:: Article

Three Poems

By Billy Childish.

the strangest thing
today dolli isn’t hard and arrogant
she isn’t puffed up and bitter
i can hear tiredness and a tremour
in her voice

she wants to know
if she can
come and visit me
things aren’t working out between her and her
new boyfriend

-ive been in margate
visiting my mum
it reminds me of when we were together
you were the first great love
of my life
now theres M
youre the same in lots of ways
hes fucking these stupid little art sluts
theyre fucking nobodys!
i tell him
theyre fucking
nothing compared to me!
but he still does it
i need to talk to you
if it tell my friends in
london
that I want to kill myself
theyre not interested
they don’t want to know about that part of me
its really doing my fucking head in!
you know
my mum said the strangest thing to me last night
she said that it doesn’t matter if things don’t work out
between me and M
because you can get back together again with billy
i said -
but mum what about kyra? He’s still with kyra mum
and she said that that dint matter
we arrange a tiome to meet and I replace the receiver

no
this girl isn’t hard and arrogant
she is lost and alone
and somehow
i wish I could have been kinder to her

a terrible thing
when keerah was 22
she found that she was 12 weeks pregnant
she looked at me with fear in her eyes
- what shall I do?
- She asked me
- – its up to you I said
- ile support you in whatever dessision you make

I looked out of the garden window
i thought I was being so holy
so decent
so understanding
but I didn’t stop to look inside
and to treat her with enough respect
to make the demands of what I wanted

i was to bissy being (understanding?)
in truth I was too young
too drunk
and too tied into my own dream
of hell
to know my own heart

i failed myself
i failed keerah
and I faild our unborn child
who I kiss now
with this poem

i am the strange hero of hunger
my girlfriend lives
on the other side of the world
and
has
started
reading
crime and punishment
by fydor dostoyevski

do you recognise the main characicter?
i ask her excitedly
- doesn’t he remind you of me?

-ive only just begun
she ansewers
whats his name?

-rodya
but all the characters
have about 3 different names
i always get confused
and
cant tell who is who
because im dislexic and don’t make sounds for the names
but rodya is for short
and
his sister is called dunya
isn’t dunya a butiful name?
if little huddie had been born a girl
we would of named her
Dunya
when I talk of the buti
of girls names
or the strange bravery
of artists
or see
the lite change
over sea
and sky
every second impossible showers of
gold
turning to terrible hues of purple
and
black
and
my
hart rate quickens
because
i am amongst
my
own
people

i am
the hero of all my favourite novels
i live in them
and they
live in me
i am Arturo bandini
on angels flight
swearing at a butiful dark haired girl
in tattered shoes
i am rodya
guilty of a terrible and senceless murder
on the streets of st peterersburg
i am the strange hero of hunger
starving to spite myself in christiana
i am johan nagel
tormentor of the midget
and suiside
i am ishmail
knocker off of tall hats
i am every novelist
and
every character ever dreamed
i am everyone of my favorite artists
and
i feel myself not one jot less
but equell to all of them
Turner
Munch
Holbine
and
Hokusi

naturally I have no heros
i am my heros
i am my brothers
and sisters
i feel myself joined by the soul
with all buti
my hart sings with every brave endevor
with the strange wings of impossible butterflys
with every rock that breaths life into the world

i stand shoulder to shoulder with
all denouncers of meaness
i honour spirit and faith
and I uphold the glorious amiture
i am in love with desperate men
with desperate hands
walking in 2nd hand shoes
serching for god
and
hearing god
and hating god
i am a desperate man buckled with fear
i am a desperate man who demands to be listend to
who demands to connect
i am a desperate man who denounces the dullness of
money
and status
i am a desperate man will not bow down to acolayed or
success
i am a desperate man who loves the simplicity of painting
and hates gallarys and white walls and the dealers in art
who loves unreasonableness
and hot headedness
who loves contradiction
hates publishing houses
and
also I am Vincent van gogh
hiroshige
and every living breathing artist
who dares to draw god
on this planet

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Billy Childish, painter, novelist, poet and musician, is the Reanaissance man of British culture.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Friday, August 9th, 2002.