A people’s poem for Liverpool’s birthday

Poetry written by Merseysiders makes up the 800 line Liverpool Saga to celebrate Liverpool's 800th birthday. The Liverpool Saga is an 800 line poem written by people from across Merseyside to celebrate Liverpool's 800th birthday.


Mersey poet Roger McGough wrote the opening and closing verses, taking his inspiration from the creation of the original Letters Patent, although he admits that the first line was harder to pen than he had imagined.

BBC listener's and web users were invited to send in their contributions to The Liverpool Saga which was then compiled in to a full length poem.
Local poets Sylvia Hikins and Dave Ward whittled down over 500 submissions to create the

finished saga. Roger McGough's introductory lines apart the whole saga has been written by Merseysiders. The finished saga has now been mixed as a radio programme by Radio Merseyside producer Pauline McAdam.

Listen to the full Liverpool Saga >
Help playing audio/video

“We’re talking about 800 years and the time of King John and so forth," says Roger McGough of the saga's span.

"There were no processors in those days no electricity – it would have been a quill pen or something started the whole thing and then 800 years later people working on a computer so its that moment of time and all that length of time."

The Liverpool Saga launch

There were over 3000 lines sent in for The Liverpool Saga covering subjects including the river, factories, sport, families, disasters and music across the 800 years of Liverpool's history.
When initially launching the Liverpool Saga project Roger McGough was clear about how he thought it would develop, “Its got to be Liverpudlian – it’ll be witty and cheeky and all those good things. I suggest four lines at most – it could be two lines or an image or something overheard. I’d rather have two good lines than twenty eight. Quotable lines.”
The Liverpool Saga was first unveiled publicly on Saturday, 15 September by Roger McGough and Phil Redmond at Liverpool's St George's Hall during The Big History Show.

The Liverpool Saga

From the first tentative scratch of the penTo the keyboard’s final breathless amen,One poem. A patchwork of laughter and tears.Eight hundred lines. Eight hundred years.
800 years, oh what stories to be toldBy the people young and old -The bad times, the good times, tears and laughter.The next 800 memories are left to the young to tell thereafter.
*
I’m a Liver bird, verdigris and aloof.
They made me their emblem,They made me rustproof
And I’ll not leave this city, cos I’m tied to the roof.
Eight hundred lines is not enough
To tell your twisting tale.

What word will whisper lives now lost
In a puff of wind and ghost of snow?
So wind on through the years, old friend,
For oh so old you are.
I’ll carry you within my heart
Though I wander near and far.

Seven streets, a pool and a castle,
That’s how it all began.
A port to sail to Ireland from
Was King John’s crafty plan.
Jesters, jongleurs, troubadours,
Mummers of St George.

Through centuries of song and satire,
Scouse-sharp wit was forged;
From medieval minstrels
Using humour as their tool,
We are all born entertainers –Yet we’re nobody’s fool.

From first monk-steered ferry
To great ocean liner
Via car ferry Sea Cat
What sight could be finer
Than Liverpool’s lifeblood
Murky and grey?

River Mersey wash over me,
Whisper where your secrets lie.

I shall tell you of my familyAnd promise not to cry.
A city haunted by her past lies dreaming of her future:
The river has seen it all and bears silent witness.
Through Jesse Hartley’s growing dock
Came merchant shipping round the clock.
The port of Liverpool expanded
With every cargo newly landed.

As Mersey pilots pass the bar,
They’re guided into dock
By sighting our lady Graces
And the Liver clock!

The ferry waits but not the tide.
Blue-jerseyed men shout “Gangway Clear!”
We’re chugging away
Away from the Pier.

I’m off on the Ferry
To New Brighton Sands,
Jam butties and water bottles
Clutched in my hand.
Wind in my hair,
Salt water on my face -
My Liverpool, My home, My own special place.

Wondrous river,
Full of power and might
Flows past a city,
A heritage site.

Has anyone heard the Liver Bird -a song,a shout,a single word?
An “alright,” a “hiya”? from up there on high
Nah, me neither– maybe it’s shy.
Come on down to Liverpool beach:
Mist rising from the water in cold dawn air.

The sky is on fire: red, gold and blue.
Those seagulls, mate,
They’re bleedin’ hard.
They’re loud and tough and battle scarred.

They’d mug you for a pasty crust
And knock you to the floor concussed
The ships and the docks and the overhead train -Childhood memories…
As a lad with me mates

On a summer Sunday afternoon,
We’d walk from the bus at St Johns Lane
Down to the Pier Head,
Through the eerily quiet Dale Street and Water Street
To see Sandy and the escapologist
Entertain the crowds.

“ ‘ere luv duz dis bus stop at the Pier ‘ead?”
“Der’ll be a bloomin’ big splash if it duzn’t!”The smiling driver said.

They was launching a ship in Camell Laird
But the bottle wouldn’t break.

All hands were standing puzzled
Til some wag in the crowd
Shouted out loud“Give it to Dixie,
He’ll break it with ‘is ‘ead!”

Granda Van Engel passing through
To a New World wide and new
Placed his luggage,Carefully laid
On Hope Street flags,
And there he stayed.

www.bbc.co.uk 18/05/2007