A view some people hold of poetry is that it should be held in books, lying in wait for someone to open them and allow their world to unfurl within the mind. However this is only one side of the story as a skilled poet performing their work aloud is capable of verbally launching you on an adrenaline fueled journey one moment while serenading you with language like a symphony the next.
Open mic nights happen all over the globe so why do they lie in relative obscurity? Speaking from England I want to acknowledge a couple of problems
Russian Roulette When you turn up to an open mic night you do not know what you are getting and yes there is a good chance that whatever type of spoken words frustrates you, someone will perform it. There is also an outside chance of something socially awkward happening, like someone holding a lens to a part of their life in a bit too much detail. But much like visiting an art gallery, it is ridiculous to expect that you will like everything, what you are looking for is that diamond amidst the carbon that will linger in your mind for weeks to come. Also the unknown can provide an excitement that is often lost in public media such as films, which conform to public expectations in order to ensure paying customers. There is also a lesson here in that actually, life isn't all about catering to every single desire you may have. Stand witness to its variety.
Being an audience is a skill. A complaint I have heard of open mic nights is that people only turn up to perform and aren't interested in listening to anyone else. In fairness I have been to nights where it has effectively been poets chasing poets but being an audience does not mean being completely removed from the medium portrayed. Everyone has something to teach you whether it is an evocative turn of phrase, a powerful rhythm or a fresh insight. Whether they realise it or not some poets provide an image of what it is like to be them with such clarity, that it is a more open and honest glimpse of the human condition than any textbook will give you. So really stop worrying about what the person next to you is doing; if they are only interested in what they themselves are doing then they've missed the point and their own work will stagnate. Don't forget to applaud either, it can be nerve wracking to take that stage.
After spending perhaps a bit too much time on the pitfalls, I need to get back to the defending, why should you seek out performance poetry? It's that human connection, it's hearing something crafted into life by breath, passion and dreams. There are no doubts about interpretation, pronunciation or rhythm the poet is here to directly inject their vision.
As a result the poetry is immediate, sharp as a scalpel, attuned with the present and designed for impact in a way that the written word can lose.
If you don't believe me then witness this fantastic piece by Marshall Soulful Jones
http://wimp.com/uploadedhug/
So what are you waiting for? Get out there and see some performance poetry and if you are based in Sheffield I can recommend looking out for Wordlife, The Shipping Forecast, ROMP, Slam Bam Thank You Ma'am and Speakeasy.
Monday, 21 January 2013
Sunday, 20 January 2013
Forget Coal - Ifor Thomas
After discussing this with some friends I thought a need to spread the word of this excellent poem from 'Stalking Paloma'
Forget Coal - Ifor Thomas
Forget coal, yea really forget coal
(I've forgotten already - what is coal?)
Forget zinc and tin and definitely steel.
Steel doesn't exist any more
not in Wales anyway.
Who cares - who needs it?
And while you are at it
forget washing machines
plane wings and slim-line TVs.
That's not the future.
That's not where Wales is.
It's not where Merthyr is.
Not even where Llanrst is.
(I've not put that in to rhyme with Proust.
That ain't where this is going.
We don't meed any intellectual literary bullshit.
Not now, not any more)
The future
It's all about big zins, big cabs
and big, big concepts...
Think
Applets for a variety of emerging iPlatforms
Think
Start-ups that provide hosting
for micro-packages that skim information
for cheese heads
Think
Honking away on a widget that that will
fuse users' ganglia to the cortex of the
digital brain stem.
The business of Wales, is not business.
It's monetizing what is in our heads,
that leaves a lot of room for wusses
like me, and you too.
Get with the program!
I've heard it argued that good poetry, the stuff that will be remembered, captures the spirit of the age and I think this piece not only does that but sets a challenge for poetry to come.
Ifor starts by invoking the industries of wales like pagan gods and ordering you to forget them, as there time in Wales has been and gone. Hinting at how the nature of our globe in that what is forgotten is thriving elsewhere. How instantaneous provision of knowledge means we don't need to remember beyond the present.
The line we don't need any of this literary bullshit, not only speaks of the cult of celebrity evolving through mediums such as reality TV and social networking that is more interested in how people inhabit their world rather than what they make from it and also suggests the time for flowery language and pomp is over in this technological age.
The production of ridiculous jargon like cheese heads, not only makes us laugh but raises the question of how our language is going to change. Did anyone expect Tweeting to become a regularly used verb?
