Eve Vamvas talks to poet John
Hegley,
about life, love, Luton and of course dogs
Disproven by Luton
The Lord he was born in a stable
because it was full in the inn
and Luton are low down in the table
because they're unable
to win.
 John Hegley, ensconced in his
local café, immediately launches into verse without preamble
or introductions. He's quick, unpredictable and difficult to
make sense of - not unlike his poetry. "I'm keeping a low
profile right now, so as not to draw attention to
myself," he informs me with theatrical glee as the other
patrons watch the impromptu performance.
He's not doing anything of the
sort. Poet, comedian, author, radio star and Luton's own Poet
Laureate, Hegley is a willing performer. Widely acknowledged
as one of the country's most innovative comic poets, he has
seven best-selling volumes of poetry to his name, the latest
being the basis for this tour. Dog, The Spring Leg 2001 is
billed as "Deceit, desire and the Winalot. A lot of fun.
A bit of pain. Some filth. That's dogs all over." Hegley
will present dog drawings, drama, songs, poems, sculptings and
perhaps dog dancing. Originally titled Dogs, the name has been
whittled down as an exercise in poetic economy.
All things canine feature more
than a little in Hegley's work, as does his Luton infatuation.
Now residing in Newington Green, where he was born, Hegley
professes his passion for all things Luton. "As a child I
was particularly keen on Luton library and used to take out
about four books a week. I would get really annoyed with my
younger sister who could race through books because I was a
very slow reader and had to hide myself away and not talk to
anyone to get through them. Billy Bunter constituted my
primary reading matter, I immersed myself in boarding schools
adventure stories. My obsession with Luton Town FC came partly
from the need to belong to a gang."
He was a confident, academic
child who liked singing and dancing. "But it all faded
away when I was about ten. I went to a school that was very
sport focussed and I was completely useless at sport, so that
drained my confidence gradually. By the time we moved to
Bristol when I was sixteen, I was pretty socially inept. My
mates were interested in girls and I still wanted to collect
autographs at the football ground."
Hegley took A Levels and, after
a year-out realising a childhood ambition to be a bus
conductor, got a degree in European Literature. His first job
was teaching in a unit for difficult teenagers who didn't go
to school. The kids told him he was better at performing than
teaching, so he moved to London and got a job in Children's
Theatre. Then a friend advised that his sense of the whimsical
might go down well at The Comedy Store. "They were wrong
and the experience was brutal. In those days, the audience
would gong off performers when they'd had enough. I got gonged
off five consecutive nights after a maximum performance
duration of seven minutes. But I had a hunger to perform. I
like being up on stage, I want to do it - it's something in me
that's just an animal need."
Pitching his material more
successfully led to a Perrier nomination in 1989, but he is
renowned for a varied repertoire that includes: his own show
on Radio 4; John Peel sessions with musical outfit The
Popticians; origami with Otis Cannelloni and the Brown Paper
Bag Brothers; Dances with Potatoes - spuds were integrally
choreographed; and a continuing liaison with deadpan
accompanist and composer Nigel. They met while Nigel was
training as a sound engineer and asked Hegley to contribute to
his portfolio. An album resulted, and Nigel became a regular
sidekick at live performances.
I recall an evening several
years ago watching them in action in a beer tent in the Sussex
countryside and am amazed that he remembers the gig quite
clearly. But then he likes unusual venues and intimate crowd
contact. "There's a big difference between heckling and
banter, and I like banter. My ideal show is a cracking night
with a small audience followed by drinks at the bar." On
hearing that his performance at the Corn Exchange will attract
a crowd of 500, he suggests that the audience bring crops for
bartering and mingling purposes. Heinously crap joke but he
makes it funny. Sometimes you have to be there to get the
giggle.
So how does he balance the
various aspects of his work? "It's like sex; you don't
just do one thing, or at least I hope you don't, you do lots
of things that are all part of it. I love every aspect of my
job: writing, shows, interviews. Performing at the National
Theatre gave me a huge sense of achievement as it was the
first time I felt acknowledged and accepted as a poet. In
sharp contrast was a gig I did at a youth club talent contest.
I think they drafted me in to give the event a professional
veneer, but the kids seemed to get the impression I was
competing. I'd never experienced aggression on stage until
then."
"With radio you swap crowd
contact for versatility. The performance is self contained;
you can be in a café one minute and then with a quick sound
effect and a whoosh you're instantly transported to a
campsite. Basically, my work is like making a shoe: I cut,
stitch and polish it and hope that the shoe fits the
audience's foot. And who just wants one shoe, apart from a
one-legged audience?" Quite.
The book and tour entitled Dog
has to be the zenith of his four-legged fascination.
"There are so many dog-related phrases and sayings:
dog-eared, dog house, gone to the dogs... but really it's
humans I'm interested in and dogs are a way to get to them.
You know what they say about dogs and their owners looking and
acting the same way. Some people might even use a dog to get
chatting up their owner. I've got a puppet dog, obviously, but
my border collie, Scampi, didn't stay in her basket". At
my half amused cry of "for God's sake", I'm quietly
but firmly corrected "I think you mean for Dog's
sake".
So did he chat up his
daughter's mother via a dog? "Surprisingly not. She came
to a show with a friend of hers who I was sort of seeing at
the time. I was seeing some of her but not all of her - you
know what I mean. Anyway, she was a health worker then and
asked me to do an Aids benefit. Soon I got to see all of her
and we had sex, with a condom of course. So we didn't meet
through a dog specifically, although we did used to walk
Toffee together, a dog I was looking after for a friend at the
time."
What makes him laugh?
"Nothing in the media makes me laugh. John Cleese and
Bill Bailey are funny, but I get much more amusement from
every day conversations. I was talking to a bloke in a pub the
other day, telling him about a gig we were doing there with a
guy on sax and a bodhran drum and he said "Well, I
suppose you've got to take the rough with the smooth, haven't
you?" which I thought was funny. I also enjoy people
falling over - particularly kids in their eagerness to do
something daft. That always raises a laugh."
"But essentially, I think
it's important to stay a miserable bastard. It makes it much
more amusing for the audience if you're not laughing. And I
want to make people laugh - it's affirming for me and for
them. It's an ego trip and you can't give it too much credence
otherwise you'd have to walk around with a crowd of 200 people
laughing and applauding all the time. Being a father as well
as a performance poet helps me to keep a balanced view of
myself."
And what does he plan to do next? "My ambition is to
write a drama and maybe be in it and to live a peaceful family
life and help my daughter get on with her life." Far less
earnest were his final words to me - a poem, inevitably.
"An Owner's Complaint
I've got a dog that's more like a carrot
than a dog.
It's hairy,
but only very slightly,
it has no personality to speak of,
no head,
no legs,
no tail,
and it's all orange
and crunchy."
Dog, written and performed
by John Hegley is on at the Brighton Corn Exchange on 19
January.
Tickets on 01273 709 709.
copyright New Insight
2001
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