INSPIRATION
The midnight muse does not wait
For the lure of silver at someone’s gate
Nor the rattle of chains in rust-red splendour
As the moonlight beams on the night so tender.
The midnight muse has something strange to tell;
‘Silence is violence’
Say the damned in hell
To speak is to live not bound by chains
When an empty silence is all that remains
Discovered and mentored by the great band leader Bert Ambrose, Kathy Kirby was groomed in the image of his ideal woman – a kind of late 1950s hybrid of Marilyn Monroe and Diana Dors, with crisply styled peroxide hair and startlingly glossy red lips. Ambrose’s concept was dated even by the time Kirby became a major television star on the strength of her early 1960s appearances inStars and Garters. But somehow – largely thanks to a winning and cheerful personality that knew instinctively how to reach a television audience beyond the camera and, crucially, a voice of spectacular power and emotional force, which commanded attention whatever she was singing – she transcended the stylistic straightjacket he imposed on her.
As so often in the annals of show business, Kathy Kirby’s life eventually came to mirror the more dramatic lyrics of some of her songs. This, combined with the unique qualities of her voice, dusted her with an almost mythical fascination, long after her active career had waned.
Ambrose had given Kirby her first break as a teenager, employing her on a short contract as a vocalist for his dance band after she had persuaded him to let her sing for him at the Palais de Danse in Ilford when she was just 16, in 1954. She spent the next few years paying her dues on the club circuit, singing with Ambrose on and off, and gaining valuable show-business experience. But it was not until he became her manager and took control of her recording and television career that things really took off, culminating in hit singles and albums for Decca, and some hugely popular television series. Their relationship soon developed privately and they would be together until his death in 1971, an arrangement that would have disastrous consequences for Kirby.
A new play, KATHY KIRBY: ICON, running at THE WHITE BEAR theatre, Kennington, sets the record straight about Kathy’s life,both in and out of the glare of publicity.
Listen to an interview by the actress who plays kathy on BBC Radio London. The interview is apprx 2hrs 13mins into the programme
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p03412rf
There once was a man who said, “Damn!
It is borne in upon me that I am
An engine that moves
In predestinate grooves,
I’m not even a bus I’m a tram.”
NORTH CAROLINA TREES
Tall pines, straight as railway sleepers,
Stun me with their skinny beauty
Some of these were old
When Abraham Lincoln was barely knee high.
And it is even possible that George Washington
Touched one or two as he rode by.
Durham was young when these pines first sprouted life
As were Raleigh, Charlotte, and Queensboro et al
Perhaps it was the Redcoats who seeded this lush terrain
Beauty shipped all the way
From England’s green and pleasant land
To conceal the carnage of their long and murderous campaign.
Source: Kathy Kirby: Icon (UK)
OLD ROCK STARS
Old rock stars don’t die of old age
But slide away slowly from the ivory stage
Of fame and recognition.
There’s only one pre-condition;
That you don’t die with your boots on
And always look like you
Have a raging hard-on.
IN PRAISE OF MONARCHS
He dug ditches in obscurity
Raised ten children to maturity
When pushed he said;
‘I do the best I can. Life’s hard
On the working man, but I mustn’t complain
I’ve got my health, while there’s others
Who can’t stop dying for all their wealth.
All that stuff in China…I wouldn’t give it
If they changed my lot for Royalty I wouldn’t live it.
There’s more to life than being famous you know’.
IF YOU COULD HEAR YOURSELF
I wish you could listen
To the shit that
Comes out of your mouth;
Believe me when I say
It’s a lot better in than out;
Same old rhetoric;
Same old anti-everything spin;
Don’t believe the anti-christs
Who will tell you
It’s a lot better out than in.
It’s a sin to tell a lie
No matter which side you are on;
Just give it all away now
Then you can never get it back
When it’s gone,
Gone,
Gone…
PAPA
The time is near
The clock is queer
I have had more than one beer.
Papa crept downstairs
In the early morning.
The keys are close to the time.
They open the locked cabinet beneath it.
The shotgun is quickly loaded
Two in the chambers just in case
Then the gun is heeled to the wall
And his forehead firmly anchors it.
Hands reach down –
And Bang!
Papa is no more.
THE HOODED MAN AT THE FOOT OF MY BED
The hooded man at the foot of my bed
Speaks to me
Of all creation
Since the Big Bang
Being measured by the products of decay.
Insanity, chaos, corruption
Lies, rot, ruin
Sickness, dirt and rust
Shed cells, dead cells, atrophy
Sweat, ashes and dust
That at a subatomic level
Create new mass.
And this goes on infinitely.
He talks of forbidden fruit and original sin
Walking into the light
Into streets paved with gold
Of extraterrestrials, gurus, ghosts
Paradise
And mixing with heavenly hosts.
Of hell and reincarnation
Being healed
Raised from the dead
Coming back as a lumberjack
A raven
Or a hunchback
Where will it all end?
I mean to ask my hooded friend
But suddenly he is nowhere to be seen.
My Writing Life 