Beef And Dairy Network - Episode 19 - Michael Banyan

Episode Date: January 23, 2017

Henry Paker joins in for this episode which features an interview with Bovine Poet Laureate, Michael Banyan. We also hear some of your letters on the topic of cows’ eyes.   By Benjamin Partridge and Henry Paker. Thanks to Beth Eyre.   Lid Licker poem by Rob Auton (www.robauton.co.uk) with original music by Timothy Tate (www.timothy-tate.com)   Music: “Introspection” by Eric Matyas www.soundimage.org   Stock media provided by Setuniman/Pond5.com and Soundrangers/Pond5.com

Hello, stick around after the final credits at the end for a post-credits treat. The Beef and Dairy Network is sponsored by Mooey's XL, the new bovine pacification lozenge from Mitchell's. If it's not Mitchell's, get back in the truck. Mooey's XL calms even the most aggravated meat beast without the need for complicated tranquilizer systems. And the new XL formulation means just one lozenge will leave even your largest milking mary strung out for days.

For 10% off your next order, simply drop any lawsuits against us. Hello and welcome to the Beef and Dairy Network podcast, the number one podcast for those involved or just interested in the production of beef animals and dairy herds. The Beef and Dairy Network podcast is the podcast companion to the Beef and Dairy Network website and a printed magazine brought to you by new Mooey's XL bovine pacification lozenges. Mitchells have actually sent us a promotional box of Mooies XL, and I have to say, here at Beef and Dairy HQ, they are a total hit. The packaging warns that they are only suitable for cows, horses, camels, and other mammals that you couldn't single-handedly lift,

but we've found them to be perfect for relaxing after a long week at work, silencing a whimpering baby, or tranquilising an aunt who's upset because she's fallen victim to identity theft. Last week when I took a couple, at one point my heart rate slowed to six beats a minute, and if that's not relaxing, I don't know what is. This month we hear some of your letters on the subject of cow's eyes. But first, earlier in the week I spoke to well-known poet Michael Banyan. Probably best known for his appearances on BBC Radio 4's Is There a Poet in the House? and Sky

Arts' Poet in a Jumper on a Beach, this month sees the publication of Crab of the Land, his first volume of work since he became the Bovine Poet Laureate. Hello, my name is Michael Banyan and I'm a poet. Hello Michael, thanks for coming on the podcast. Now, of all our guests, I think you probably need to introduce yourself the least. Given the level of success and fame that you've gained in the last couple of years, it's been stratospheric, isn't it? Well, yeah.

I mean, I don't want to be big headed about it, but I am absolutely massive at the moment. Did you ever think when you started out writing poetry that you'd end up with this kind of celebrity status? No. Like a lot of people, I initially got into poetry for the money. But the more I worked and the more of my words I put out there, the more I started to realise that there is also a lot of fame attached. And it's not something I was expecting.

It's not something I was prepared for. I confess it did go to my head. Now, yes, this touches a bit on your lifestyle, which has been under some scrutiny recently. There's been a lot of pictures of you in the papers, a lot of toxic chat about what your lifestyle is like. How do you respond to those things that are written about you? Well, I admit it, you know, hands up.

I went off the rails, you know. I'm not proud of it. It's not edifying when you open the papers and you see photos of yourself stumbling out of Spaghetti House at 1 a.m. with Haruki Murakami on one arm and bits of bruschetta on the other. You wake up hungover. You think, who am I going to find in my kitchen today? You walk in and it's Jonathan Franzen again, just sitting there with an empty bag of kettle chips on his head. He looks at you, plugs your eyes. He says, should we go and walk

around Tate Modern talking shit? And you say yes. And is this a chapter of your life that you think is behind you or is it something that you actually enjoy? No, it's very much in the past. Now, I've taken my foot off the gas completely in that respect. I mean, if Ira Glass calls me up now, I just don't answer. I can't afford to lose five days. So this new chapter in your personal life and the turning over of a new leaf seems also to coincide with a new chapter in your professional career as a poet when it was announced last year that you became bovine poet laureate so how did that come about well it's an interesting story i was doing a

spoken word event in a bar in east london and um there were some farmers in the audience as they're often are turned out they'd come to see a friend of theirs who was emceeing it. It's a farmer you might know called Michael Henchcliffe. Anyway, afterwards, having a few drinks at the bar, and Henchcliffe and his cronies approached me. They said they were members of the Bovine Farmers Union. I said, prove it. I mean, I could see they were wearing the hats, you know, it's a cross between a hoof and a fez. I still wasn't 100% sure of their credentials.

