Welcome

...to the much more girly-looking SWParis blog. I'm experimenting with my feminine side. Also, I'd really like to know if you think black text on a white background is easier to read than the old white text on black background we had before.

You can vote here (the facebook page)
and you can also leave comments on the facebook page or here. Much appreciated if you do.

David

Report from Spoken Word. Paris. 06.02.2012

By Alberto
Photos By Jeanne Gustafson
Videos by Jeanne Gustafson from the Spoken Word Paris Facebook


Young Ian not Yelling:




Welcome swingers, downstairs au Chat Noir, our weekly featured poet was Kerrie O’Brien, from Dublin, emerging talent of the 2011 International Yeats Poetry Competition, introducing her book Out of The Blueness, which you still buy on line if you weren’t there. Jeanne on the ambiguity of the word “baiser”, while meeting an italian stereotype called Max Massimiliano. Do you want to hear the whole story? Here. Theko played the loser song. If you want play it one more time. Luisa Claire Dunnigan:

"Chewed up child, raging pink/ Blinking back tears and screaming/
Like a bath unplugged"

Christelle: “Dandelions and lobsters, a cup of tea and a sunny day.” Sandra and Shawn brought a new licence plate from Alabama!!! Shall we be twins forever: “I felt rich already and I haven’t even danced”, Lucy was a spider chewing in a few precise bites, Chris Wallen’s love poems with 2 syllables a lines, Brian’s “Aphrodite didn’t give a shit” and other Olympus tales. Awoko’s song from Qudus Onikeku’s show, for two weeks in France.



Joy.

In Round II, Moe: “I masturbate 5 days a week, it’s a full time job.” Jason: “People should be paid for masturbate.” Troy: “Glued to the joystick”, Georgina: “Masturbatory fantasies.” Which was the theme of the night? “I lay like a carrot”. Beatrice: Erri De Luca and Cesare Pavese in translation. The great “I pensieri di Dina” from “Lavorare Stanca” (Hard Labor)1936. Marie Babie warming the Light Leaks up for the weekend. Gavroche: seeking to discover a more meaningful gold”. Katie “You left me in Jersey”, Betty's collective performance: “You and Me and a thing called Chi? Chris Newens monologue:



“When I was a kid I had a cuddly toy called Ronald. He was my best friend. He was a stuffed octopus.”

Tim from the Glass Petals. Have a look.
Jamie for the first time here, reading a poem by Cat Stevens. Emilija “The wine ran out, but lies didn’t”. Maya’s hit: “I like you, you are sexy and cute / and your eyes are greenish blue”. Jack’s song with no words. Lizzie “Voided, spilled, delighted”. Then was too late and we had to close down. For all those who missed it, for all those who couldn’t find space on the stage list and for all those who enjoyed it, see you next monday.
More Pictures and Videos at: Spoken Word in Paris Facebook Page.
Ciao

SPOKENWORD REPORT 30.1.2012

Cesare Pavese
I thought I'd test how loud we can get with John Lennon's Gimme some truth. Quite loud, but I reckon we didn't reach the limit yet.
Rather than teargas and tazers, Moe barrelled in to Marseille - hot, undulating, woman. The city, he means, not himself. Alabama Sandra, on short, sweet recess from conformity went to Mobile and pursued her some prosperity as a go-go dancer. Erica was back with a new song: "My doctor wants to medicate my imbalances but I tell him that's where I've built my palaces" For Ayayogi, fresh from the poetry squats of South London, the World of the End is nigh. I love the idea that there are poetry squats in South London. Alexa and her free-range heart were into sex with Canned Heat. She asked tough questions. Like, chicken pussy - is it enticing? The kissing is missing, she said. What happened to the kissing? I just want to punch you now. Alas, Kate predicted that you too will also be difficult to decipher. Lucile brought hate poems. And JD is the hottest thing in Alaska.
Then round 2, Kerrie's stars lit you up in the dark. Melamar from Vienna was sharp as a harpoon, a raw diamond. Sid dug down in a sore spot in the earth to find My Lady's Lolling Tongue. Hrayr's God wiped the sweat off his forehead, took out his gold watch. Bea read smokers of paper, translations of Cesare Pavese, an interesting Italian poet, not very cheerful. There was a lot of geography this week, from the poetry squats of South London to Melamar's Free Republic of Poetistan, Moe's road into Marseille. Marie's radiospark whispered of roadblocks ahead. Jessica saw you as the red hot voodoo of New Orleans cemeteries. Chris had a message for his exploiters. While Beth was a fool in burning brown paper, thinking about stealing from Toby. (Go on, Beth. He's asking for it.) Shane brought the silence in the room when you've been caught feeling up one of the other guests. And Rat. And then michael brought the night to a close with beautiful piano, singing some of us learn slow.


See you tomorrow, Monday, for the next episode of SpokenWord.
David