What strange driftwood washed up tonight?
Escher got it right,
bottled and buried at sea
while sailors talk of that Stone Age book
- that absurd old book! -
and Abraham sways onto the stage
where the waves are much less taller
as the moon fishes for some old song that fell from a sailor’s pipe
and a dwarf clings to a 60 year old mermaid
and they go at it like Baudelaire
. and from Senegal
. small boats break off for Europe
. seekers whose dreaming eyes are closed by the ocean
A deep sea diver descends to walk the Paris streets
Poe’s strange city lies alone
Its time eaten towers
the haunted destination of the albatross
Split now between English and French selves,
a woman waits,
wanting to see the ocean
Ukulhelen va seule sur la plage
harvesting Spain
Dogger. German Bight. Tyree.Fastnet. Lundy. Irish Sea. Rockall. Malinhead. North Adsera…
All things Italian... 23rd Nov 09
Charlie has been hanging and rhyming around Trieste, Genova, Naples, Verona, Milan, Bologna and Rome. The new accappella trio “Le Gallinelle” affected the world with a requiem for a dead cock: “Le coq est mort” and the experimental ukulelist Ukulelena followed the line with a bewithching song about the banana bird. The theme was not “Birds” actually, but “Anything Italian”, and so Pauline revealed Charles Cros has Italy inside. Michele, made in Italy and made in heaven, raping our childhood with the virtual toys of his poetry, and a wounded, stoic, unstoppable one-legged David walked on stage reporting a dialogue between Kubla Khan and Marco Polo, by Italo Calvino. Michael Levitin from SF, but Berlin based, read from his novel “Disposable Man”. Beth performed “Orchestra” and some other old school hits, completely new for us people of Paris. Alberto issued the “Divine Comedy in 5 minutes” or “Dante’s for Dummies”, Betty rocked the house pushing the folks through a coral clap hands performance and Bruce run away with sudden stage fright. Raoul Mussay (photo, below) tuned us on the french touch of the “grand reveur”. Said was possessed by Shakespeare talking in italian “the winter of nostro scontento” (photo, above) from Richard III, before an an untangled, unavailable, unpluggable, unshakable and uncensored Charlie II. David and Sabrina, aka Kubla Khan and Marco Polo, closed the night assuming that maybe “the audience exists and the poets do not.” “The Sea” is coming to drown us all, in 2012, or next monday.
"Plastic" 16th November 2009
Charlie was so drastic as to completely dressed in plastic. In Pia(aaa)'s TV series, JJ Rouseau learns American slang fast. Alberto wants plastic surgery - a new pair of naieve eyes still eager to see. Michele is running away from Detroit, dreaming the fig on the pillow. Adam cherished his TV. Pauline read Alexander Dickow, menaced by the horizon; eat crunchy, kiss me big. Theo Edmonds (whose show is at The American Chrutch, sorry, Church) swings in with a Zip!Bop!Bam! What grooves you? Gonna roast you a cool nickel, Jack. Is anything like it seems in your dreams? Plastic John (Kirby Abrahams) shot his Missus into space. Rufo scares the horses into Tupperware weddings. Beth's silence lingers. Flo est toujours sur la route, with le talisman (le Thalys ment.) Giusy en la luce perfecte. Adam's special message to the customer: Order your 52cent coffee, and leave me alone! Chris' father scratched his ivory balls, guards plastic bags filled with light. Tom pines for the moon. Liza tarred her lungs.
But most fun of all this week was filming Bruce's video for his song, he got 20 people up on stage dancing and waving their arms about to the music.