And I said, prove it. At that point, Hinchcliffe undid his shirt and sure enough, he'd had the others sewn on. So I realised they meant business. They offered me the role of bovine laureate. Now, initially, I refused. I was really quite intimidated by it. I mean, it's big shoes to fill. Previous Bovine Laureates, people like David Farnstable, Henderson Crudge, these are big names. My first response was to pretend I needed to go to the

toilet, and I just left. And I thought that was the end of it. But these guys don't take no for an answer. And over the next few weeks, they started posting beef dishes through my letterbox. Hot beef dishes? Well, hot at the point of delivery. Yeah. Initially, it was stroganoffs, then teriyakis, steak tartars. Were they just being poured through or did they come in on a dish? I think poured isn't quite the word.

I'd say shoved. Funnelled? I never actually saw them do it. So I don't know if they used a funnel, but there was no crockery involved, if that's what you mean. And what do you think they were trying to punish you for turning them down? Or were they trying to somehow ingratiate themselves? Good question. Was it a threat or was it uh an enticement yes it was somewhere between the two i think on the one hand they realized that hygiene wise they were compromising my haul but at the same time the smell of those beef dishes was quite attractive initially

that was until we got into week two and then it was massaman it was massaman curry day after day massaman curry massaman curry massaman curry and eventually my letterbox got so clogged up with with the rich thick massaman curry sauce and and the beef chunks that i just had to say yes because my whole area was starting to smell awful. And the worry was that if you didn't give in and say yes, they'd start pouring other things through, more unctuous, bigger cuts of meat, that kind of thing? I think that threat was implicit. It was a beef arms race, and I was losing.

And so you contacted them. You said, it's okay, I'm going to be the bovine poet laureate. And how has it gone? I mean, what does it involve? Well, my first commission was to write a new Cow Noise. Right. Yeah, Moo had been the accepted Cow Noise since Chaucer, I think. But when you think about it, moo isn't very good, is it?

Not fit for purpose, I'd say, especially with the internet. Kids now can Google cow noise. Videos will come up. They watch compilations of different cows making cow noises. And moo just doesn't really do it. Do you know what I mean?

It's been a challenge for literary figures going back centuries thousands of years trying to find a way of capturing that sound using you know the letters we have it's it's not always possible to capture a sound in letters is it that's even if you're trying to use other other alphabets the syriac alphabet they've tried and failed and many have tried and failed, and that was exactly the nature of the beef gauntlet that they'd thrown down. And I'm pleased to say I picked it up and put it on and started waving at people with it. Took me about two years,

and I came up with a near as damn it perfect phonetic spelling of a cow noise. M-M-N-N-N. That's four E's. Then A-U-R-R-G. Then three H's. I can read it for you now if you want. Yes, please.

If you read it, this is what you get. That's very good. That was very impressive. Yeah, so it's a lot better than Moo. And you've taken the decision to bring out a book, is that right? That's right, yes. I've released a book and it's called Crab of the Land. Maybe we could start our discussion about your book with you reading us one of the poems from the book.

I'd love to. So this poem is called Cow Great, which is another name for a cattle grid. It's the metal bars at the entrance to a field, which means the cows can't escape. Cow great, come off it, mate. You aren't great. Your metal bars have turned these cows to prisoners. This field into an alcatraz. That trough into a visiting area.

That dawdling frog, a prison guard's dog. The scampering shrew, a bent prison screw. That heron flying alone. A hovering security camera drone. That scarecrow on its stick. The evil prison governor's dick. That barbed wire fence. Just still a barbed wire fence.

Sorry, is that finished? Of course. Sorry, it's quite hard to know when poems end sometimes, isn't it? More from that interview later. But first, our postbag was bulging this week after over on the website we asked you for your responses to the question How does looking into a cow's eye make you feel? Alan from St Bride's writes When I look into a cow's eye make you feel? Alan from St Bride's writes,

When I look into a cow's eye, I feel complete tranquillity. I think about nothing, my muscles relax, I soil myself deeply and feel warm and happy. Thanks, Alan. Jill from Ben Fleet says, Looking into a cow's eye unlocks something deep inside me, a sort of fifth emotion, outside of the four established emotions of happy, sad, angry and hot.

Interesting stuff, Jill! Gemma from Plymouth writes, In a cow's eye, I can see a reflection of myself, and that's all I need. I don't need anyone else for any emotional or indeed financial support. Do you hear that, Kevin? I don't need anyone else for any emotional or indeed financial support. Do you hear that, Kevin? I don't need anyone else. Do you hear that, Kevin? Do you? Do you? Can you listen for once in your life? God, Kevin. Really, Kevin. Kevin. Thanks, Gemma. And finally, Judy from RiceLib writes... When I look into a cow's eye, I can see it all.

