Wendy Cope Quotes & Sayings

In my case, the long gaps between my books have got quite a lot to do with lack of confidence. A lot of the time when I'm not writing I start thinking I can't do it. — Wendy Cope

The interesting thing is that you don't often meet a poet who doesn't have a sense of humour, and some of them do keep it out of their poems because they're afraid of being seen as light versifiers. — Wendy Cope

A Green Song
(to sing at the bottle-bank)
One green bottle,
Drop it in the bank.
Ten green bottles,
What a lot we drank.
Heaps of bottles
And yesterday's a blank.
But we'll save the planet,
Tinkle, tinkle, clank!
We've got bottles -
Nice, percussive trash.
Bags of bottles
Cleaned us out of cash.
Empty bottles,
We love to hear them smash
And we'll save the planet,
Tinkle, tinkle, crash! — Wendy Cope

Never trust a journalist. — Wendy Cope

I am a poet.
I am very fond of bananas.
I am bananas.
I am very fond of a poet.
I am a poet of bananas.
I am very fond.
A fond poet of 'I am, I am'-
Very bananas.
Fond of 'Am I bananas?
Am I?'-a very poet.
Bananas of a poet!
Am I fond? Am I very?
Poet bananas! I am.
I am fond of a 'very.'
I am of very fond bananas.
Am I a poet? — Wendy Cope

Making Cocoa For Kingsley Amis
It was a dream I had last week
And some kind of record seemed vital.
I knew it wouldn't be much of a poem
But I love the title. — Wendy Cope

My heart has made its mind up
And I'm afraid it's you.
Whatever you've got lined up,
My heart has made its mind up
And if you can't be signed up
This year, next year will do.
My heart has made its mind up
And I'm afraid it's you. — Wendy Cope

Differences of Opinion

1 HE TELLS HER

He tells her that the earth is flat --
He knows the facts, and that is that.
In altercations fierce and long
She tries her best to prove him wrong,
But he has learned to argue well.
He calls her arguments unsound
And often asks her not to yell.
She cannot win. He stands his ground.

The planet goes on being round. — Wendy Cope

I was single for a long time and felt very much alone in the world, and talk of family values upset me very much at that phase in my life, because I used to think: 'What about people like me?' — Wendy Cope

I like a quiet life. — Wendy Cope

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave
They got quarters and I had a half.
And that orange it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park
This is peace and contentment. It's new.
The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all my jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I'm glad I exist. — Wendy Cope

Possibly I've become less funny as I've been happier. — Wendy Cope

I used to think all poets were Byronic Mad, bad and dangerous to know. And then I met a few. See Lamb 486:25. — Wendy Cope

New Season
No coats today. Buds bulge on chestnut trees,
And on the doorstep of a big, old house
A young man stands and plays his flute.
I watch the silver notes fly up
And circle in the blue sky above the traffic,
Travelling where they will.
And suddenly this paving-stone
Midway between my front door and the bus stop
Is a starting point.
From here I can go anywhere I choose. — Wendy Cope

Write to amuse? What an appalling suggestion!
I write to make people anxious and miserable and to
worsen their indigestion. — Wendy Cope

There is some humour in 'Family Values.' I don't want everyone to think it's not going to make them laugh. But there are quite a lot of poems there that aren't funny at all. — Wendy Cope

I think it's a question which particularly arises over women writers: whether it's better to have a happy life or a good supply of tragic plots. — Wendy Cope

There are so many kinds of awful men One can't avoid them all. She often said She'd never make the same mistake again: She always made a new mistake instead. — Wendy Cope

When a poem doesn't work, the first question to ask yourself is, 'Am I telling the truth?' — Wendy Cope

Nine-Line Triolet
Here's a fine mess we got ourselves into,
My angel, my darling, true love of my heart
Etcetera. Must stop it but I can't begin to.
Here's a fine mess we got ourselves into -
Both in spin with nowhere to spin to,
Bound by the old rules in life and in art.
Here's a fine mess we got ourselves into,
(I'll curse every rule in the book as we part)
My angel, my darling, true love of my heart. — Wendy Cope

The reason modern poetry is difficult is so that the poet's wife cannot understand it. — Wendy Cope

Everybody in this room is bored.
The poems drag, the voice and gestures irk.
He can't be interrupted or ignored.
Poor fools, we came here of our own accord
And some of us have paid to hear this jerk.
Everybody in the room is bored.
The silent cry goes up, 'How long, O Lord?'
But nobody will scream or go berserk.
He won't be interrupted or ignored.
Or hit by eggs, or savaged by a horde
Of desperate people maddened by his work.
Everybody in the room is bored,
Except the poet. We are his reward,
Pretending to indulge in his every quirk.
He won't be interrupted or ignored.
At last it's over. How we all applaud!
The poet thanks us with a modest smirk.
Everybody in the room was bored.
He wasn't interrupted or ignored. — Wendy Cope

I always tell students that writing a poem and publishing it are two quite separate things, and you should write what you have to write, and if you're afraid it's going to upset someone, don't publish it. — Wendy Cope

On Waterloo Bridge where we said our goodbyes,
the weather conditions bring tears to my eyes.
I wipe them away with a black woolly glove
And try not to notice I've fallen in love
On Waterloo Bridge I am trying to think:
This is nothing. you're high on the charm and the drink.
But the juke-box inside me is playing a song
That says something different. And when was it wrong?
On Waterloo Bridge with the wind in my hair
I am tempted to skip. You're a fool. I don't care.
the head does its best but the heart is the boss-
I admit it before I am halfway across — Wendy Cope

I have a theory that if you've got the kind of parents who want to send you to boarding school, you're probably better off at boarding school. — Wendy Cope

Bloody men are like bloody buses
You wait for about a year
And as soon as one approaches your stop
Two or three others appear.
You look at them flashing their indicators,
Offering you a ride.
You're trying to read the destinations,
You haven't much time to decide.
If you make a mistake, there is no turning back.
Jump off, and you'll stand there and gaze
While the cars and the taxis and lorries go by
And the minutes, the hours, the days. — Wendy Cope

Another Christmas Poem
Blood Christmas, here again.
Let us raise a loving cup:
Peace on earth, goodwill to men,
And make them do the washing-up. — Wendy Cope

I've said what I'm prepared to say in my poems, and then journalists think that you're going to tell them a whole lot more. — Wendy Cope

Some socks are loners They can't live in pairs. — Wendy Cope

I've never been more famous than I was, suddenly, in 1986. — Wendy Cope

I like buying clothes, especially as I get a tax-deductible allowance. — Wendy Cope