Alberto's Report from "Insects," 9th Nov 09
SpokenWord is every Monday now and we started with a Genò-cide of mosquitos, in French, “J’aboie à la lune”, then David’s tribute to Derek Mahon with “A disused shed in county Wexford” with worms, spiders and cockroaches. Michele keeps on spinning his “psychedelic washing machine”, that’s sure, and Money D. brought his essay called… mmm…something ending in –fagia, that means eating bugs. Colin translated and remixed Boris Vian, then our guest star Marie Claire Calmus performed an excerpt of her show: Corps et Mots. Poèmes, Chroniques, Chansons. M-m-m, “Minced Meat Marty” plunged us into a throbbing swamp and Sam, for the last time, into Secretionopolis. Alberto said goodbye to Sam, reading a poem “Memories are skidding bulls” they wrote together once, while doing the laundry. It was the last time for Stefanos too, and he left Paris tuning a sad song with an happy melody, written in prison and played with accordion. Mischa read a poem about the “Fèe verte” who inspired generations of Parisian artists, the greatest Swiss invention after the cuckoo clock, I’m talking about the absinthe. Charlie closed the first round: “That’s not about insects, but war bugs me, so…” And he switched to Iraq a poem originally written for Vietnam.
After the break, Onur opened singing a very frantic Turkish song, and Jan improvised a dynamic body performance, killing a cockroach on stage. It was Beth’s birthday: “My name’s not hidden in the sea, nor in the rain”. Bruce’s love letter: “ You don’t know me. I don’t know you, but I’ve been loving you, since before I knew the word”. Laureen Moore revealed another secret: worms were sucking her blood when she was nine. Piirko, aka Kokodiva, aka 5ieme ex-femme du president de la republique francaise, during a shocking act, gave birth to a puppy dinosaur on our stage, Luc, songwriter, played a chanson douce “17 years old, our parents still together, back then, life was so simple”. Johannus remembered it was the Berlin Wall anniversary with “No Man’s Land”, Polina explained why being a New Yorker from Manhattan, she’s a breakfast goer, Will offered a “bullshit he wrote when he was fuckin high”, Michele, when was 18, “sucked the pussy of a rocking horse” and the crowd was nearly crying. Een picked up from his I-phone the in-famous “La cigale et la fourmi” (greatest hit: recited by memory by the whole French audience), and then opened our second seasonal bottle of autumnal Baudelaire: “Une Charonne”. Hubert said he was experiencing stage fright, a thing that never happened to him when is on stage as a musician, hidden behind his keyboards, but “men invented word to hide their brain”. Charlie was experiencing hangover and that tall, once long-haired guy, called Sam closed the night with his last poem, leaving the spoken word to come back to Australia. See you soon. Next Monday.
After the break, Onur opened singing a very frantic Turkish song, and Jan improvised a dynamic body performance, killing a cockroach on stage. It was Beth’s birthday: “My name’s not hidden in the sea, nor in the rain”. Bruce’s love letter: “ You don’t know me. I don’t know you, but I’ve been loving you, since before I knew the word”. Laureen Moore revealed another secret: worms were sucking her blood when she was nine. Piirko, aka Kokodiva, aka 5ieme ex-femme du president de la republique francaise, during a shocking act, gave birth to a puppy dinosaur on our stage, Luc, songwriter, played a chanson douce “17 years old, our parents still together, back then, life was so simple”. Johannus remembered it was the Berlin Wall anniversary with “No Man’s Land”, Polina explained why being a New Yorker from Manhattan, she’s a breakfast goer, Will offered a “bullshit he wrote when he was fuckin high”, Michele, when was 18, “sucked the pussy of a rocking horse” and the crowd was nearly crying. Een picked up from his I-phone the in-famous “La cigale et la fourmi” (greatest hit: recited by memory by the whole French audience), and then opened our second seasonal bottle of autumnal Baudelaire: “Une Charonne”. Hubert said he was experiencing stage fright, a thing that never happened to him when is on stage as a musician, hidden behind his keyboards, but “men invented word to hide their brain”. Charlie was experiencing hangover and that tall, once long-haired guy, called Sam closed the night with his last poem, leaving the spoken word to come back to Australia. See you soon. Next Monday.
