Report from the twentieth of February

Some fragments collected, cathected & kaleidoscoped.

Coffee cooling by the phone, bluegrass telling a story. As Hitler said, the bigger the cow - the more people will milk it. Regarding ghosts. I have never seen a kingfisher, nor a metabolic bat. Lost in the menagerie of geometrics. The screech of the needle - lullaby. Drowning on Pacific Avenue. Patrick's punctured vessel sinks below love's waves.

The original host of SpokenWord raises Patrick from the dead.
Your eyes open like attic doors. 'Cake' - a poem about cake. Awoko's dangerous malady. Troy's Hallmark moment. Saving sperm in a tuna can. Avec La Morte tu te maries. Flame burning from a cigarette lighter. We crawled inside the windows of the Louvre. A night elf, and all the stars were watching. Thinking about you is like the last problem on the maths quiz.

A lesson too late for the learnin'.

Au Chat Noir, last week

Kate's blog - Boomslang Poetry

And finally - if anyone out there who knows how to take a good photo will volunteer to come and get some good pics and put 'em up on facebook there's free drinks in it.

SpokenWord every Monday
Au Chat Noir 76 rue Jean-Pierre Timbaud
Sign up in the bar from 8pm
Poetry starts downstairs 9pm

Cheers,
David

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

Spoken Word in Paris 13 / 02 / 2012

Report by Alberto

Tensions and rumours and blushings at Spoken Word: it was the night before Valentine’s day. We opened with Brian Howton: "My eyes pulsed and burned, the images received a blur — obscure patterns of light according to a strange geometry.” Emily B: “She was a whore.” Kate from now on on our stage: “You’ll be always forever laughing in my stars.” Kate Noakes: “My smell, when I want to fool you.” Kat: “My life has become a script, a tragic comedy." Georgina introducing Unstrung Letters. For Valentine’s day Patrick drove us through the filthiest of the James Joyce’s love letters: "To Nora Barnacle 2nd December 1909." Being so filthy I have to lock it up into an external link. As you may know in 2004, one of those erotic letter from Joyce to Barnacle was sold at Sotheby's for £240,800 (US$445,000); but for you cheap literary perverts, there is also a facebook group.

James Jewell: An Old Meteor

(...) ..Before my lids could close, another meteor floated from one side of my pupils to the other. Then the ghosts of my grandfathers family told me stories of Chestertown, but I was asleep.”


Ferdia and Shone: “Are you the Genie of the Lamp?” “No. I’m the Gigolo of the lamp, I do wanks." Chris Waller’s sonnet: Ghosts of Hotel Rooms Solitude. Troy needs just a title to put it clear: “2nd Coming”. Our featured poet was Steven James Smith from Dublin, performing the notorious Ticking Clock Poem. Chris spying Beauty. Jason’s Summer Sunday Best from the Tragicoptimist archives. Marie: “She’s white but she’s not racist.” Marie Babie and Patrick covering The Velvet Underground. There's a video. Mandoline reading Robert Haas: The envy of other people poems.

Alberto seeing a drunken bride walking out from darkness. Lucile: “You know I stick, but I don’t stain.” Remi’s tribute to Allen Ginsberg and William Burroughs. Beatrice letting us know more about Cristina Cavalli. Shane: “I cursed poetry.” Pablito: “I ask for a cigarette but I’m already breathless” J.D. exit song about unhappy marriages. Happy S. Valentine’s day!

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