conceptual – Robert Garnham

Honk

Honk

Oh, when the goose is amorous,
Willing to express his tender romantic inclinations
To Mrs Goose
And love is quite the possibility,
Goose poetry forms in his mind,
And words take on extra meaning
To which he gives voice,
To goose sonnets and goose odes
To explain his heartfelt love.
He takes a deep breath 
And strikes her gentle shoulder
And says
HONK

A storm of words cascades through his brain!
He eulogises the sweetness inherent in Mrs Goose
That she should set afire his soul
With burning lust,
That he should softly purr this tender refrain:
HONK

And Mrs Goose is turned on by his words,
Turned on by the subtlety of his eloquence
And replied with great charm
And a keen eye for erotic repartee
HONK

William Shakesgoose with his feathery quill
Penned odes to love which on the page he did spill
Explaining what it mean to be alive and be free
That even today we should proudly quote he
Standing proud on that Elizabethan stage and proclaiming
HONK

Oscar Wildgoose, with a fey wave of his wing
Could reduce a room to laugher with his legendary wit
For language danced at his beck and call,
Such hilarious put downs and Bonne mots 
For he was often heard to quip:
HONK

Flying to Belgium
The pilot just happened to be a goose
Came over the tannoy to give us
The expected arrival time in Brussels
HONK

A crowd of sexed up male gooses
Gathered outside the vehicle hooter testing facility
They’re getting ever so wound up
By the sky sexuality of the
Noises coming from within.
Oh, baby baby,
Talk dirty to me.
HONK

Goose literature 
Translated for a feathery audience
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
HONK
Les Miserables
HONK
The Canterbury Tales
HONK
Marcel Proust’s A la recherche du temps perdu 
HONK HONK
(It’s in two volumes)
And perhaps
A haiku
HONK

The man of my dreams, so butch and fit 
With a face like Adonis and the body of a god
Oh, I said to him, sing for me, Stefan,
Give voice to your
Rampant masculinity
And he said
.
.
.
.
HONK

Are you cool?

Hello, here’s a new poem. I hope you like it.

Hello! The new book from Robert Garnham

My new collection Hello!, has just been published by Puddlehopper Books. And I’m really excited about it!

I do believe that Hello! contains some of the best poems I’ve written. Some of them were featured in my show Bouncer, which I performed last year, and in the version of Juicy which I’ve been performing this year.

The book is a pleasant mix of comedy and serious poems.

You can purchase a copy here if you’re interested : https://robertgarnham.bigcartel.com/product/hello

An Evening with the Professor of Whimsy

Hello, you are cordially invited to spend an hour in the company of Robert Garnham, the Professor of Whimsy! Over the course of the hour Robert performs some of his best known and funniest poems. The last twenty minutes is a stand alone theatre piece called Mr Juicy.

If you like what you see, feel free to pop something in this tip jar! https://ko-fi.com/robertgarnham

The show can be watched right here. Enjoy!

Annie Edson Taylor

Annie Edson Taylor

The first person who went over Niagara Falls in a barrel
Was Annie Edson Taylor.
It wasn’t some daredevil gentleman in a wax moustache,
It was Annie Edson Taylor.
She had grey hair and a severe bun and looked
For all the world like a Sunday school teacher,
Because she was a Sunday school teacher.
Times were hard in 1901
And she was Annie Edson Taylor.

She can be seen in grainy photos,
Her black skirts and sensible boots, and a pure white
Long-sleeved blouse done up with a collar and a brooch,
She looked like she took no prisoners.
I’m going over Niagara Falls in a barrel, she said,
And good luck to anyone who tried to
Talk her out of it.
Annie Edson Taylor.
And she would do it quickly.
Taylor swift!

Things are getting desperate and you need some dough
Fortune comes with fame it’s the only thing you know
Your life has been so normal so I guess it’s just a blip.
You jump into a barrel ride that river to the lip.

Heart in your mouth as you plummet like a stone.
The world will know your name but for now you are alone.
You demonstrate resilience, you’re ever so brave.
Perhaps you won’t be buried in that nameless pauper’s grave.

The beast she tamed was seldom forgiving but for her
It purred like a cat.
The other beast was destitution
And that was far less placid, and it roared like a tiger.
Annie Edson Taylor,
You disappeared,
Conned out of your money, your belongings stolen,
And time ran out, you faded,
Annie Edson Taylor,
Subsumed into the fuzz and static of folklore.