Report from "Secrets"
Michele's poetry is chock full of secrets. Why does the plastic belly dancer suffer when she dies? I am confident that I will never know. Theo Edmonds' pockets were stuffed, not with secrets, but silly damn questions from the Appalachian mountains. Géno's tramp's rêve, ce n'était pas Las Vegas, c'était retourner dans son coin pourri. Kate Fussner from Philadelphia was the featured reader, with her loosely-linked true stories of her own and her family's secrets. The people in these stories don't know that these exist! Or that she was reading them to a crowded bar full of strangers in Paris. She certainly proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that you can't go into a good piece of theatre and come out the same.
She also secretly fell off a boat.
Antonia dances without her shoes. Sees her own eye peering through the keyhole... Lost, on the wrong side of the mirror. John Abrahams wanders there no more. His song his only wealth.
Beth, aka Miss Peacock, saw dead birds on the motorway; burst the blisters; sifts the trees. Check out more of her stuff on youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JhCI8B-wN68
Marty's charisma is his secret. Violated umbrellas swallow him whole, like South American jungle serpents. Alexa, on the other hand, has a free range heart (like the eggs?) but the kissing is missing.
Stefanos saw an accident the other day. Yara almost ran over an angel, so maybe that was it. Then again, Bruce saw what happened in Room 444 - site of the suicide, or alleged accident, of Sticky Bottoms the clarinet player.
Lauren Moore had a song about a boy who's not her boyfriend. Shhhhhhh! Our lips are sealed.
Pauline opened a seasonal bottle of autumnal Baudelaire. Je n'ai plus de chagrin. L'absurde conquête de l'amour!
Sophie scattered ashes. Mr Dave pitted the haiku form against politics. Adam Will walked with no direction into the fog. To know is to forget.
Paulina thinks about death a lot. Helena masticates. Teacher's despair numbs the dumb.
gNina, pour lui, je m'en vol. Ben's is the garden that's well hid. Michele ate crystal cornflakes. And finally Bruce launched into another story: It was 1969 and the colonel wore a dress... Nice opening line!
More secrets will be hinted at next time no doubt.
Cheers,
David
She also secretly fell off a boat.
Antonia dances without her shoes. Sees her own eye peering through the keyhole... Lost, on the wrong side of the mirror. John Abrahams wanders there no more. His song his only wealth.
Beth, aka Miss Peacock, saw dead birds on the motorway; burst the blisters; sifts the trees. Check out more of her stuff on youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JhCI8B-wN68
Marty's charisma is his secret. Violated umbrellas swallow him whole, like South American jungle serpents. Alexa, on the other hand, has a free range heart (like the eggs?) but the kissing is missing.
Stefanos saw an accident the other day. Yara almost ran over an angel, so maybe that was it. Then again, Bruce saw what happened in Room 444 - site of the suicide, or alleged accident, of Sticky Bottoms the clarinet player.
Lauren Moore had a song about a boy who's not her boyfriend. Shhhhhhh! Our lips are sealed.
Pauline opened a seasonal bottle of autumnal Baudelaire. Je n'ai plus de chagrin. L'absurde conquête de l'amour!
Sophie scattered ashes. Mr Dave pitted the haiku form against politics. Adam Will walked with no direction into the fog. To know is to forget.
Paulina thinks about death a lot. Helena masticates. Teacher's despair numbs the dumb.
gNina, pour lui, je m'en vol. Ben's is the garden that's well hid. Michele ate crystal cornflakes. And finally Bruce launched into another story: It was 1969 and the colonel wore a dress... Nice opening line!
More secrets will be hinted at next time no doubt.
Cheers,
David
Alberto reporting from space...
Photos: Julien, Helen, the Public.
SpokenWord crowded night and the theme was “Space”.
