In Which We Revisit John Lennon's Doggerel

The Daily Howl

by MOLLY LAMBERT

John Lennon wrote poetry. More specifically he wrote doggerel. I think doggerel is pretty underrated as far as art forms go. If somebody published the poems Tess and I have co-authored on IM over the years they'd make a mint. Well, maybe not a mint but they're worth at least the paper they weren't printed on. Lennon was a genius with words. The neighboring Liverpool poetry scene fomented the notion of pop poetry.

If you hear any early interviews with the Beatles it's clear that all four are hilarious. John in particular had a keenly absurd sense of humor that translated extremely well to radio. He could be caustically funny, influencing the confrontational interview style of Bob Dylan. He was a polymath, always writing poems and drawing pictures while also making music.

Lennon started writing and drawing early in life, with encouragement from his Uncle George, and created his own comic strip in his school book, which he called "The Daily Howl". It contained drawings (frequently of crippled people) and satirical writings, often with a play on words. Lennon wrote a weather report saying, "Tomorrow will be Muggy, followed by Tuggy, Wuggy and Thuggy."

Lennon was adept at free association and improvisation in his linguistic explorations, which can be seen in both his prose writing and a portion of his lyrics. Use of puns, near-homonyms, bizarre imagery, disconnected narrative threads and references, creative misspellings, and abrupt, unresolved conclusions.

In many ways its style is similar to books written by Spike Milligan or the spoken nonsense of Stanley Unwin.

Some poems from Lennon's two published collections of poetry, A Spaniard In The Works and In His Own Write and a posthumous volume of pictures and such, Skywriting By Word Of Mouth.

ABOUT THE AWFUL

I was bored on the 9th of Octover 1940 when, I believe, the Nasties were still booming us led by Madalf Heatlump (Who had only one). Anyway, they didn't get me. I attended to varicous schools in Liddypol. And still didn't pass-much to my Aunties supplies. As a memebr of the most publified Beatles me and (P, G, and R's) records might seem funnier to some of you than this book, but as far as I'm conceived this correction of short writty is the most wonderfoul larf I've ever ready.
God help and breed you all.

GOOD DOG NIGEL

Arf, Arf, he goes, a merry sight
Our little hairy friend
Arf, Arf, upon the lampost bright
Arfing round the bend.
Nice dog! Goo boy,
Waggie tail and beg,
Clever Nigel, jump for joy
Because we are putting you to sleep at three of the clock, Nigel.

A SURPRISE FOR LITTLE BOBBY

It was little Bobby's birthmark today and he got a surprise. His very fist was lopped off, (The War) and he got a birthday hook!
All his life Bobby had wanted his very own hook; and now on his 39th birthday his pwayers had been answered. The only trouble was they had send him a left hook and ebry dobby knows that it was Bobby's right fist that was missing as it were.
What to do was not thee only problem: Anyway he jopped off his lest hand and it fitted like a glove. Maybe next year he will get a right hook, who knows?

THE NATIONAL HEALTH COW

I strolled into a farmyard
When no-one was about
Treading past the troubles
I raised my head to shout.

'Come out the Cow with glasses,'
I called and rolled my eye.
It ambled up toward me,
I milked it with a sigh.

'You're just in time' the cow said,
Its eyes were all aglaze,
'I'm feeling like an elephant,
I aren't been milked for days.'

'Why is this? ' I asked it,
Tugging at its throttles.
'I don't know why, perhaps it's 'cause
MY milk comes out in bottles.'

'That's handy for the government,'
I thought, and in a tick
The cow fell dead all sudden
(I'd smashed it with a brick).

THE MOLDY MOLDY MAN

I'm a moldy moldy man
I'm moldy thru and thru
I'm a moldy moldy man
You would not think it true
I'm moldy til my eyeballs
I'm moldy til my toe
I will not dance I shyballs
I'm such a humble Joe.

THE FAT BUDGIE

I have a little budgie
He is my very pal
I take him walks in Britain
I hope I always shall.

I call my budgie Jeffrey
My grandads name's the same
I call him after grandad
Who had a feathered brain.

Some people don't like budgies
The little yellow brats
They eat them up for breakfast
Or give them to their cats.

My uncle ate a budgie
It was so fat and fair.
I cried and called him Ronnie
He didn't seem to care

Although his name was Arthur
It didn't mean a thing.
He went into a petshop
And ate up everything.

The doctors looked inside him,
To see what they could do,
But he had been too greedy
He died just like a zoo.

My Jeffrey chirps and twitters
When I walk into the room,
I make him scrambled egg on toast
And feed him with a spoon.

He sings like other budgies
But only when in trim
But most of all on Sunday
Thats when I plug him in.

He flies about the room sometimes
And sits upon my bed
And if he's really happy
He does it on my head.

He's on a diet now you know
From eating far too much
They say if he gets fatter
He'll have to wear a crutch.

It would be funny wouldn't it
A budgie on a stick
Imagine all the people
Laughing till they're sick.

So that's my budgie Jeffrey
Fat and yellow too
I love him more than daddie
And I'm only thirty two.

I SAT BELONELY

I sat belonely down a tree,
humbled fat and small.
A little lady sing to me
I couldn't see at all.

I'm looking up and at the sky,
to find such wonderous voice.
Puzzly, puzzle, wonder why,
I hear but I have no choice.

'Speak up, come forth, you ravel me',
I potty menthol shout.
'I know you hiddy by this tree'.
But still she won't come out.

Such sofly singing lulled me sleep,
an hour or two or so
I wakeny slow and took a peep
and still no lady show.

Then suddy on a little twig
I thought I see a sight,
A tiny little tiny pig,
that sing with all it's might 'I thought you were a lady',
I giggle, - well I may,
To my surprise the lady,
got up - and flew away.

