5 things for the Spring/Summer Season... in brief

I've been a busy bunny.



Sadly, a lot of what I'm doing now won't bear any fruit till a couple of months (or more) down the line. But here's some of what I'm working on, which you'll hear more of as summer arrives:

I Spoken Word Educator project

The Summer term has well and truly begun! Our next Spoken Word Showcase will be on 19th June (details on request) and then the project will be moving on to phase two, expanding into five more schools and taking on six more trainee educators.

Here are poems from two of my fellow educators, which I've enjoyed watching/listening to over the Easter break:





Keep posted for more!

II Spoken word pieces

I've also put together my first pamphlet set of poems (sorry, I don't like that word). I've got stuff in the pipeline and should have a fuller, proper collection out at the beginning of 2014; during the space in between now and then, I thought I'd put some of my Spoken Word pieces out there, in an easy format.

I just had a proof come in the post this morning; I'm too scared to look it over... But you'll hear more about it next week.



III Edinburgh

It's official! From 18-24th August, my first solo show, Utter! Presents: Identity Mix-Up, will be on in Edinburgh. I've spent a few days talking with friends and building up ideas; I've had to re-write something that I planned for the beginning (the data was wiped from my old phone, so I've lost all the notes and poems I've written on the bus/tube over the last few months... technology, eh?); I've had to think about the show having a beginning, middle and end and why I described it in the listings as "tragi-comic" (what does that even mean?); we (that's me and three fellow fringe poets) have even started planning a "scratch" performance in May (details soon). All that's left is for me to finish writing the show!

Updates to follow in a separate blog, also starting next week. Also will be updating you on the other poets travelling to Endinburgh under the Utter! umberella (ella-ella-eh-eh-eh).




IV Poetry/Prose/Proposals

Just one or two gigs this month as I'm using the time I'm not performing to recharge, reconnect with friends/ fam and write some more. By the summer, I'll have more poetry out there, with another small self-pub'd collection, before the big one comes out early 2014.

I'm finding the novel hard to fit in; despite that, I've had some incredibly positive feedback from people who have read or heard extracts recently. I'm in this for the long-term so not going to rush things, but any advice more than welcome :) I'm not setting a deadline for this, but hoping to share parts of a final draft by August.

V And the rest... 

Apart from writing, teaching and twiddling my thumbs, I'm having more of a social-emotional life. Easter break's been good for nurturing that and I hope to see more of my friends over the next couple of months (that is, outside of poetry gigs and chance encounters.)

I'm also considering where to take this blog. Feedback would be helpful - should I share more poetry, more about the stuff I'm writing, more comments/rants or photos? Any thing else? Or should I take this to another format ie Tumblr or Wordpress? In any case, I'll be bearing that in mind.    

Thatcher and other anomalies

Also on my mind is the Ironess; I've seen Thatcher's death reported with extra-tactful ambivalence, while a few sway more strongly one way or the other. But my favourite phrase at the moment has to be: "Whatever you feel about her..." (usually followed by, "she changed the shape of British society/the economy/blah blah blah". Or "she had a human side"). And I tend to agree with this article.

It's easy to talk about showing "respect for the dead" and it's easy to criticise people for a song choice, and to censor it; it's less easy to accept people's right to express strong feelings either way. I've always had reservations about calling anyone a "witch" or "wicked", or any other such epithet; I didn't know her personally and I'm usually polite. But I do know that the effect of her actions on individuals and the nation alike have been profound. And whilst I think that most of these effects were profoundly damaging, I also know it's the shape of my politics which make me feel the way I do. I know and respect (sometimes at a cost) people who think she's the best thing that happened to Britain, and the world. I would appreciate if this respect (for the living, and for those who live with the consequences of her actions) was a two-way thing.

On a lighter note, she did teach me something the first time I thought she died. I must have been six years old. Towards the end of the day, some of the dinner ladies at school were whispering to each other: "Thatcher's resigned". They seemed shocked in a way I'd only previously seen when someone at our school "passed away". So I assumed "resigned" was yet another euphemism for death, until a very patient teacher explained the word to me.

I hope I can learn something the second time around... perhaps by random acts of kindness or perhaps by learning to appreciate huge differences of opinion and take them on the chin.

pic from the "random acts..." facebook page

  
Ok, I don't want to end here. There's so much more going on in the world. And the world can be a frightening place.

Instead, I'll mention that I'm off to see Concha Buika on Thursday. YES!

(P.S. "...Todo en la vida se paga..." Good motto.)

UPDATES...

...coming up. Check back later this eve

Upcoming Gig... Bus Driver's Prayer TONIGHT!!

Info below and more to come a little later!




This month's night of music, spoken and buses features two fabulous acts: the smooth and sultry spoken word sound of Keith Jarrett; and to complement him, the hotly-tipped indie songsmith, Soulmates Never Die.

It is all at Kahaila Cafe, the bring your own booze venue on BrickLane (top end, near the beigel shop), which also has some gigantic cakes on offer.

