Three short poems for Mark E Smith

1996.

Starting off with an instrumental

Blazen in a fragmented fury;

Their first song stumbled along

In a bass heavy nervourness

as the band looked at each other worried

Like they were throwing

accidential thunder at the crowd

With a mellifluous speed

Until the words ‘I am coming out of the toilet’

Could be heard going through the crowd

Ricochetting eventually onto the stage

Where he sang two songs

Then fell through the drummers kit

And collapsed backstage drunk.

1991.

Popping into the Duchess for a quick pint

After missing a train home

turned into three

when Pat bumped into his brother

who worked for the NME

and was interviewing Mark

who had already gone through

four and a half pints already

and insisted he added us to his tad before adding

‘I can’t stick musicians

Like journalists you know’

And sat there pissing Pat’s brother off

With as many anti journalist jokes

As he could remember for the rest of the interview.

2010.

Clearly ruffled,

lost in the wilderness of memory

he stood there at the other side

of the bus station

his hands fluttered

with his paper

like a paper clown

lost in the upswing of a sigh

before looking at his watch

and me

and walking off

scraping insults in the wind

almost like it was

the only person left

who was listening.

(Mark Edward Smith (5 March 1957 – 24 January 2018) was an English singer, songwriter and musician. He was best known as the lead singer, lyricist and only constant member of the post-punk group The Fall, which he led from 1976 until his death.

Smith formed the group after attending a Sex Pistols gig at the Manchester Free Trade Hall in June 1976. During their 42-year existence, the Fall's line-up consisted of some 60 musicians who, with Smith, released 32 studio albums and many singles and EPs.

The three above short poems are memories of the three times I met him over a 19 year period)