Clip - Isabel reading John Seawright's Barns of the Suicides. 18th Jan 2010
This dead Southern poet wrote poems to Isabel's mum!
Report from Junk 11.01.10
Bruce and Isabel among the audience:
Robert Cole, published in Ambit & elsewhere, editor of Chimera magazine:
Troy Yorke, taking a break from the manic satanic glee that his poetry brings out in him:
Or commun:
Some highlights: Or commun était abimé par l'espoir. Susie Reynolds was snowballed by a snow priest and a hermaphrodite nun. Rufo is against farmers. He needs a library to burn, time to get even. Troy Yorke likes to stuff a cat in the garbage can & then eat strawberries. He has quite an arsenal of sarcastic and shall we say direct & explicit poems. They went down well.
Robert Cole began ''All my poetry's junk.'' Saw Dali's brain overrun with chocolate ants. Staggering with the bends. The other Troy read Beckett: Wasps in the jam. Isabel's grandfather's business was junk. Used to say people'd pay a dollar for this family. Ukelelelen sang an ode to Junk, the first time I've heard The Ramones' I Wanna Be Sedated played on the ukelele.
Marty burns brighter, burns fiercer. His hair has grown back now.
Yanique wasted time sorting through your junk.
Bruce was, and maybe still is, Aleesha at Lonely Burger.
And finally Isabel just could not enjoy her corn dog, with cotton candy in her hair.
Robert Cole and Susie Reynolds will be seeking submissions in February for the next issue of Chimera Magazine. Stay tuned.
Robert Cole, published in Ambit & elsewhere, editor of Chimera magazine:
Troy Yorke, taking a break from the manic satanic glee that his poetry brings out in him:
Or commun:
Some highlights: Or commun était abimé par l'espoir. Susie Reynolds was snowballed by a snow priest and a hermaphrodite nun. Rufo is against farmers. He needs a library to burn, time to get even. Troy Yorke likes to stuff a cat in the garbage can & then eat strawberries. He has quite an arsenal of sarcastic and shall we say direct & explicit poems. They went down well.
Robert Cole began ''All my poetry's junk.'' Saw Dali's brain overrun with chocolate ants. Staggering with the bends. The other Troy read Beckett: Wasps in the jam. Isabel's grandfather's business was junk. Used to say people'd pay a dollar for this family. Ukelelelen sang an ode to Junk, the first time I've heard The Ramones' I Wanna Be Sedated played on the ukelele.
Marty burns brighter, burns fiercer. His hair has grown back now.
Yanique wasted time sorting through your junk.
Bruce was, and maybe still is, Aleesha at Lonely Burger.
And finally Isabel just could not enjoy her corn dog, with cotton candy in her hair.
Robert Cole and Susie Reynolds will be seeking submissions in February for the next issue of Chimera Magazine. Stay tuned.
Next SpokenWord 11th January theme "Junk"
20h30
at the Cabaret Populaire/Culture Rapide
103 rue Julien Lacroix
Metro Belleville/Pyrénées
at the Cabaret Populaire/Culture Rapide
103 rue Julien Lacroix
Metro Belleville/Pyrénées
Changes Poem-Report by Alberto for 7th Dec 09
Qui a décapsulé la coca-cola apocalyptique?
Qui a décapsulé la coca-cola apocalyptique?
Changes.
Substitutions.
Claudine Tauziede for Michele.
Same psychedelicatessen:
Qui a décapsulé la coca-cola apocalyptique?
Qui a décapsulé la coca-cola apocalyptique?
Who the fuck has decapsulaized the apocalyptic coke?
This song will be an hit single in Canada.
This or Locomotion by The Sofia Lorenians.
Who Knows? Times are changing.
The Albatross of Baudelaire is changed.
Three months in Paris and you are changed.
Change.
Being in love with a boy of the east coast.
Change.
Being in love with a boy of the west coast.
Changing Willy.
Changing Will.
Will. Change the title of that poem as your mother likes.
The dealer who stabbed him has changed his mind after listening to his poem.
He’s reading slowly, now, because he’s bleeding a lot.
The dealer who wanted him dead, changes his mind, and takes him to the hospital.
Changes.
This body of mine will darken, whiten, grow cold and dry.
Change.
I’m gonna be a father.
My son will be a king.
Change.
My daughter will be a queen.
Paradoxical theory of change:
Change occurs not
when you try to be what you are not
but when you become what you are.
Further changes are waiting for us
in the next Future.
Qui a décapsulé la coca-cola apocalyptique?
Changes.
Substitutions.
Claudine Tauziede for Michele.
Same psychedelicatessen:
Qui a décapsulé la coca-cola apocalyptique?
Qui a décapsulé la coca-cola apocalyptique?
Who the fuck has decapsulaized the apocalyptic coke?
This song will be an hit single in Canada.
This or Locomotion by The Sofia Lorenians.
Who Knows? Times are changing.
The Albatross of Baudelaire is changed.
Three months in Paris and you are changed.
Change.
Being in love with a boy of the east coast.
Change.
Being in love with a boy of the west coast.
Changing Willy.
Changing Will.
Will. Change the title of that poem as your mother likes.
The dealer who stabbed him has changed his mind after listening to his poem.
He’s reading slowly, now, because he’s bleeding a lot.
The dealer who wanted him dead, changes his mind, and takes him to the hospital.
Changes.
This body of mine will darken, whiten, grow cold and dry.
Change.
I’m gonna be a father.
My son will be a king.
Change.
My daughter will be a queen.
Paradoxical theory of change:
Change occurs not
when you try to be what you are not
but when you become what you are.
Further changes are waiting for us
in the next Future.
The Sea Report, 30th Nov 09
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…
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…
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