Entry is a fiver, with an extra pound for those bringing booze - which guarantees a cheap, quality night out.

With your hosts:

Bus Conductor: Jamie Smart
Bus Driver: Andrew Brown
Bus-spotter: Richard Purnell

Before You Leave/ Parting Words

Here's one I wrote a while ago which I meant to post up before...

Before you leave
Remember that these streets don’t owe you
Remember that these paving slabs are just stepping stones
For you to find a path back home
But don’t let the railings keep you boxed in
Forge your own way
And don’t be led astray
By the sway of thick hips
Or by lips with quick-talk
Or by eyes wide with promises
That can never be fulfilled
Be strong-willed
But softly-spoken
And keep your mind open
Even if it gets filled with junk
Because ideas are for recycling


Before you leave
Remember that these streets don’t own you
And you don’t own them
For your time on Earth is on loan
And you walk it alone
Even though you share the pavement
With those that you love
But don’t be chained to these streets
Don’t let them claim you
For you may think you're “on road”
But you are not your postcode
So don’t let signposts contain you
Just let them guide you to the destination you choose
And don’t let your shoes get bogged down
With the talk of this town
And don’t wear your sole out
By treading the same ground


Before you leave
Remember that these streets don’t know you
Like you know them
For their routes are mapped out
But yours are fresh with every breath
And your thoughts are more complex than any city
And only you can navigate your way through
So use your heart as a compass
And your spirit as an atlas
And you will lose yourself
And find yourself again
And learn that the race
Is not just about winning
But getting back on track


Before you leave
Remember not to pack
All of my pedestrian advice into your emotional baggage
Lest it be heavy on your back
For you will find your own space
Discover your own place
And when you do
I hope you do not lock the gate to your heart
Even if you aren’t awaiting guests
For many a good thing comes from what we don’t expect

Just remember that you are loved
That you are more perfect
Than the neighbourhoods that raised you
That there are avenues
Waiting for you to walk through
But you must search for them
They will not come to you
For these streets do not owe you their promises
Nor do you own their secrets
Nor do they know your depths
As you negotiate your steps


Before you leave
Just remember to stand tall
For you are loved
Remember that others may follow your footprints
So walk good
And step true
As you wind your way through
To whatever destination you have in your mind
I hope you find that these parting words serve you well

UPCOMING GIG... THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO CANE LAUNCH

Happy to be reading this evening at Courttia Newland's book launch! And looking forward to reading a copy of The Gospel According to Cane. Details on the links and will post more later!

And Today's Random Word Is...

Lunchtime

(...hmm, maybe a little too late)

Marching Forward? and several asteRisks

Mid-March already! Spring Equinox is here - with temperatures set to dip below freezing tonight - shops have swapped Mother's Day flowers for Easter eggs, people (on TV) are talking about the Budget and the new Pope is old news. Exam season's about to begin and I'm getting ready for the end of term. I've had a couple of big ups and a couple of big downs over the past month, so it's been a delicate balancing act, but I'm still walking the tightrope.

Habemus Papam (or popeing around)

can't remember where I took this one now!

Soho - Berwick Street

There are plenty of people I consider good friends - and family - that I hardly ever get to see, all living in the same city, no more than say a twenty mile radius from where I live. Next month's resolution will be to do something about it. I've already had a good suggestion about how to see more friends/family in a meaningful way without making it a full-time job.

One such friend I haven't seen in over a year*. It's last Tuesday, I'm just coming out of an evening seminar at uni and I get a message on my phone. It goes something like "Praise be the Lord - the black smoke has escaped and habemus Papam!" I'm confused at who would send this. Then I check the number - and it's from said friend. It's odd - he's not Catholic, neither am I (although, when I was 15, I once walked into a confessional in Barcelona so I could practice my Spanish - but that's another digression I'm going to avoid) but I see it for what it is; reaching out. I text back that we ought to meet up on Monday, if he's around, but we can play it by ear.

The week goes quickly. No reply.

On Weds, I give a talk to a group of clued-up students who ask me the one question that always stumps me whenever I get asked, despite the fact that I've thought/discussed this often: 'So, you've just performed your poem, "Tell Me (What You Believe)"... So, erm, what do you believe? What would you fight for?**

On Thursday, I shout at someone for daring to stand on the left side of the escalator. I'm in a hurry. I teach a group of 10 and 11 year-olds about riddles and get them to write about space explorers.

On Friday, I end up performing a poem in the back of a taxi*** while I'm trying to text another friend to explain why I'm late. Later, I do a dodgy Google translate of a poem into Spanish, then spend longer than it took me to write it in English trying to get across the exact same feeling I had when I wrote it.

On Saturday, I have 5 unplayed voicemails and 65 unread emails.

On Sunday, I go off to see a film about Jamaica which is, hmm, ok. I'm still trying to work out what I think, so until I do, I'll keep silent.

