John Cooper Clarke is about to become the first poet to headline a UK arena, and is responsible for the lyrics to one of the world’s most streamed songs of recent years. But he has lost none of the sharp-tongued vitriol of his punk origins.

To a sizeable portion of the nation, Clarke’s 50-year stream of biting beat poetry and kitchen sink stand-up comedy should qualify him for national treasure status.

He’s horrified at the suggestion.

“I hate that,” he shoots back. “I think it sounds like you’re knocking on heaven’s door.

“National treasure? Shnational shmeasure. Nah, I hate that. National treasure? Not while I’m alive. Not unless it comes with a generous stipend. Then I’ll think about it.”

This invective is delivered with a sneer, a wink, and finally a cackle of laughter.

The only stipend in his line of work is the antiquated allowance that’s given to the poet laureate.

“What do you get for that, poet laureate? £70 a year and a barrel of sherry? Not interested.” He cackles loudly again.

Clarke has been too rebellious a figure to be considered for poet laureate and its sherry-based salary, and at the age of 76 he argues he still has time to disqualify himself from being a fully paid-up national treasure.

“I could yet blot my copy book. I’m that foul-mouthed [person] that you’ve come to dredge up some grudging affection for, but I may yet do the wrong thing.”

For someone who has always gone against the grain, and occasionally off the rails, it is hard to imagine what he could do now to diminish his status, however.

One honour the Salford-born wordsmith has agreed to accept is the 2025 Northern Music Award, which he will receive at a ceremony in Liverpool on Thursday.

Although not strictly a musician, Clarke is closely associated with the music scene – from punk to the Arctic Monkeys, who turned his 1982 poem I Wanna Be Yours into a song that was the closing track on their 2013 album AM.

It was never officially released as a single but has since gone on to be streamed nearly three billion times by music fans and ranks among Spotify’s all-time Top 40.

Many of Clarke’s poems were originally released with musical backings masterminded by producer Martin Hannett, who was known for his work with Joy Division.

Clarke has mixed feelings about the results.

“It was never my idea to put my poetry to music but I couldn’t think of an argument against it,” he says.

“So it was a new adventure for me, but I think the results were patchy. When it was good, it was great. But I’m hyper-critical of my own stuff.

“It wasn’t my idea, that’s all I’m saying, but I’m glad I did it now. It’s put me in line for this award, for a start.”

Two days after that ceremony, Clarke will achieve another landmark moment when he headlines Manchester’s Co-op Live arena, albeit with a scaled-back set-up compared with its full 23,500 capacity.

Has he ever performed in an arena? “I’ve done outdoor shows that I suppose qualify as an arena,” he says. “But I’ve never done an arena with a lid on it like this one before.”

It will be a far cry from the cabaret clubs where he started out in the city in the 60s, and the punk nights where he made his name in the 70s, after winning over hostile fans who initially aimed spit and bottles in his direction.

So what’s more intimidating – playing to a small room of punks, or an arena with thousands of people?

“The more the merrier,” he replies. “If you’re selling tickets for a living, the more the merrier.”

He performed live with Joy Division, the Sex Pistols, Buzzcocks, The Fall and Elvis Costello, achieving cult status with social-realist poems like Beasley Street and Evidently Chickentown, the antisocial I Don’t Wanna Be Nice, and the more surrealist (I Married A) Monster From Outer Space and Valley of the Lost Women.

However, Clarke’s stream of consciousness dried up as he fell into heroin addiction in the 80s. He says he almost died as a result, and was fortunate to make it through those years.

“Well, I died four times. I came back but medical action was called for. I’m the luckiest guy alive. Somebody up there likes me.”

Clarke eventually got clean after meeting his wife Evie, and his professional revival really began when Evidently Chickentown was used over the end credits of an episode in the final season of The Sopranos in 2007.

Fellow poets, comedians and musicians lined up to hail his influence in a 2012 BBC documentary, with Steve Coogan speaking about his “spirit of dissent”, and Arctic Monkeys frontman Alex Turner, calling him “my hero”.

Turner turned him into Britain’s most listened-to poet by using his words in the Arctic Monkeys’ 2013 song I Wanna Be Yours.

The original I Wanna Be Yours is a rare example in Clarke’s catalogue of an unabashed love poem, albeit an unconventional one. “I wanna be your vacuum cleaner, breathing in your dust / I wanna be your Ford Cortina, I will never rust,” it begins.

Clarke originally released the poem on record with a kitsch musical backing in 1982.

“It should have been done like Alex does it from the start,” he says. “I mean, that is the definitive version. I love it.”

The Arctics’ version continues to strike a chord with a new generation and last year it had more streams around the world than any other track over a decade old.

Meanwhile, the poem has also become a popular choice as a wedding reading.

“I’d be a billionaire if I had a quid for every person that recited that poem at their wedding,” Clarke remarks.

He may not have that income stream, but he will have got a fraction of a penny for each of the song’s three billion streams.

“It adds up, and then there’s the PRS [royalties],” he says.

“So I’m not complaining. For a change.” He lets out another loud cackle.

John Cooper Clarke plays Manchester’s Co-op Live arena on Saturday, 29 March.