Lyrics and poetry; what’s the difference?
I know all about poetry. We covered the Romantics at school, and focused on Shelly, he the one going on about his girlfriend refusing to kiss him. Deep stuff. His most famous poem, the one we all know, is about an itinerant from a long way away, somewhere sandy in fact, who’d found a damaged monument. Some critics reckon it was a wee bit more profound, but that’s what critics say to justify their existence.
Instead of being allowed to enjoy the Romantics’ creations, we steadfastly shovelled them into the ditch of what each one means, to slightly paraphrase Dylan. That killed them all, so perhaps instilling bias in me. But meaning? The Romantics were so spaced out most of the day on booze and/or hard drugs they had little idea what their writings meant. So perhaps not that far from the lyricists of my youth, the American new age, writing about stuff that seemed more important to me than moonbeams hitting the sea.
The 60s and onwards has been a golden time for lyrics, with the protest songs from Baez and her ilk. I think they changed the outlook of youngsters at the time, and since, which is more than Shelley has managed with his sunlight clasping the earth, pretty though the mental image is.
The problem with modern lyricists is there are so many. The filter of time hasn’t ensured only the fittest survive, probably the saving grace of much of the poetry at the time of the Romantics. We have to sieve the good from the bad ourselves, or rather what works for us, or maybe on us, from the stuff that is best heard in a lift. Much of it is magic though, with words and phrases to delight, shock, embolden, empathise, and, maybe, just maybe, understand.
It isn’t only the big names though. Very few have heard of Austin John Marshall, but he wrote a memorable, and heart-rending, anti-war song in the 60s called ‘Dancing at Whitsun’. Steeleye Span recorded it, but are easily dismissed as they were a folk-rock group, users of electric guitars no less. How could they be considered purveyors of literature?
The song revolves around women walking to a village at Whitsun, and en route passing their memories of those ‘husbands and lovers, and fathers and sons’, which, like the ‘forests of oak trees before, all gone to be wasted in battles’, but the young men, who cannot turn the fields, are named in the ‘fine roll of honour where the maypole once stood’ as small consolation. Small, but it’s all the ladies, who remember them, have. It is as relevant now as it was in the 60s, and as it always has been.
Lyrics seem not to be considered as literature because they use modern language, just as the Romantics did in their day. These words can resonate with modern people for that reason.
Take ‘Everybody Hurts’. It’s a song, a poem, about people who are so depressed that they are considering the ultimate solution. The song says there are others just like you. Just like everyone. Whether this helps or not is open to argument, but it’s better than nothing. The fact that a pop group sings it should not take away from the lyrics, which tells those alone at night to ‘just hold on’.
Talking of fame, let’s mention one of the most famous: Queen. Some of their output is nothing more than froth, but the songs that have relevance to the condition of Freddy Mercury towards the end will pull at the heart. Or should. Not poetry?
A little down the scale of the famous we might mention The Police. ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me’ is about something no other lyricist/poet to my knowledge even came near to, or even approached. It’s about a teacher who is uncomfortable with a pubescent girl invading his personal space. And there’s the suggestion he might give in to his urges. Not a comfortable song.
Mind you, Sting has given us different perspectives in other songs. Take ‘I’ll be Watching You’. It’s all about a stalker who is unable to cope with his ex finding someone else. He admitted it was all about him. It is repulsive. I’m not one to promote censorship, but I’d be happy banning the song on air.
There is a much-derided university degree course on Taylor Swift, probably the most successful female singer currently around. And possibly ever. She writes all her own lyrics or, at least, has a hand in them. Most are about the pains of a growing woman from her late teens onwards. Some find it all tedious. Rather like Shelley and his dream girl not kissing him? But there are some lovely lines. Then, every now and again, she comes up with something everyone can relate to. ‘You Need to Calm Down’ is all about the anger of the prejudiced. Is it poetry? More to the point, if you think it is not, then why not?
Lucinda Williams came up with ‘Are You All Right?’. This one resonated with me as when I was at college a fellow student just drifted away from her parents, old friends, and us. Her mother came to the college to ask after her. The one phrase she said repeatedly was, ‘I just want to know if she’s all right.’ Williams’ lyrics have the phrase repeated throughout.
For a real shocker, Susan Vega’s Luka is enough to stop anyone in their tracks. The lyrics are matched to a bland tune, but the subject is anything but. Luka is Vega, a child being abused by her parents, with frequent beatings. The last lines are:
They only hit until you cry
And after that, you don’t ask why
You just don’t argue anymore
The last line is repeated twice more.
Involving other people in her pain, the lyrics suggest, will only make it worse. If you ask her how she came by her injuries, she’ll say she walked into the door again.
It’s heart-breaking. It can change attitudes. It makes you think. It makes you understand. It must make you want to act.
What more do you want from a poem? If it’s a bit of pain . . .
Poems and lyrics are eternal, mainly due to our refusal to learn from history. One that was thrown up on my YouTube feed a day after a white supremacist was shot dead in the US was a song by Chumbawamba. Yes, the ones who recorded Tubthumping. Before then, 10 years previously, they came up with an entirely different song, one conforming to their anarchic beliefs. Rudolf Hess had just died in Spandau prison and this was followed by pro-nazi riots in various places. The song was in response, but has relevance to the aftermath of the death in 2025.
The day the nazi died
They’re here, They’re there, they’re everywhere
They’re here, They’re there, they’re everywhere
They’re here, They’re there, they’re everywhere
They’re here, They’re there, they’re everywhere
We thought that after the war the Nazis vanished without a trace,
But the battalions of fascists still dream of a master race.
The history books they tell us of their defeat in ’45,
But they all came out of the woodwork on the day the nazi died.
They say the prisoner at Spandau was a symbol of defeat,
While Hess remained imprisoned then the fascists they were beat.
So the promise of an Aryan world would never materialize.
So why did they all come out of the woodwork
The day the nazi died?
They’re here, They’re there, they’re everywhere
They’re here, They’re there, they’re everywhere
They’re here, They’re there, they’re everywhere
They’re here, They’re there, they’re everywhere
The world is riddled with maggots. The maggots are getting fat.
They’re making a tasty meal of all the bosses and bureaucrats.
They’re taking over the boardrooms and they’re fat and full of pride.
And they all came out of the woodwork on the day the nazi died.
So if you meet with these historians, I’ll tell you what to say.
Tell them that the Nazis never really went away.
They’re out there burning houses down and peddling racist lies
And we’ll never rest again until every nazi dies.
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