My salad dressing days

November 13, 2005, 5:10 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

I wish I was a provinicial poet,
Writing a lot about nature,
Whenever I thought about London poets,
I’d mutter darkly, ‘I hate yer.’

And off I’d stomp down the wild, wild lanes
In my jeans and my wellington boots.
A provinicial poet doesn’t need lipstick
Or tights or respectable suits –

The clutter of urban life. How wonderful
Just to discard it all
And spend one’s time communing with everything,
Perched on a dry-stone wall.

And after a busy day communing
To amble back home for a bite,
Then go to the pub with some real people,
Who manage twelve pints in a night,

Which helps them get through the provincial evenings
Without too much boredom or pain.
Real people, as solid and ruddy and calm
As a London bus in the rain!

Some day I’ll go and live in the country
And many a notebook I’ll fill
With keen observations of animals (mostly
The dead ones because they keep still).

Dead sheep and squashed rabbits. Oh, how I shall love it.
My face will be peaceful and brown
And shining with love for all of creation,
Excepting those poets in town.

Wendy Cope


5 Comments so far
Leave a comment

I love Wendy Cope! She always gets it dead right. I can’t think of anything worse than sitting on a dry-stone wall for an afternoon – except possibly standing on a dry-stone wall.

Comment by Wyndham

That’s hiliarous! What a great poem.
So, I guess you’re not ready to change your name to Country Chick? 🙂

Comment by Kyahgirl

i have no words. literally none. shall regroup and come back in a bit.

Comment by surly girl

I like that, must go look up more of here work

Comment by Aginoth

And there was me, thinking “gosh, that urban chick, she’s really good at poetry”…

Comment by Pashmina

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