My mate Ethan wears shorts when he’s
Riding around on his moped.
And he thinks that’s pretty dope,
But you went over Niagara Falls in a barrel.
That’s the last time I moan
Before going to the dental hygienist .
You went over Niagara Falls in a barrel.
You were Annie Edson Taylor.
Noone can take that away,
You were Annie Edson Taylor.
You were audacious.
You were Annie Edson Taylor.
You were sixty two.
You were Annie Edson Taylor.
Sticking it to the men.
You were Annie Edson Taylor.
Queen of the mist.
Annie Edson Taylor.
You died in poverty.
Annie Edson Taylor.

Casserole

1.

You know what it's like.
It's just gone three in the afternoon
And you get a sudden pang
For casserole.
Not quite as full on as a stew,
Not quite as funky as a hot pot,
Not quite as opaque as soup
Nor even a broth with its
Meaty meaty chunks,
Casserole, winter warmer,
Dumpling soaker,
Casserole casserole casserole,
Mmm mmm mmm!

Traipsing round the supermarket aisle
Where is the casserole? This'll take a while 
I tell you what will a-make a-me smile 
A glimpse of casserole, I would run a mile
Like a character from mythology, a personal trial
Casserole casserole casserole,
Mmm mmm mmm!

Excuse me mister manager
Supermarket manager
Where is the casserole,
Don't hold it back!
Excuse me mister manager
Supermarket manager
Where is the casserole,
It's something that you lack!

Casserole casserole casserole,
Mmm mmm mmm!

And the supermarket manager said

2.

I am the very model of a supermarket manager
We have so many bargains here we'd see off any challenger
We sell our food in tins and packs and sometimes in a canister
And if somebody makes a mess I have to call the janitor.
I am so damn professional I'm nothing like an amateur
Our shelves are always fully stocked, our sugar it is granular
I make a daily sales forecast with several parameters
We have a fine display in here of spoons and forks and spatulas
Our singles night is Wednesday the place is full of bachelors
I am the very model
Yes I am the very model
Yes I am the very model
Of a supermarket manager!

(He is the very model of a supermarket manager!)

I have so many colleagues here and staff and several underlings
I go straight home it's getting late I strip down to my underthings 
I'm not about to come on to you if that is what you're wondering
Cos I'm a decent sort of chap though often prone to blundering
The music that I hear at night is shopping trolleys trundling
It fills me with a strange delight I cannot stop from shuddering
A queue of shoppers in a row, the slowest till is the one working
Our motto is Grab What You Can, a philosophy which underpins
Our shareholders and chief exec, our profits they are funnelling
I am the very model
Yes I am the very model
Yes I am the very model
Of a supermarket manager!

(He is the very model of a supermarket manager!)

But I don't know if we've got
Casss-errrrrrr-roooolllllle!

I'll ask Janet.

Oh, Janet?

3.

What?

You got any of the good stuff, Janet?

And iiiiiii-eeeeeee-iiiiiiiiii-eeeeeee-iiiiii,
Will always loooovee
Souuuuuuuuuupppppp.

No Janet, the other thing?

Oh yes.

(To the tune of Alejandro, by Lady Gaga)

I've looked everywhere
In the stock room
But I haven't got a pack n't got a pack.
In the freezer
In the stock room
Not even in the chiller on the shelf.

You know that I love casserole,
Hot like stew or a sausage roll
At this point I do suggest
Pot Noodle

Don't look like we 
Have got any
Casserole -ole,
I'm not your babe
With casserole
Haven't got none,
Not in a pack 
Nor in a box
Just a small back
We haven't got
We haven't got
Any cass'role.

Any cass'role
Any cass'role
Cassy cassy cass'role
Cassy cassy cass'role

Any cass'role
Any cass'role
Cassy cassy cass'role
Cassy cassy cass'role

Stop, please!
Just let me go!

I've got a spillage in aisle six.

4.

Tell me young man,
Why do you like casserole so much?

I live a life devoted to it
And it often gets me grumpy
That a common misconception is
That it's cold and ever so lumpy.

A casserole is different
And lifts me high anew
It fills me with a warmth inside
That you don't really get with stew.

And stroganoff can bugger off
Please take away that bowl
And if you really love me true
Just give me casserole.

I spent a night of bliss with Trish
So sexual so winsome so fetching
She gave me a plate of beef bourgignon
I spent the whole night retching.

