BBC trying to get with the Sixties.
After it was played
compere David Jacobs
repeated the title in his
suave Light Programme voice
and only just the hint of a sneer.
The panel - people like
Eartha Kitt and Pete Murray -
looked at each other, trying
not to laugh. The last thing
they wanted was to seem square.
They had got the Beatles
and those other long-haired groups.
But this jangling clattering
concoction of words, like a box
of spanners being shaken?
This was too much, would never
catch on. Jacobs pressed his buzzer.
It reached number nine.
And I've remembered
something else; a character
called Mr Jones was there.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem