Tuesday, 5 June 2012

John Lennon - In His Own Write

This is where my blog title comes from: John Lennon's first book, published in 1964 in the height of Beatlemania with a quite clever play on word with: In his own right. The whole book is filled with amusing play on words with double meanings and nonsense poetry and stories accompanied by drawings. On the cover there is a Robert Freeman photograph of John. The book begins with a funny Introduction by Paul McCartney who recalls that when they were 12 years old friends (which isn't true - they hadn't met when he was twelve) he wondered : "Is he deep? He wore glasses so it was possible"
<- Example of one of his  drawings...

"John Lennon is a remarkably gifted writer... hilarious, clever and funny." - Melody Maker  
 "Irresistible... the drawings are marvelous  - Sunday Telegraph

This is the new edition of the book which includes "A Spaniard in the works", his second books, which was published in 1965. He wrote it with the help of George Harrison and during the filming of the second Beatles film: Help!.

When Lennon wrote these books the Beatles were still in the habit of singing lyrics about "Diamond and rings". In this book you get an alternative take on the Beatles' public sweetness and light:sick parodies, surreal low life tales and vengeful attacks on the media.

John Lennon told Wilfred De'Ath in a June 1965 World of books interview: "I hardly ever alter anything, because I'm selfish about what I write or big headed about it. Once I've written it I like it and the publisher sometimes says, you know, shall we leave this out or change that and I fight like mad because once I've done it, I like to keep it. But I always write it straight off." What came out of his head was spontaneous and free.    
Here is an example of one of his poems:

I sat Belonely
I sat belonely down a tree,
humbled fat and small.
A little lady sing to me
I couldn't see at all.
I'm looking up and at the sky,
to find such wonderous voice.
Puzzly, puzzle, wonder why,
I hear but I have no choice.
'Speak up, come forth, you ravel me',
I potty menthol shout.
'I know you hiddy by this tree'.
But still she won't come out.
Such sofly singing lulled me sleep,
an hour or two or so
I wakeny slow and took a peep
and still no lady show.
Then suddy on a little twig
I thought I see a sight,
A tiny little tiny pig,
that sing with all it's might 'I thought you were a lady',
I giggle, - well I may,
To my surprise the lady,
got up - and flew away.


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