the eloquent use of the world’s greatest language.

'Be dazzled by his stunning stagecraft. Roar at his unique take on life and the universe as we know it.

'It’s Seuss meets Hoffman meets Belloc meets Gorey.
For adults it’s a kinda whacked-out "Jackanory",
Meets, um well, well um…

'It’s incredible, kinda cool, kinda dark, kinda fun,
When you take a chance and do that dance down to watch,
The amazing Murray Lachlan Young.

'Er, will that do it?’

Murray Lachlan Young presents his two shows ‘Modern Cautionary Tales For Children’ and ‘Where’s Your Million Pound Record Deal Now Poet Boy?' at the Soho Theatre Feb 18-23.