Wednesday, 26 May 2010


Chris Coughran and Niall Lucy talk about their approach to editing Beautiful Waste: Poems by David McComb, and the distinction between poet and musician in McComb’s work.

Were you previously aware of David’s poetry (outside of songwriting)?

CC: No, not at all – although the chances were always good. I mean, one likes to think, as a Triffids fan, of David’s songs as being somehow ‘poetic’ … But apart from one interview, given late in The Triffids’ career, McComb kept relatively quiet about his poetic aspirations. Only close friends and family – and perhaps also, it must be said, the occasional publisher – appear to have been privy to the photocopied collections of verse which, for McComb, remained utterly distinct from his prolific output of song lyrics.

NL: I knew David for many years and was aware that he wrote poetry, and also indeed short stories, so I was keen to find some of the poems for inclusion in Vagabond Holes. Then we decided to bring out the poems as a separate volume. Perhaps his short stories will be collected one day.

Tell us about the process of selecting and ordering the poems.

CC: The poems included in Beautiful Waste derive from multiple versions circulated among family and friends. To complicate matters, the manuscript provided by the McComb estate included David’s handwritten list of at least two alternative sequences, each divided into a different number of sections, containing a different number of poems, and so on … none of which made any particular formal or thematic or chronological sense. Rather than attempting to decipher what appear to be the author’s intentions, and wishing to avoid the other extreme of randomness or complete arbitrariness, Niall and I chose to group the poems loosely by theme, adhering where possible to sub-sequences identified in the materials supplied by the McComb estate.

NL: It was clear from the various manuscripts that David himself was struggling with this process, and that, in effect, he needed an editor, someone familiar with the business of ‘making a book’, as it were, and who could offer an independent perspective. We tried to retain traces of his own sequencing, where we thought the sequence had some kind of internal logic or integrity, but otherwise we opted to collect the poems around broadly conceived themes.

Which themes became apparent to you as you edited the collection?

NL: Love and loss, nature, and (my personal favourite) body parts.

CC: And – to borrow from our classificatory work on Vagabond Holes – a sense of the secluded or the unknown, or ‘unmarked tracks’.

NL: It’s not to say they couldn’t have been arranged otherwise, of course, but in the end we felt the divisions we’d imposed — or, as I prefer, created — helped to give the book a sense of shape that wasn’t contrived or determined.

How would you describe McComb’s use of cliché and everyday language?

NL: He seemed to be inspired by everyday speech — colloquial expressions — found objects, as it were — that caught his ear and seemed to take his fancy. I’d say that most of his language games, in his lyrics as well as his poems, derive from a bit of slang or a familiar turn of phrase.

CC: McComb has always struck me as a writer with a gift for the vernacular. I think many of his earlier songs, in particular, play with cliché, and in doing so transform the banal uses of everyday language into something musical, something extraordinary.

Is there an intersection of music and poetry in this collection?

CC: I think poetry and music inevitably overlap; both have rhythm, cadence, and so on. But it was important to us that the book of poetry stood as a significant accomplishment in its own right, independent of McComb’s status as a singer-songwriter. Publishers and the media see this slightly differently, of course.

NL: We wanted the poems to be engaged with for their own sake. We think they show enough verbal dexterity and feistiness to warrant that. But of course many readers will scour them for signs of McComb’s interiority, and they’ll seize upon certain known biographical facts about him. He suffered from a lot of back pain and he had a heart transplant, so a poem like ‘Bad Back Bad Heart’ would be an obvious candidate for this kind of treatment. And that’s fine. Personally, though, I’d much prefer to know what readers who didn’t know anything about David’s life or his music thought of the book — just as I’m not all that interested in hearing what people who knew David personally think about Vagabond Holes.

CC: Ultimately, of course, it’s the reader who makes the connection between McComb’s poetry and music – or not, as the case may be. It was extremely reassuring, and indeed heart-warming, to gauge John Kinsella’s reaction when we first presented him with the poems, since he so clearly recognises a poetry manuscript – as opposed to somebody’s unpublished song lyrics – when he sees one. John, as it turns out, had been trying to track down David’s poems on the internet, and knew – not quite by heart, but almost – the few poems that had already appeared on Graham Lee’s website.

Do you have a favourite poem? Which one, and why?

CC: I like ‘The Joy of Loving’ because it’s so easy to remember; an ‘aphorism for every occasion’ – the levity and brevity of which insures us against so much existentialist angst.

NL: I like the ‘body parts’ poems. I’m a big fan of abjection.

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