Casserole casserole casserole
Just the sound of it makes me tingle.
Casserole casserole casserole.
It's probably why I'm still single.

5.

I'm sorry I can't help you
With that food that you do seek
The only thing that I suggest
Is to come back next week.

Our casserole it takes its toll
And I really don't want to harm ya
Perhaps young man I could tempt you
With a chiller fridge lasagne?

6.

Dinner.
I want for dinner
A dish that I can have with wine
It's the one thing on my mind.
Hunger.
Increasing hunger.
An empty stomach makes a growling sound
It's enough to bring me down.

This supermarket hasn't got any casserole.
And now I will take my leave!

Came in
Around 3.30
Thought it would only take a smidge
Headed to the chiller fridge
Empty
It was so empty
A gap where obviously it should have been
Everyone could hear me scream.

This supermarket hasn't got any casserole.
And now I will take my leave!

Stocktake,
The latest stocktake
It says you had some yesterday
Now they all have gone away
Checking
The best before date
This supermarket
Hasn't got
It hasn't got
Any casserole
This supermarket
Hasn't got
It hasn't got
Any casserole
And
Now 
I
Will 
Leeeeeeaaaaavvvvee!

7.

But they had some in Aldi.

Yo-Yo : Ruminations of an Accidental Poet – Collected Essays

Yo-Yo: Ruminations of an Accidental Poet, published by Puddlehopper, is now available to purchase! Telling stories from fifteen years as a performance poet. Festivals, fringes, fleeting appearances on TV, filming, faffing around with props, flopping at slams, it has it all! Essays from Write Out Loud, Chortle, Litro Magazine and and Torquay Museum’s lecture series, and some written specifically for this collection. Plus one new poem! Details on how to order this book will be revealed shortly.

Here’s the blurb:

In 2008 Robert Garnham thought he’d give performance poetry a try, having never heard of it before. What followed was to be fifteen years of crazy poetry adventures in all sorts of different venues. These collected essays describe, with humour and warmth, gigs in every part of the UK (and further afield), shenanigans at music festivals, angst at the Edinburgh Fringe and every conceivable type of poetic misadventure.

‘As Robert Garnham has been a huge influence on me as a comedy spoken word artist, I read this collection of essays with great anticipation. It didn’t disappoint! A wonderfully entertaining read’. (CLIVE OSEMAN).

You can order the book from this link:

https://robertgarnham.bigcartel.com/product/yo-yo-ruminations-of-an-accidental-poet

Bouncer

Robert has the chance to be on prime time TV! What could possibly go wrong? A comedy poetry show about not becoming famous.

Join performance poet Robert Garnham for his new solo show, Bouncer. When Robert is asked to perform on the UK’s biggest TV talent show, he dreams of fame and fortune and never having to leaflet in Edinburgh again! But of course, these things never go the way you want them to go . . . An hour of storytelling, poetry and comedy about fame, and hope, and dreaming.

‘Playful, warm . . Funny and always surprising’. (Write Out Loud)

‘Wise’. (Word NYC).

‘Clever and entertaining’. (Barnstaple Theatrefest).

‘There’s warmth in his whimsy, it’s sturdy not flimsy’. (Matt Harvey)

‘Witticism, wordplay and wistful romanticism’. (Dandy Darkly)

On a cold, January evening, I caught a train from Devon to London. I was looking for some sense of magic in the air, a barely-perceptible tingle as if fortune were tickling my conscience and smoothing the way to a stardust future. But the train was cold, and dinner was a chicken tikka pasty I’d bought from the convenience store next to the station.

The countryside was hidden in darkness. Beyond the reflection of my own face I could make out tiny villages, clusters of lights in the middle of nowhere, lonely cow barns lit up against the frost, and I thought, do any of these people also dream of everlasting fame?

If you enjoy this video, feel free to pop something into my tip jar: https://ko-fi.com/robertgarnham

Bouncer

If you would like to see a short documentary / video diary about the process to learn Bouncer, this can be found here:

Rekkuds

This is a poem about a man who’s obsessed with his record collection. Taped live at Exeter’s Taking the Mic, November 2023. I hope you like it.

Rekkuds

Rekkuds

I like my rekkuds
I’ve got one or two
Playing my rekkuds
Is something I do.

They’re mostly jazz,
The rekkuds I play.
Whenever I listen
The world melts away.

I went to the rekkud shop and I said to the chap in there, I said,
I thought you liked jazz?, and he said, I do like jazz,
And I said, if you like jazz so much,
Then how come you ain’t bought any of these rekkuds?