The real challenge however is the final stanza; we aren't concerned with business anymore, it is about monetizing what is in our heads. There are more and more stories emerging about e-commerce, whether it is people making their fortune designing apps for phones or becoming advertising affiliates. High Street stores such as HMV are going into administration because they can't compete with the lure and power of the online retailers. Even sociology is looking to jump in on the act, trying to suggest that the latest generation should be renamed Generation C for their obssessive desire for content and to connect with others in the online world.
However you look at it the shape of our world is changing rapidly and poets need to 'get with the program' and evolve or be lost behind youtube videos, online gaming and twitter feeds.
Forget Coal - Ifor Thomas
Forget coal, yea really forget coal
(I've forgotten already - what is coal?)
Forget zinc and tin and definitely steel.
Steel doesn't exist any more
not in Wales anyway.
Who cares - who needs it?
And while you are at it
forget washing machines
plane wings and slim-line TVs.
That's not the future.
That's not where Wales is.
It's not where Merthyr is.
Not even where Llanrst is.
(I've not put that in to rhyme with Proust.
That ain't where this is going.
We don't meed any intellectual literary bullshit.
Not now, not any more)
The future
It's all about big zins, big cabs
and big, big concepts...
Think
Applets for a variety of emerging iPlatforms
Think
Start-ups that provide hosting
for micro-packages that skim information
for cheese heads
Think
Honking away on a widget that that will
fuse users' ganglia to the cortex of the
digital brain stem.
The business of Wales, is not business.
It's monetizing what is in our heads,
that leaves a lot of room for wusses
like me, and you too.
Get with the program!
I've heard it argued that good poetry, the stuff that will be remembered, captures the spirit of the age and I think this piece not only does that but sets a challenge for poetry to come.
Ifor starts by invoking the industries of wales like pagan gods and ordering you to forget them, as there time in Wales has been and gone. Hinting at how the nature of our globe in that what is forgotten is thriving elsewhere. How instantaneous provision of knowledge means we don't need to remember beyond the present.
The line we don't need any of this literary bullshit, not only speaks of the cult of celebrity evolving through mediums such as reality TV and social networking that is more interested in how people inhabit their world rather than what they make from it and also suggests the time for flowery language and pomp is over in this technological age.
The production of ridiculous jargon like cheese heads, not only makes us laugh but raises the question of how our language is going to change. Did anyone expect Tweeting to become a regularly used verb?
The real challenge however is the final stanza; we aren't concerned with business anymore, it is about monetizing what is in our heads. There are more and more stories emerging about e-commerce, whether it is people making their fortune designing apps for phones or becoming advertising affiliates. High Street stores such as HMV are going into administration because they can't compete with the lure and power of the online retailers. Even sociology is looking to jump in on the act, trying to suggest that the latest generation should be renamed Generation C for their obssessive desire for content and to connect with others in the online world.
However you look at it the shape of our world is changing rapidly and poets need to 'get with the program' and evolve or be lost behind youtube videos, online gaming and twitter feeds.
Sunday, 6 January 2013
Wodwo by Ted Hughes
A happy new year to you all! I wanted to start with a personal favourite of mine which suits the liminal nature of early January.
Wodwo - Ted Hughes
What am I? Nosing here, turning leaves over
Following a faint stain on the air to the river’s edge
I enter water. Who am I to split
The glassy grain of water looking upward I see the bed
Of the river above me upside down very clear
What am I doing here in mid-air? Why do I find
this frog so interesting as I inspect its most secret
interior and make it my own? Do these weeds
know me and name me to each other have they
seen me before do I fit in their world? I seem
separate from the ground and not rooted but dropped
out of nothing casually I’ve no threads
fastening me to anything I can go anywhere
I seem to have been given the freedom
of this place what am I then? And picking
bits of bark off this rotten stump gives me
no pleasure and it’s no use so why do I do it
me and doing that have coincided very queerly
But what shall I be called am I the first
have I an owner what shape am I what
shape am I am I huge if I go
to the end on this way past these trees and past these trees
till I get tired that’s touching one wall of me
for the moment if I sit still how everything
stops to watch me I suppose I am the exact centre
but there’s all this what is it roots
roots roots roots and here’s the water
again very queer but I’ll go on looking
A Wodwo is a 'wild man' and Hughes perfectly captures a being that finds itself thrust into life with only a desire to understand itself.
