THE URBANE SPACEMEN
THE URBANE SPACEMEN
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| Vivian Stanshall |
With the
sad death of Neil Innes this year
We have
lost one of comic song’s finest tunesmiths.
And
while Innes wrote The Urban Spaceman,
Viv
Stanshall of course stayed urbane.
And
suburbane too, in his Crouch End home,
Fled
from Finchley, in which he would burn,
But
before that, he taught sophistication
And
flair, language games.
One of
the great English Eccentrics, alone
That
eccentricity led to exile. And yet,
On his
Bristol boat, Viv was happy,
And
productive too, let’s be frank. Creating
His
musical Stinkfoot and more, his hands
Shaped
ukuleles, and painted ornately,
Before
parts and sections of surrendered
Sanity
walked the plank.
Buggered
by booze all too soon,
While
addicted to his regular valium chasers,
The
vital Viv so embodied the kind of soaring
Spirit
we need; for he could laugh at the dark
And then
swallow it whole with his cockles,
With
whelks and strongwaters to power
His faltering joie de vivre. Tragically,
the Viv
In the
vivre died as a cigarette Viking,
Burning
in bed after decades of becoming his own
Signal
flare. With his radio flashes, light beams
And
tonal voice for all classes, along with the terrapins
He kept,
he was a ‘Terrorpin’ and volcano, with pain
And
humour face lava, sometimes soothed by ease,
Cool and
care. Every word he wrote was a song.
Each
thought, a silly symphony for us.
A 78 rpm
for all ages, crackling in crazed
Shadow
as he in turn cackled on. And while
Chaos
rose, he conducted the fury and sound
Felt
inside it. Urbanity – as opposed to
Urbanism
– nurtured and frequently endured,
Kept him
strong. Despite his moments
Of
sickness and pain, he was a Prince of charm
In the
sixties; a one-man riot of lyrics
And
humour, and madness’s sent
With
God’s stamp, and while they may not
Have
received the full lick, today they still
Seal a
lesson: for if he were here now,
He’d
denounce this to make Corona
Near
Bona and quite unmistakeably camp.
Something
to be suffered, Dear boy,
But with
a smoker’s cough fast phlegmed
Over; a
thing to be faced down
With
that fury, capped by odd hats, kept
And
pursed, so as to ridicule and reverse
And
expose the sheer ridiculousness of it,
For even
as the serious struck him,
He’d
still be singing and writing away
Time’s
lisped curse. But Viv and Neil
Are now
dead. Viv and Neil now
Are
Spacemen. From their inner to outer,
And to
the back of beyond, both have fled.
Now this
is a time we cannot. Its why we need
Them
here, more than ever. Their special slant
Pushed
an angle that no commissioned angel
Could
ease. So, come back, too, Peter Cook,
Heathcote
Williams, and Ken Campbell.
As there
are none like you. Things stopped shining,
And as
you can see, light does freeze. It certainly
Did,
when you left, and there is little now
To
replace it. These are Brecht’s dark times
As
sequel. And we need you Viv, and that belch.
To make
this seem better fast. As now ‘Two slightly
distorted guitars..’ can’t quite court us. And so,
When
hope dies, one’s heroes must be
Rearranged
to sing sweetly and then
Revived in oneself.
David Erdos, April 26th
2020
For more poems from David Erdos visit The Corona Diaries collection
David Erdos is an actor, writer, director with over 300 professional credits. He is a published poet, playwright, essayist and illustrator. He has lectured on all disciplines in theatre and film for leading performing arts colleges, schools and universities around the world. His books include EASY VERSES FOR DIFFICULT TIMES, THE SCAR ON THE CLOUD, OIL ON SILVER, NEWS FROM MARS, CHANGING PLACES WITH LIGHT (penniless press) and BYZANTIUM with the photographer Max Reeves. He is a contributing editor for The International Times and maker of documentaries all over the world. David’s work has been acclaimed by many leading figures including Harold Pinter, Heathcote Williams, Alan Moore, Andrew Kotting, Chris Petit and Iain Sinclair in whose recent book THE LAST LONDON, David features. He can be reached at David.erdos@sky.com.
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David Erdos
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© David Erdos has asserted his moral rights as author of his work and has full copyright.
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