Ivor Cutler (1923-2006)

Lawdie, Lawd, this blog is becoming a necrolog — too many of those who have given us pleasure & instruction & art are kicking the bucket at the end of this winter. So, besides Ali Farka Touré and Gordon Parks (see obit here), news from the U.K. says that Ivor Cutler, poeta hilaritatis maxima, has shuffled off this immoral coil. Here’s a website with basic info on Cutler .

Here’s a little Cutler work from his book South American Bookworm, which like much of his printed work is published by Arc :


I have never frolicked or romped in my life. I have, now and again, had a good time in a vigorous way, but frolick or romp, never. You have to be middle class to do that, and I never aspired to such heights. Depths. (Where did that come from?)

And here’s one bringing up his Scottish origins from the book Scots Wa’ Straw:


I put a nettle in my boot and squashed it with my boot. I took it out then washed it at the sink. NETTLE SOUP! NETTLE SOUP! YOU’ll NEVER WANT FOR HEALTHY FEET!! The jaggy bits are squashed to death and lie there blinking in the sun and sometimes in the stars. Come on girls, come dance with me and slip along the floor, then catch the jealous looks you get out of the corner of your eye, as you sit on your chair and wipe them dry with a rough rag.

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