The Big Bang, the beginning of everything. The first fish who thought to try and make it up on land. That brave little trout. That first fish who began to chomp the grass. That first fish who nobly allowed herself to be milked. I see empires rise and fall. I see people enslaved and freed, and then enslaved and freed again,

and then enslaved and then subsequently freed. Science blooms. I see the discovery of microwaves, the invention of the microwave, and a lasagna spinning in a microwave. And the spinning lasagna sits on a spinning planet, and the spinning planet circles a great sun as hot as the hot meat centre of any lasagna. And that sun is just one star in a galaxy of billions, all whirling around in a black

universe. in a black universe. And on the spinning planet, I see more cows, each of them with two deep black eyes, each containing their own universe. It is then that I realise that I'm not looking at our universe at all, but a different one,

entirely contained within this cow's eye. And I look up at the night sky and the stars and the space in between the stars and down at my lasagna and I think, is all this inside a cow's eye? Is anyone looking in? What lies beyond? More cows, more eyes. What happens when we die? I don't want to leave this cow's eye. Don't make me leave this cow's eye. Hello? Hello? Hello? As you can imagine, having these thoughts is exhausting. Which is why I take Mitchell's Cow Ease Extra Large Bovine Pacification Lozenges. In fact, I'm about to take one now. Oh, boy. Thanks, Judy.

Back to our interview with poet Michael Banyan after this. Hi, I'm comedian Emily Heller. And I'm cartoonist Lisa Hanawalt. And we're the hosts of Baby Geniuses. Do you want to learn weird new facts? Do you like hearing successful creative women talk about their poop? Do you want the scoop on Martha Stewart's pony? If you answered yes to any of these questions, our show is for you.

We interview people like Paul F. Tompkins. Kristen Schaal. Michael Che. And more. So check us out on Maximum Fun.kins, Kristen Schaal, Maiful Che, and more. So check us out on Maximum Fun and let us mess up your brain. Yes, please.

With this job, the thing that's nourishing your imagination are the cows, aren't they? The cows that you've been seeing and going around and being introduced to. And what is it about those cows that inspire you to write poetry?

What I always say is you couldn't invent a cow, could you? If you said, I've invented a machine that mows lawns, makes shoes, is a milkshake factory, provides burgers, beef wellington, beef bourguignon, and a carpet to eat it on, not to mention the chair you're sitting on, if it's a cow bone chair. And not just that, but the mere sight of one of these things will improve a walk in the country by about 4%. I'm looking for £50,000 and your expertise for a fifteen percent stake in the company they'd be chucking money at you it would be a feeding frenzy the truth is i love cows and i love words but weirdly um i hate the word cow um i don't mind the c it's the owl i don't like because ow is a pain word isn't it ow

i think it's too negative um so what what in my dream world this is my my biggest ambition is to change the word cow um and what i do is i keep the c but instead of ow i make it a pleasure sound the sound of pleasure not sound of pain so i'd keep the C and it would be something more like... Car. And have you tried to get this to catch on? For example, if you go to visit a farm, as part of your role as the Beauvain Poet Laureate, and you're introduced to cows,

and the farmer says, here they are, and would you say, oh, what a lovely field of car? That's exactly what I'd say, yeah. Now, like all normal people, I haven't read a poem since I was a child. How would you inspire me to pick up your book? Well, buying poetry books is really more about people seeing them in your house than actually reading them.

No one actually reads poetry, which gives you incredible freedom as a writer. So you see that as a positive thing rather than, I can imagine some poets being quite upset even that people aren't actually reading their work. No, not at all. It's quite nice to know in the background while you're working just this sense that it doesn't doesn't actually matter if you do get the right word or not i think it was as a child i first realized that that no one really reads poetry i think it was um there was a book of tennyson's poems in my parents sitting room and i picked it up once and flicked through it.

And there's a few poems at the beginning, but in the middle, Tennyson had just written a lot of random stuff, recipes, to-do lists, some scribbled measurements for a bedside table he needed. Well, that's interesting, because actually I got the advanced copy of your book, Crab of the Land, and I was flicking through it, and then when you get to page 35, between page 35 and 76, it's just blank paper. That's right. Why not? Do you know what I mean?

It saves on ink. Ink's quite expensive. Squids are dying out. So environmentally, I think it's sound. You've been writing poems steadily for a few years. Why did you feel like it was time to bring out your first volume of the work that you would be making as the Bovine Poet Laureate? There's a lovely feeling you get when you publish a book. And I think I was missing that feeling.

