Poetry : Wed 23 Aug
A slightly surreal atmosphere lingered around the Pleasance Dome last night - people in unusual poses and unfamiliar sounds spiced the air with strange juxtapositions.
Poised, calm,
Shirt tails frayed, overhanging low-cut pants,
The tell-tale threads flutter in the breeze:
A hint of wildness -
Part of his Daoist ease.
Chimes tumble-tinkle out,
Slipping through the chatter
As if they didn't matter,
Stripping silence with their patter,
Sipping bits of conversation
As they land in syncopation
In the ears of café loungers
Then the pattern flounders
And stops.
She packs away the glockenspiel
But not before slipping the beater
Over metal bars
In a waterfall run of sound
From bells of silver light
That flows out through the night.
It transpired that both the lounger and the musician were performers - just hanging out, recharging their creative batteries. I guess we all have our individual ways of doing so - Paul Lyalls recommends doing nothing - I write poetry. Another guy I met this morning takes photographs.
He doesn't write poetry.
He takes pictures -
Poetic pictures.
Not of holidays on the beach
But of everyday things:
His daughter buying a childrens' magazine
in a newsagent's shop;
The building of a bridge;
Two coppers arresting a drunk;
And a sign in a pub which read:
'No smoking beyond this point'.
He harvests joy from things we're unaware we've planted.
And sees the poetry in things we take for granted.
His daughter wrote a poem which she pinned up on the poetry board, in which she used the word 'cupboard' but spelt it 'cubird' - something we
talked about as I read it as a 'cube-bird' and it fired up my imagination as to what a 'cube-bird' (or even a 'cue-bird') might be and whether they lived in cupboards or not. Something to think about and see where the ideas lead.
John Hegley judged Sunday's poetry competition on the topic of 'Pies', choosing the following poem as the winning one:
One never knows when it comes to meat pies
What under the crust truly lies,
For though it may be delicioius,
My thoughts turn suspicious
That I'm munching a nasty surprise.
Bianca Leggett
My time at the Pleasance this year has come to an end, but the focus on poetry at the Pleasance continues at the Dome, where a selection of
winning entries from the competitions we've been running will be on display on the Poetry Board next to the Box Office.
I return to London today. This year, I've done poetry with a singing chef, next year, I'm planning to do a performance poetry show - and who knows what might happen in that! It's still hard to say goodbye, even though I know that all good things have to come to an end, and that it's just a transition after all.
There are too many stopped consonants in 'goodbye' -
Echoing my reluctance to voice the 'AY!'
And crede the 'aye'.
So, silence reigns and in my heart
I pen the sounds, the word, the moment,
And its smart.
John Hegley has kindly agreed to take on the mantle of judging the Pleasance Poetry Competition until the end of the festival, so come to the Pleasance Dome and be inspired!