Sarah stole a kiss in a crowded disco, Gèno in francais: “Je vous ecris d’un autre planete”, Marty started with: I'd heard about this thing: Smoke chuffing away like liberty. Blocks none of the blank panes. Claudia was amazing, they told me, but I was outside adding other poets on the list, Michele read a poem about the first time he had sex in the vineyard, I don’t remember if alone or not, David for the first time was free to enjoy the night as a full time poet and came up with two cosmopoems and an outcast star. The featured poet of the night was Antonia Klimenko, slam champion from San Francisco, and you can watch down here an excerpt about her stunning performance. John, who created a very interactive piece with the audience playing with the word space, followed by Bruce, just arrived from the World Cup of Petanque, with a poem-song that has a refrain like: “Your helmet, gentleman, your helmet”, Nancy said that all her poems are about space, and this one was about time and space: Heart is the clock of creation./ Time is clock, time is money, this has to stop cause it’s not funny!” Alberto read “Dwell on the moles on your girlfriend’s body, observe them by night like constellations”, and Jonathan closed our first half in a standing ovation. (And I don’t think that was because of the break). Sally opened the second round reciting: “I still love the lover I didn’t meet.” And Yara sang she still love Johnny. Daen read three poems, inspired by Wendy Cope and Martin Newett, listing “101 ways why he is David Bowie and you’re not”, and a multivoiced Charlie “in space anything is possible”, Antonia Klimenko was on our stage for the second part of her reading, and we have a second video, Betty rocked the house with a song-heartbeat-poem in which all the public participated. With Rufo “Will Coyote will fall forever”, Will “The night seems like a stranger”, Helen O’Keefe with the pseudonym of “Ukulhelen” played with her Ukulele a Russian tune in honour of Yuri Gagarin, the first man in outer space, overheating our secret Russian audience, Bruce came back to affirm “I’ve got a dirty brain and a dirty mouth, assholes!”, and Kelly with a sweet poem for her scracth-pad, Michele invited everybody to follow him in his psichedelic trips, Nancy II, David to close and invite everybody back on Novembre 2 for the next episode, but, hold on, the real end was Julien, Culture Rapide’s bartender who left his station and came up to read his stuff, reminding everybody that he’s a poet, too.
SpokenWord crowded night and the theme was “Space”.
Sarah stole a kiss in a crowded disco, Gèno in francais: “Je vous ecris d’un autre planete”, Marty started with: I'd heard about this thing: Smoke chuffing away like liberty. Blocks none of the blank panes. Claudia was amazing, they told me, but I was outside adding other poets on the list, Michele read a poem about the first time he had sex in the vineyard, I don’t remember if alone or not, David for the first time was free to enjoy the night as a full time poet and came up with two cosmopoems and an outcast star. The featured poet of the night was Antonia Klimenko, slam champion from San Francisco, and you can watch down here an excerpt about her stunning performance. John, who created a very interactive piece with the audience playing with the word space, followed by Bruce, just arrived from the World Cup of Petanque, with a poem-song that has a refrain like: “Your helmet, gentleman, your helmet”, Nancy said that all her poems are about space, and this one was about time and space: Heart is the clock of creation./ Time is clock, time is money, this has to stop cause it’s not funny!” Alberto read “Dwell on the moles on your girlfriend’s body, observe them by night like constellations”, and Jonathan closed our first half in a standing ovation. (And I don’t think that was because of the break). Sally opened the second round reciting: “I still love the lover I didn’t meet.” And Yara sang she still love Johnny. Daen read three poems, inspired by Wendy Cope and Martin Newett, listing “101 ways why he is David Bowie and you’re not”, and a multivoiced Charlie “in space anything is possible”, Antonia Klimenko was on our stage for the second part of her reading, and we have a second video, Betty rocked the house with a song-heartbeat-poem in which all the public participated. With Rufo “Will Coyote will fall forever”, Will “The night seems like a stranger”, Helen O’Keefe with the pseudonym of “Ukulhelen” played with her Ukulele a Russian tune in honour of Yuri Gagarin, the first man in outer space, overheating our secret Russian audience, Bruce came back to affirm “I’ve got a dirty brain and a dirty mouth, assholes!”, and Kelly with a sweet poem for her scracth-pad, Michele invited everybody to follow him in his psichedelic trips, Nancy II, David to close and invite everybody back on Novembre 2 for the next episode, but, hold on, the real end was Julien, Culture Rapide’s bartender who left his station and came up to read his stuff, reminding everybody that he’s a poet, too.