But, just as I'm getting up to leave, I see the friend who texted me on Tues. He's been sitting in the same cinema next to another guy I know quite well who I didn't know he knew. And before I have time to wonder what a bizarre coincidence it is, and how much of a small world it is, we all end up having a bite to eat at a bar. It's so good to see him, I spend most of our talking time wondering why we left it so long to meet up. Having only had 3 hours sleep the night before, I leave just after one drink, with the inevitable promise: "We really have to catch up soon! U still free on Mondays? Why don't we link up then?"

Hearing my own words echoing in my eardrums, I laugh to myself all the way back to the bus stop. I've got to do better.

* Lost Friends

He's been travelling and working hard. I've been studying, then doing a few gigs, then working, then watching YouTube clips when I should be working hard. We've got into a habit of saying we should meet "one Monday" and the Monday never comes and we don't text again until 2 months later. It's because we're both so easy-going and flexible why we never seem to get a meet sorted. I can think of at least ten other people like this.

Moral #1: Make definite plans and stick to them where possible. Failing that, go out more and you'll inevitably bump into some of your friends at some point in the next five years.

**Tell Me What??

Ok, so if I don't explain the poem properly by saying that I wrote it as a series of questions to myself, it can come across as a little high-minded and accusatory. I think I answered the question (what do you believe?) by saying something along the lines of: "I believe in personal relationships rather than ideals; ideals are fickle".

What I think I meant was that "justice" in the Western world 400 years ago could mean compensation for merchants if their slaves died in transit; "equality" here now might mean equal marriage for gay people - or not; "freedom of expression" in 10 years could mean something else entirely from what it does now (e.g. something unthinkable even 5 years ago - you can go to jail for tweeting offensive comments). So what matters to me more isn't the ideals and terminologies but how I feel in the way I relate to people and the places I live. And I feel I want to be in a society where those I love are healthy and happy and protected.

But that still feels like a cop out. I still haven't explained what I'd die for, fight for, or block a tank for.

I explained how I feel over a year ago in this post. There's no injustice that screams out hugely at me in my immediate world - and mostly because I'm not out there looking for it. There's enough bad stuff out there to keep me fighting and sacrificing my life for another thousand lifetimes if I want to. But I tend to pick the smaller fights, not the "throw yourself under a horse" kind of fights.

On an aside (can you have an aside to an aside?), I was brought up reading stories of early Christians being fed to lions and jailed for their beliefs. I was taught that not only could this happen to me at some point, but that it would, and that I should revel in it - blessed are ye when men shall revile you and persecute you and say all manner of evil things against you, falsely, for my sake. Rejoice! And be exceedingly glad... I was taught to believe that things will only get worse and that I may even die for what I believe one day. Whilst I try not to think about it too much, this fatalism is an ingrained part of my psyche... something to explore.

***Poetry for Cabs

Another question I hesitate to answer is "So, what do you do?"

I do a lot of things and they all come with value judgements. If I say I write/perform poetry, people who've never heard of performance poetry will either tell me they've been wandering lonely as clouds, or they'll think I'm a rapper and ask if I do "that angry stuff". They'll either think I'm a waste of space or some super literary connoisseur on another plane.

I'm in the cab, balancing a faulty phone on one knee and a clear plastic folder with a stack of papers in the other. I'm trying to think how to respond creatively to the "where are you?" text, followed 2 mins later by a "?"

The driver's particularly chatty. The text can wait.

"You don't do that angry, shouting stuff do you?" he asks. I wince and hope he can see in the mirror. You should never have said I'm a poet. You should never have said I'm a poet. Anything but. You should only tell someone you're a poet if you think it'll impress them into a date.

He's being nice enough but he's a no-nonsense bloke. I can tell. And I've already lost points by not being interested in his football talk. (I mean, what team do I support? Make it up if you can't decide!)  He'll chuck me out - late - if he doesn't like something I'm saying, I'm sure. The taxi slows. Time is ticking (and so is the meter) and I need to get to Old Street in minus 3 minutes.

"A poet, eh?"

He asks me if I've heard of Desiderata... I say no. Sounds familiar but my mind's busy and my phone's ringing. Where am I? Not far... A few mins. Held up. There soon! 

He tells me I can't call myself an effing poet if I haven't read it. "Google it now", he says. "Right now". The engine stops.

The famous words come up. Go placidly... and I remember it. We were taught it at school perhaps. Or it's been on the TV. This is hardly the moment to talk about going anywhere placidly. Or maybe it is. "Oh that! Course I've heard it", I say, feeling a little more qualified to call myself a poet but no less uneasy about the situation.

"So's that the kind of thing you write? That's real good poetry that!"

"Erm, sort of -"

"Go'n then! G'is one of your poems!"

I hesitate. This is only the second time a cabbie's asked me for a poem and got one. I don't want to recall the first time.

Ok. I draw a sharp intake of breath, recite the poem and, by the time I've finished, we're there. I'm only ten minutes late.

I run out onto the pavement, go to pay and he tells me: "Here's your tip - keep writing. Really liked that"

The day's got a little bit better.