AN ALPHABET

A is for Parrot which we can plainly see
B is for glasses which we can plainly see
C is for plastic which we can plainly see
D is for Doris
E is for binoculars I'll get in five
F is for Ethel who lives next door
G is for orange because we love to eat when we can get them because they come from abroad
H is for England and (Heather)
I is for monkey we see in the tree
J is for parrot which we can plainly see
K is for shoetop we wear to the ball
L is for Land because brown
K is for Venezula where the oranges come from
N is for Brazil near Venezuela (very near)
O is for football which we kick about a bit
T is for Tommy who won the war
Q is a garden which we can plainly see
R is for intestines which hurt when we dance
S is for pancake or whole-wheat bread
U is for Ethel who lives on the hill
P is arab and her sister will
V is for me
W is for lighter which never lights
X is for easter--have one yourself
Y is a crooked letter and you can't straighten it
Z is for Apple which we can plainly see

This is my story both humble and true
Take it to pieces and mend it with glue

Molly Lambert is the managing editor of This Recording. She tumbls here and twitters here.

In Which We Think of Love As Something New

Of All These Friends and Lovers

by DURGA CHEW-BOSE

Mine was not a Beatles family. This is not to say that I didn't know about the Mania and that growing up I hadn't seen the footage of frenzied girls, screaming and losing their minds, or that I too couldn't shake my ponytail, chanting, "Yellow Submarine" like other grade-schoolers at birthday parties. In high school, I was alluding to non-existent nostalgia while listening to the White Album on my Discman, and scribbling the words "Happiness is a Warm Gun" on the dirtied rubber of my friend's Chuck's. But formatively speaking, in terms of music, The Beatles were not the band that my parents had pulled from their LP collection and had sat me down, closed their eyes, bowed their heads, and said, 'Listen...learn.' And so, my relationship with the band gained most of its momentum and devotion later on; Rubber Soul being the most anecdotal album, and a personal favorite.

Heralded as their big jump, their transition from teen pop to more reflective, more deliberate songs, Rubber Soul is a critical album. Its cover, slightly warped and psychedelic, with a pumpkin-colored design spin, was nameless, a first for the group. Their four faces, their four moppy-haircuts were name enough. And though I can appreciate all that made it new—those subversive innovations in recording and production, and the band's movement towards more political lyrics, more drug-influenced persuasions—those aren't the reasons I turn to it, and return to it.

Rubber Soul is an album that I listen to in its entirety. Each song is marked by something to look out for, that enjoyable waaait for it quality. The cleanness of the remaster, the space between sounds and intent, reminded me of those little details.

Take for instance the pleading, listless sway of Lennon's "Girl.” The long, deep breath that repeats throughout is a special, very intimate sound. It's an emotion almost too desperate for words. Or maybe it's just the long, post-toke, exhale? Who knows. Either way, it isn't said verbally; the satisfaction is immediate! I have an image of them performing “Girl” in a neighbourhood jungle gym or children’s park. It’s got the lazy, punch-drunk persuasion of adults who’ve happened upon a swing set or a slide too small. Ridiculous?

Fondness for a song whose theme is the past, whose tone is entirely nostalgic, is an obvious reaction, but "In My Life" is a sentimental homecoming that I’ve always smiled along to. Call it simple, There are places I'll remember, All my life though some have changed, but like those afternoons where I choose to abandon everything and revisit old e-mails, or phone an old friend—the number, despite time, easily dialled as if imparted some unforgettable rhythm—this song too, its cadence, is wistful. The sound is the warmth of a classic television show; the kind they don’t make anymore.

The jingle-jangling "I’m Looking Through You" has a dreamy freewheeling quality to it, like running-away music, like throwing everything into a bag and disappearing with a friend, sitting shot gun and figuring it out later. Despite its excited sound, the tambourine and strumming guitar, the lyrics recall images of salvation and of recognition. The ‘You,’ allows and empowers: a song to sing at the mirror. But sometimes we aren’t listening to the lyrics, and sometimes the song is simply what it was that one year; on a summer mix to play loud with friends while carrying barbecue supplies up the stairs and to the roof. The mix was on repeat and the song played again, maybe twice more, as the sun was setting and the grill was re-lit.

 

"Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)" is another song on the album relating an embittered story with a woman: I once had a girl, or should I say, she had me...But as an acoustic song, accented with Harrison’s sitar, one might miss the punch line at the end, where he, the narrator, though based on Lennon’s infidelities, sets fire to the woman’s apartment, because when he awoke, he’d been left alone, this bird had flown. But again, story aside, the curling twang of the sitar was and still is the heart of "Norwegian Wood", marking the group’s shift towards the psychedelic.

Finally: for me, "Nowhere Man" will always be inextricably linked to Holden Caulfield. We had an assignment in school to pair a song with Catcher. This one boy in my class presented "Nowhere Man." As if there were a right answer to the assignment, a golden ticket, he seemed to find it. It was as if in that moment he raised the bar, not just of the assignment, or for that particular English class, but for that time in our lives. Hindsight can sour things, especially our memories of growing up. It can make it all sound overwrought and exaggerated, but if I remember carefully, that was the boy that caused a shift, in all the clichéd but necessary ways.

Durga Chew-Bose is the senior contributor to This Recording. She is a writer living in New York. She tumbls here.

"I'm Looking Through You" - The Beatles (mp3)

"If I Needed Someone" - The Beatles (mp3)

"Girl" - The Beatles (mp3)

"Wait" - The Beatles (mp3)

"Think for Yourself" - The Beatles (mp3)

"Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)" - The Beatles (mp3)