I like my rekkuds.
33 rpm
I go home at night
I’m surrounded by them.

I went to this party and this bloke says to me, got any
Kylie Minogue?
I said, bugger off with your Kylie Minogue.

I like my rekkuds.
They’re mostly jazz.
I play them loud
So I can hear them
When I’m having a wazz.

I went to the hardware shop the other day and I bought a bucket,
Just a plain ordinary bucket, and when I paid for it,
The bloke behind the counter looked at my bucket
And he said, ‘Enjoy’.
How the bloody g hell am I meant to enjoy a bucket?

I like my rekkuds.
Of that I’m quite certain.
I play Frank Sinatra in the shower.
I face the vinyl curtain.

I saw a friend of mine, I asked him what job he had now,
He said, beefeater. He meant the restaurant but I said, oh,
You mean the Tower of Lunnon? Nobody laughed.
Why didn’t you laugh, I asked my mates, you miserable lot.
They said,
We would have done, if we’d have known it was funny.

I like my rekkuds.
I left a Thelonious Monk rekkud in the car.
Someone broke in
And added two more.

I treat my body like it’s a temple.
Shame it’s been
Converted into a Wetherspoons.

I like my rekkuds.
I like this poem.
I’ve made it to the end, for once.
Must be some kind of
Rekkud.

My new show, ‘Bouncer’ – A progress report

So I’ve performed my new show five times now. And I’m performing it again tomorrow in Paignton, to an invited audience at a secret location. I’m starting to get to know it now, because these sorts of things only seem to come alive once they’ve been seen by an audience.

In a sense, I only really discovered what the show was about once audiences had seen it. It’s far darker than I thought, with themes touching on fame, ambition, truth, disappointment, even mental health.

There are poems which always seem to get good reactions from the audience. Two of these, ‘Who Wants Fame?’, and ‘Fabaranza’, are real fast-paced silly poems. ‘Zach’ always seems to go down well, too. As does ‘You Should Write A Poem About That’. In the latter poem, I decided to employ a puppet so that it appeared that I was having an actual conversation with someone, and I think this part of the show really works.

The first place I performed the show was at the St. Anne’s Centre in Barnstaple, a wonderful ex-chapel with very creaky floorboards and Gothic architecture. It’s so old that the new extension on the side was built during Tudor times! I performed the show four times here and had some lovely audiences. Last week I performed the show in Guildford, upstairs at The Keep pub, to another lovely audience. I made a slight change for this gig, adding a poem at the start of the show, ‘Coffee Shop’, which I’d written in an attempt to emulate the style of Dame Edith Sitwell.

On the way home from Guildford, I pondered on the script and how there are several moments where it seems that the tension needs popping. To relax I listened to one of my favourite comedians, John Mulaney, but instead of relaxing, I listened to how he would do this during his own monologues. I’ve since added three ‘tags’, as the Americans call them, moments where I comment on what I’ve just said, hopefully for some audience reaction. I’ll be using these ‘tags’ during the Paignton performance this week.

The thing about a new show is that one is always comparing it with the show that came before. The previous show, ‘Yay!’, accompanied the Burning Eye book of the same name, and I performed it over two years. I’d also written and rehearsed the show during lockdown, so I knew the thing inside out. But there was always the sense that the scope of the show was limited because it had to use poems from the book.

With ‘Bouncer’, the sky was the limit, and while I was free to choose the subject matter, I then had to write bespoke poems to fit in. So it felt with ‘Bouncer’ that the poems were not as well established as those in ‘Yay!’, particularly because the poems in ‘Yay!’, had been written over a period of five years, not a few weeks! Consequently, I rehearsed much, much more because I wasn’t sure myself whether they should have been in the show at all.

But I’m now much more relaxed about the show. I know it inside out, more than I probably ever did with ‘Yay!’, and because of this I can have fun with my voice and delivery and movement and all of the other things that a performance poet has to think about, rather than just trying to remember what comes next.

So, basically, I’m very happy with how the show is going. The next stop is the Edinburgh Fringe in August, and who knows what that will bring?

Below is a list of the poems in the show, as well as a video of ‘You Should Write a Poem About That’.

Coffee Shop
Zach
You Should Write a Poem About That
Who Wants Fame?
Beard Envy
London is Mine for the Taking
The Contestants Await
Fabaranza
Your City Never Seemed So Cruel
Woodlouse Boy