Report from 5th October "Machines"
Charlie was on a blind journey. Rufo had a day at the zoo watching the machines-for-existing. The myth of smoothness dropped horribly into a pail. Gèno was crazy-obsessed with a machine à sous (one armed bandit? fruit machine?). Il a mit tout sa confiance en elle. I'd completely overlooked that in French machine is feminine, a missed opportunity for a poem there.
Susannah was a bad cat mother, shouldn't be who she is. Ooog went fisting for your love. Yes, I do mean fisting. Rod Tame brought Saturday night from Deansgate, Manchester. The hangover endures on Unreality TV. Dominic Berry spoke of la machine humaine et la puissance des haricots. The stablisers taken from his bicycle, he feasted on speed. Thérèse brought une petite machine pour faire la cuisine. Jonathan's library books were scratched with other people's clichés. He found that there's pleasure in thinking what's been thought before. In retrospect, he admitted the poetry was a mistake. Memory is a machine that lies. When the vodka failed, he scalped her cat. Jason wondered whether, maybe, all we need is to watch TV together. Bruce brought Earth, Wind & Amplifier. A story shorter than the rope around his neck. Dorry Funaki read Edna St Vincent Millay's Renaissance. Nina told of the New York Machine. Pia had that soap-induced feeling of being clean, and a permanent cigarette. Daen had too many hairdressers. And the Devil's own nightsoil. (Any chance of a copy, Daen?) I was at 17 Poisoner's Row. For Peter, feeling is a human error. Kezia was tied to the moon; friable. Francesca remembers the day you ripped up her poems. Alberto slipped memories into the mouths of fish. Quite one of Alberto's most beautiful lines yet, I think. Charlie read The Tortured Artist's Rant/This Guy Needs Therapy. Bruce had a chainsaw in his throat; tatooed letters.
Thanks to all who came.
Next SpokenWord Monday October 19th
Theme: Space/l'espace
Susannah was a bad cat mother, shouldn't be who she is. Ooog went fisting for your love. Yes, I do mean fisting. Rod Tame brought Saturday night from Deansgate, Manchester. The hangover endures on Unreality TV. Dominic Berry spoke of la machine humaine et la puissance des haricots. The stablisers taken from his bicycle, he feasted on speed. Thérèse brought une petite machine pour faire la cuisine. Jonathan's library books were scratched with other people's clichés. He found that there's pleasure in thinking what's been thought before. In retrospect, he admitted the poetry was a mistake. Memory is a machine that lies. When the vodka failed, he scalped her cat. Jason wondered whether, maybe, all we need is to watch TV together. Bruce brought Earth, Wind & Amplifier. A story shorter than the rope around his neck. Dorry Funaki read Edna St Vincent Millay's Renaissance. Nina told of the New York Machine. Pia had that soap-induced feeling of being clean, and a permanent cigarette. Daen had too many hairdressers. And the Devil's own nightsoil. (Any chance of a copy, Daen?) I was at 17 Poisoner's Row. For Peter, feeling is a human error. Kezia was tied to the moon; friable. Francesca remembers the day you ripped up her poems. Alberto slipped memories into the mouths of fish. Quite one of Alberto's most beautiful lines yet, I think. Charlie read The Tortured Artist's Rant/This Guy Needs Therapy. Bruce had a chainsaw in his throat; tatooed letters.
Thanks to all who came.
Next SpokenWord Monday October 19th
Theme: Space/l'espace
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