Poetry : Tues 8th Aug
It was a quiet day at the Pleasance yesterday and I had a chance to walk around town a bit, enjoying the buskers' shows along the Royal Mile. I also had the opportunity to talk to some interesting people. One of them was a security guard at the Pleasance who complained of an allergic reaction to something which was affecting his nose. He inspired this poem
Couldn't sneeze
Oh b****y body
This is hell!
I'm asking nicely,
Pretty please -
Someone, anyone
Make me well!
Scratching with his thumb
Was useless
Poking with a pen
Was painful
Nothing seemed to help
The tickling.
With advice from all
Around him,
Hot shower, whiskey, steam
And tablets
From a health food shop
Nearby there,
Vitamin C and
Ample rest
He came gradually,
Back to life.
At peace, at last,
Within himself.
Along the Royal Mile, one of the most interesting encounters I had was with a Spanish-speaking street performer who had put together a miniature theatre, set up like an old-style camera with a black cloth you placed over your head and two windows you placed your eyes up against to watch the show. Probably the smallest theatre performance on the Fringe, it was called
A tiny world's inside a womb-like box,
A world conceived within a deep, dark mind.
A hood of blackness, shutting out the day
Covers my head - and so begins the play.
The curtain raised, the music soars and lifts,
The scene unfolds in light and darkness mix'd.
Imaginative blasts, fanfares of skill,
Hypnotic magic and sensual thrill.
Beguiled by darkess, light, silence and sound,
I stay absorbed, dead to the world around.
This tiny universe becomes my world.
He works the levers, mixes sight and sound.
Directs the players, draws out the moments,
Making intimate theatre profound.
Back at the Pleasance, I get talking to a young guy enjoying a 'Dip Dab', a lollipop which comes with a bag of sherbert powder to dip it in. He inspired this poem
Come with Dip-Dabs in a bag.
Fizzy-licking, Titter-tongueing,
Sweet-sense sharpening,
Living soul-fire stoking,
Causing memories of childhood
To shiver down his throat
And firework up his back.
While the following poem was inspired by a woman who was relaxing in the Food Shack Bar later on
In a spiral
Sitting on
A metal chair
Private worlds
Spin within her
While around her
People mingle,
Chatter, turn -
But she don't care.
Close-crossed legs,
Right foot circling,
Ring of light
On burnished hair.
Then the wound unwinds
Within her.
She sips the wine,
Uncoils the spring,
Stretches out the world around her.
Relaxed, at ease, alert, prepared for anything.