A verse to drumming…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s fine expletives are from the Miller in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales – ‘By St Frydeswide!’ and ‘By armes, blood and bones!…’
I think I might try to slip these into conversation today…
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I’m feeling a bit shivery and headachey today (it must be some creeping November bug trying to get me) so instead of trying to do anything demanding on the buzzing brain, such as composing a blog post, I’ll dig out and rehash something from those dark days when I was blogging on a thing called MySpace. It’s just a matter of copying it out… Here goes… let’s see if I can actually manage to type…

What is it about drummers?…
What is it about poets?…
Surprisingly, drummers and poets, as people, appear to me to have quite a lot in common.
Some of the words and phrases that spring to mind are: over-confident, boorish, smug, arrogant, pushy, self obsessed; they are precious about everything they do; they are often big drinkers – they labour under the mistaken belief that they do their best work when they are pissed… Another phrase which just sprang to mind is ‘smart-arse’. Yes, drummers and poets are generally speaking, smart-arses…
Of course, all this comes from just my personal experience you understand dear reader. Yes, I’m sorry if it all sounds a bit harsh and judgemental. It is… I’m sure that out there, in the great wide world, there are lovely drummers and poets who are well-balanced, quiet, generous, modest, reliable, kind, easy-going people, and who are sensitive and subtle souls, who are friends to, and are liked by, all… It’s just that I can’t remember ever meeting one of them…
I once knew someone (who, for the sake of my personal safety shall remain nameless) who was that strange hybrid, both a rock drummer and a poet. Imagine what he was like! I hope he was a lot better at knocking out poems than he was at drumming, because he wasn’t much cop at the latter. I am, of course, no judge of poetry, so I can’t really comment on that part of his output – it may be wonderful for all I know… but I’d be very surprised if it was…

About Dave Whatt

Grumpy old surrealist artist, musician, postcard maker, bluesman, theatre set designer, and debonair man-about-town. My favourite tools are the plectrum and the pencil...
This entry was posted in art, brain, expletives, Grumpiness, humour, information, music, observations, people, poetry, words and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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