The beach! The beach!
It’s the first day at the beach!
Some boy flexes his bicep
and scrutinises a girl’s
derrière –
I look at his, just
to make sure that
all is balanced and beautiful
at the beach.
Update
8 years ago
Saturday, 29 May 2010
Tuesday, 18 May 2010
Po' Fo' in Parentheses
The Bicycle Shop, St Benedict’s Street
Monday 10th May, 7.00pm
Part of the Norwich Fringe Festival
“I strongly suspect that when this revolution takes place, art will no longer be distinguished by its rarity, or its expense, or its inaccessibility, or the extraordinary way in which it is marketed - it will be the prerogative of all of us, and we will do it as those artists did whom Freud understood not at all…the artists that had no ego, and no name.”
Germaine Greer – Town Bloody Hall speech
How could the notion of the artist with ‘no ego, and no name’ functions in a society driven precisely by the ego and the name? Is it fair to argue that performance poetry is a projection of ego and nothing else?
Well, it's a fair if somewhat bold question - one that Tim Clare, Veronika Wilson and Sarah Ellis set out to answer on Monday 10th May ( with kind assistance from their chair, Nathan Hamilton) - first some highlights from the Q& A session
Norwich Fringe Festival - Po' Fo' In Parentheses 10th May 2010 - Highlight 1# by brokenloop
Norwich Fringe Festival - Po' Fo' 10th May - Highlight 2# by brokenloop
It's interesting stuff I'm sure you'll agree - an edited version debate is available to be heard and downloaded below (you can download by clicking the little downwards arrow on the right-hand side) :
Norwich Fringe Festival - Po' Fo' Debate - 10th May - Edit by brokenloop
I'd like to add that I will blog further about this topic at a later date - however, I feel it's important that it's presented in a raw form without me yammering all around it. I would strongly encourage you to use the comments section below to air your views however...
Many thanks to the Writers' Centre, Norwich for their support with this event.
Monday 10th May, 7.00pm
Part of the Norwich Fringe Festival
“I strongly suspect that when this revolution takes place, art will no longer be distinguished by its rarity, or its expense, or its inaccessibility, or the extraordinary way in which it is marketed - it will be the prerogative of all of us, and we will do it as those artists did whom Freud understood not at all…the artists that had no ego, and no name.”
Germaine Greer – Town Bloody Hall speech
How could the notion of the artist with ‘no ego, and no name’ functions in a society driven precisely by the ego and the name? Is it fair to argue that performance poetry is a projection of ego and nothing else?
Well, it's a fair if somewhat bold question - one that Tim Clare, Veronika Wilson and Sarah Ellis set out to answer on Monday 10th May ( with kind assistance from their chair, Nathan Hamilton) - first some highlights from the Q& A session
Norwich Fringe Festival - Po' Fo' In Parentheses 10th May 2010 - Highlight 1# by brokenloop
Norwich Fringe Festival - Po' Fo' 10th May - Highlight 2# by brokenloop
It's interesting stuff I'm sure you'll agree - an edited version debate is available to be heard and downloaded below (you can download by clicking the little downwards arrow on the right-hand side) :
Norwich Fringe Festival - Po' Fo' Debate - 10th May - Edit by brokenloop
I'd like to add that I will blog further about this topic at a later date - however, I feel it's important that it's presented in a raw form without me yammering all around it. I would strongly encourage you to use the comments section below to air your views however...
Many thanks to the Writers' Centre, Norwich for their support with this event.
Sunday, 2 May 2010
On the subject of cooking
At 19 the world was so vibrant and rich
And now at 25 – ah why give a damn?
The tarnish is best sort of stout a remedy
rich with sorrow you chug-belly you gave
it all over to the sharp spirit the buttons
in a matchbox and a collecting glass into
which water drips and you plant chillies
on the balcony and hope the horizon
is still vibrant and rich though hope enough
is enough to make it vibrant and rich you
have chosen the right words to call this
thing by what it is just as we play dress
up daily so the day is dressed to the thing
the words that’s the thing you see the tender
spirit is tender because the words are placed
so no other reason you are not tender because
tender is unique to that instance tender is universal
and multi-form and I am not certain that tender
is tender in your eyes meat is tender it is best
tender and still with its juices almost still warm
but seal the thing and retain its flavour do not
let it grey to obscurity now.