The Wodwo is open and inquisitive, very much enthralled and excited by the nature around him but finding itself distinct from its surroundings and very self focused. It enjoys inspecting the secret interior of the frog but does not show empathy or understanding of the death it implies. I may be reading too deeply but I wonder if Hughes is trying to suggest that we need the contact of beings similar to our own to understand that we all share the same feelings and experiences.
The rhythm of the poem is jerky and constantly changing, mimicking the lurches and pauses in the creature's investigations and the I love the furiousness at the end of repeating the word 'roots' over and over like more and more questions bursting into its mind. The haphazard nature of the grammar and line endings fuelling this sense of the Wodwo's experimentation.
It is the Wodwo's constant questioning of its own existence, seeking feedback from his surroundings and questioning further, that really strikes me about this poem. I feel like we are all Wodwos in a way, trying to uncover our own meaning and every time I read this poem I find myself asking the same questions but finding different answers.
'I seem to have been given the freedom of this place what am I then?'
I read this line once and felt it was a challenge; if I have this freedom, what am I doing with it? What purpose can I shape for myself? Whereas reading it through today I am constantly drawn to the word 'seems' and how illusory are perceived dominance over our surroundings is.
As we stand on the border of a new year it is a tradition to make resolutions, particularly around how we would like to change. This time however I recommend asking yourself the same questions as the Wodwo - What am I? Nosing here, who am I to split the glassy grain of water? - and if you find an answer ask yourself if your ethics and actions embody that answer? Then you may find you don't have resolutions anymore but focus, urgency and drive.
Wodwo - Ted Hughes
What am I? Nosing here, turning leaves over
Following a faint stain on the air to the river’s edge
I enter water. Who am I to split
The glassy grain of water looking upward I see the bed
Of the river above me upside down very clear
What am I doing here in mid-air? Why do I find
this frog so interesting as I inspect its most secret
interior and make it my own? Do these weeds
know me and name me to each other have they
seen me before do I fit in their world? I seem
separate from the ground and not rooted but dropped
out of nothing casually I’ve no threads
fastening me to anything I can go anywhere
I seem to have been given the freedom
of this place what am I then? And picking
bits of bark off this rotten stump gives me
no pleasure and it’s no use so why do I do it
me and doing that have coincided very queerly
But what shall I be called am I the first
have I an owner what shape am I what
shape am I am I huge if I go
to the end on this way past these trees and past these trees
till I get tired that’s touching one wall of me
for the moment if I sit still how everything
stops to watch me I suppose I am the exact centre
but there’s all this what is it roots
roots roots roots and here’s the water
again very queer but I’ll go on looking
A Wodwo is a 'wild man' and Hughes perfectly captures a being that finds itself thrust into life with only a desire to understand itself.
The Wodwo is open and inquisitive, very much enthralled and excited by the nature around him but finding itself distinct from its surroundings and very self focused. It enjoys inspecting the secret interior of the frog but does not show empathy or understanding of the death it implies. I may be reading too deeply but I wonder if Hughes is trying to suggest that we need the contact of beings similar to our own to understand that we all share the same feelings and experiences.
The rhythm of the poem is jerky and constantly changing, mimicking the lurches and pauses in the creature's investigations and the I love the furiousness at the end of repeating the word 'roots' over and over like more and more questions bursting into its mind. The haphazard nature of the grammar and line endings fuelling this sense of the Wodwo's experimentation.
It is the Wodwo's constant questioning of its own existence, seeking feedback from his surroundings and questioning further, that really strikes me about this poem. I feel like we are all Wodwos in a way, trying to uncover our own meaning and every time I read this poem I find myself asking the same questions but finding different answers.
'I seem to have been given the freedom of this place what am I then?'
I read this line once and felt it was a challenge; if I have this freedom, what am I doing with it? What purpose can I shape for myself? Whereas reading it through today I am constantly drawn to the word 'seems' and how illusory are perceived dominance over our surroundings is.
As we stand on the border of a new year it is a tradition to make resolutions, particularly around how we would like to change. This time however I recommend asking yourself the same questions as the Wodwo - What am I? Nosing here, who am I to split the glassy grain of water? - and if you find an answer ask yourself if your ethics and actions embody that answer? Then you may find you don't have resolutions anymore but focus, urgency and drive.
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