It's a lovely feeling of well-being. It's kind of, the only way I could describe it is, imagine the feeling of a financial advance being paid into the account of your soul, kind of an enriching of your soul's account. And paying off your soul's overdraft. Exactly. And funding your soul's upcoming holiday

that money also frees you up creatively you know it does in my case to create uh an underground snooker room now you're a slightly controversial figure i'm sure you know that people throughout your tenure as the bovine poet laureateate have been questioning your passion for cows, questioning its authenticity, whether it's something you're putting on or whether it's something you actually feel. What would you say to the people who have been queuing up to tell you

that you just toss off any old tat to the highest bidder? Well, I'd say, have you ever tried to build your own underground snooker room? I don't think so because if you had you'd realize it's a nightmare even once you've paid off the council official for the planning permission a full-size snooker table is massive and you need room for the shots you don't want to use a mini queue doing the ridiculous tiny little queues plus if you want the full range of queues and a bar and a booth for franzen it's going to set you back well thank you michael for

your interview it's been very interesting hearing from you i feel like you've been very open with us and i really would like it if we could just end this section with a couple more poems from your book yeah okay um this is a. Wise old cow, your udders have lost their rubberiness, your hide no longer shines, your hooves are grooved with countless miles of wandering, your tits gone dry

from years of plundering, your eyes have lost their gloss, but what have they seen, those ancient eyes? A man walk upon the moon. Kennedy come and gone too soon. The last chopper out of Saigon. Margaret Thatcher and Major John. Rock and roll, the pill, the NHS. Lady Diana hopeful in her wedding dress. Watergate, the Falklands, 9-11. And then I remember that even the oldest cow was born in 1997.

That packs a punch, that one. It does, doesn't it? Yeah. And have you got another one you'd like to read? Yeah, this one's called Car. Soft as a mother, smooth as a latte.

A beefy oblong with the eyes of an angel. Black as night and white as snow. You're like an edible domino or a coat hanger whose burden isn't shirts but meat. Stand up, raise a glass and give yourself a hand. You are the crabrab of the Land. That's beautiful. Yeah, thank you.

A big thanks to Michael Banyan for that interview. Crab of the Land is released next week. So that's all we've got time for this month. If you're after more beef and dairy news, get over to the website now where you can find all the usual stuff, as well as our off-topic section, which this month features a round-up of 2017's most promising holiday destinations, if you're allergic to light, and a guide from world-famous singer Christina Aguilera on how best to debark a pine tree. So until next month, beef out. Thanks to Henry Packer and Beth Eyre. Music was by Eric Machias, who can be found at www.soundimage.org.

So, a couple of things for this post-credits bit. First, a reminder that we're doing a Beef and Dairy live show on Sunday 5th February in London. It will feature me, as well as Mike Wozniak, Tom Neenan and Gemma Arrowsmith, all of whom you'd have heard on the podcast over the months. For tickets, which are £9, just Google Beef and Dairy Vault Festival or look on our Twitter. And finally, having spoken to a very bad poet during the episode, I thought it might be an idea to give you a bit of actually good poetry. A while ago, I asked one of my favourite poets, Rob Orton, whether he had any beef or dairy related poems that I could record. And he said, luckily, that he did. So I went and I recorded him reading it before one of his live shows at the Soho Theatre in London. So this is his poem, Lidlicker, set to music by a wonderful composer called Timothy Tate.

Lid Licker. The way she licks the lid of the yoghurt represents her love of life. Not only does she lick the underside of the yoghurt lid, the side often thinly layered with the white wet. She also licks the dry, plastic, business side. She revels in this as much, if not more, than when her tongue washes in the dripping cow wax. She shuts her eyes tighter, really fist clenches her eyelids closed, her tongue grows flaccid and shiny like a massive pink melted dripping diamond covered in clear olive oil. She licks the name, delighted by the fact that the yoghurt has been given a name. She licks the letters that Mann came up with to label things such as yoghurts. She licks the logo and romanticises about the designers with their pens and pencils, the studios they work in and how they probably have really good Christmas parties. Really good Christmas parties.

She drags her slippery limp bottom lip over photographs of fruit. There is no taste. But that is because there is very little taste when licking an unbroken fruit with your bottom lip. She licks the used by date. And thinks about the calendars in the yoghurt factory and the factory workers and the cars of the factory workers and the seats in their cars and the radios and the people working for the radio stations and the carpets of the radio stations and the thick glass windows in the studios and the views from the windows of the radio stations, the grass, the trees, the concrete, the buildings. She licks at life from the lid

of the yogurt and digests it in the stomach of her imagination. Thanks to Rob for letting me come and record that and show it to you i think rob is brilliant uh i'm not really a big poem person um but i recommend going to see him live he's funny and moving and everything in between and luckily if you live in the uk he's about to tour our great nation um so you can go to his website which is www.roborton.co.uk, and that's Orton, spelt A-U-T-O-N, for dates. And as I said before, the music was by Timothy Tate. If you need any music composing, then don't hesitate in going to www.timothy-tate.com.

So until next time, bye! What's the deal with Brexit? Have you seen Happy Valley yet? How do British people pronounce Edinburgh, Leicester or Norwich? Not like that. Are you tired of getting your world news from reliable sources, often with no puns or sexual innuendo?

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