And now at 25 – ah why give a damn?
The tarnish is best sort of stout a remedy
rich with sorrow you chug-belly you gave
it all over to the sharp spirit the buttons
in a matchbox and a collecting glass into
which water drips and you plant chillies
on the balcony and hope the horizon
is still vibrant and rich though hope enough
is enough to make it vibrant and rich you
have chosen the right words to call this
thing by what it is just as we play dress
up daily so the day is dressed to the thing
the words that’s the thing you see the tender
spirit is tender because the words are placed
so no other reason you are not tender because
tender is unique to that instance tender is universal
and multi-form and I am not certain that tender
is tender in your eyes meat is tender it is best
tender and still with its juices almost still warm
but seal the thing and retain its flavour do not
let it grey to obscurity now.
Tuesday, 23 March 2010
Thursday, 18 March 2010
Lo the iron foot
He scrapes – lo the iron foot – a cluster of toes at the end –
He carves wild circles –
leaving an array of spectators frowning –
self-aware, he tries
treading softer with the other -
to compensate see?
The crumpled paper of their faces grow
sympathetic to his squealing,
begin to undo themselves a little.
Now lament
ol’ iron foot – or applaud the endeavour -
the stability of the heavens
under his callous, grating orbit.
He carves wild circles –
leaving an array of spectators frowning –
self-aware, he tries
treading softer with the other -
to compensate see?
The crumpled paper of their faces grow
sympathetic to his squealing,
begin to undo themselves a little.
Now lament
ol’ iron foot – or applaud the endeavour -
the stability of the heavens
under his callous, grating orbit.
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
The Effort presents : SHOEBOX
THE EFFORT brings you a devised performance based around a shoebox full of poetry and prose by Norwich poet and performer Andy Spragg: SHOEBOX
SHOEBOX explores themes in the original shoebox texts (urban routines, boring jobs and the architecture of cities) as well as bringing in the work of performers, artists and musicians around the theme of shoeboxes.
Everyone has a shoebox - at the bottom of a cupboard, under clothes you should throw away, filled with letters from friends you no longer speak to, bursting with bank statements you couldn't bring yourself to open, containing photographs that weren't quite worth putting in an album.
We will be performing on the following dates:
February 24th to 27th (Wed. to Sat.)
and
March 3rd to 6th (Wed. to Sat.)
at 9PM
Tickets can be obtained through the White Bear box office at
020 7793 9193
£10/£8 concessions
The nearest tube stop is Kennington (Northern Line).
For £15, you can enjoy both the double-bill CLAM & HONEY/BABY (19:30 start) and SHOEBOX (21:00 start).
----------------------------------------------------
CAST:
Zenia Bond
Claire Chard
Emma Davis
Farah Merani
Keri Penford-Baker
Tara Postma
Victoria Scott
WRITING: Andy Spragg
MUSIC: Sim Eldem
DIRECTOR: Vanessa Pope
COLLABORATORS: Antonia Grant, Gareth Risdale, Ceridwen Smith, Jessica Spalis
PRODUCTION SUPPORT: LIft'n'Hoist
----------------------------------------------------
THE EFFORT is a London-based D.I.Y arts initiative. Pooling the talents of performers, artists, musicians and writers, THE EFFORT produces collaborative art, performance and writing. We aim to make the most of under-used spaces to create works that engage directly with audiences. In addition to producing the works of associated artists, we research, review and reach out to new performers.
Saturday, 13 February 2010
In keeping with...
Sonnet 1#
A spill, of late - in a dream we abide
some heart, a dredged lone wreck - ringing
in gloomed grey water - a near singing
resonance, a long haul hymn to the tide.
In each churn kept some neat reason to hide
broad tone songs with such lust, such low blessing -
murmured prayer, a principle changing,
tailored need to find brief things to confide.
What murmur, it is a tongue soon stilled,
set and so saved, repenting all but a name -
conversion made in brash storm-churned sea.
Forgive an angered word, the throat trilled
a note of love, a long hush all the same,
forgive a spill of late, a desire to be free.
Sonnet 2
Setting off so, I feel a crisp absence -
a wish to see you again manifests.
Frost plundered boots wet with long tread.
Chilled press of damp flesh confirms it,
our day together spent in a shiver.
In passing I took it to heart, this part
of a walk, an embrace given to mute
satisfaction, no pondering drive, a reason
to embrace. I guess you have to forgive
me, I broke the silence with this faint thought
In the end you will not want me, I guess
I am certain of that. I am breaking
a silence to save the chatter of teeth.
I am not given to frantic displays.
Sonnet 3
Of the/two of/ us you/are immor/tal
and free/ una/fraid to/ break the/ line or/
even/ fall ov/er it/I am/ghastly with/
envy/a green/hue a fat/trick of/your speech/
I had /a dream/ where you/came back/ and told/
me that/ we were fun/dament/ally free/ of one/
anoth/er I/ guess you/ owed me/that too/
though in/ fact I/ don’t feel/ that way/
you did/nt owe/me any/thing you/ are the/
one who/is im/mortal/and free/and I/
am aw/are you/ are the/ reason/ I find/ it so
easy/ to fall/ in love/ or at/least you/
had some/part in/it I/ wish on/ly the/
best for/you I/am learn/ing to/be free.
I set myself the task of writing a few sonnets recently - just as a technical exercise to get myself back into writing in a more structured manner. As you can see I've not had a tremendous success with retaining the sonnet's rigidity of form - but the process was fun and I've got some new poems out so it. I think also that there is something more personal in these pieces, perhaps because my brain wasn't engaged with finding overly-complex metaphors for everything.
A spill, of late - in a dream we abide
some heart, a dredged lone wreck - ringing
in gloomed grey water - a near singing
resonance, a long haul hymn to the tide.
In each churn kept some neat reason to hide
broad tone songs with such lust, such low blessing -
murmured prayer, a principle changing,
tailored need to find brief things to confide.
What murmur, it is a tongue soon stilled,
set and so saved, repenting all but a name -
conversion made in brash storm-churned sea.
Forgive an angered word, the throat trilled
a note of love, a long hush all the same,
forgive a spill of late, a desire to be free.
Sonnet 2
Setting off so, I feel a crisp absence -
a wish to see you again manifests.
Frost plundered boots wet with long tread.
Chilled press of damp flesh confirms it,
our day together spent in a shiver.
In passing I took it to heart, this part
of a walk, an embrace given to mute
satisfaction, no pondering drive, a reason
to embrace. I guess you have to forgive
me, I broke the silence with this faint thought
In the end you will not want me, I guess
I am certain of that. I am breaking
a silence to save the chatter of teeth.
I am not given to frantic displays.
Sonnet 3
Of the/two of/ us you/are immor/tal
and free/ una/fraid to/ break the/ line or/
even/ fall ov/er it/I am/ghastly with/
envy/a green/hue a fat/trick of/your speech/
I had /a dream/ where you/came back/ and told/
me that/ we were fun/dament/ally free/ of one/
anoth/er I/ guess you/ owed me/that too/
though in/ fact I/ don’t feel/ that way/
you did/nt owe/me any/thing you/ are the/
one who/is im/mortal/and free/and I/
am aw/are you/ are the/ reason/ I find/ it so
easy/ to fall/ in love/ or at/least you/
had some/part in/it I/ wish on/ly the/
best for/you I/am learn/ing to/be free.
I set myself the task of writing a few sonnets recently - just as a technical exercise to get myself back into writing in a more structured manner. As you can see I've not had a tremendous success with retaining the sonnet's rigidity of form - but the process was fun and I've got some new poems out so it. I think also that there is something more personal in these pieces, perhaps because my brain wasn't engaged with finding overly-complex metaphors for everything.
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