Blog

Don’t Cart-wheel on Broken Glass

Last Thursday night LitSoc put on an event with CWS… though actually I think only one of our collaborators was there.  Anyway, this is possibly the last event we’re going to put on, but I’m hoping to put on another one.  I really want to pay the performers but I don’t think we have enough money… maybe on the next!

Anyway, we had to host as a committee (apart from Helen because she doesn’t like public speaking) because our host pulled out last-minute… very unprofessional haha.  We started off with a CWS open mic but the only member that came had to go away for something and so there wasn’t really any of their input but whatever.  I was the “sacrificial poet” first in the open mic and we had a decent number of people get up to read.

The night consisted of Catherine Woodward, followed by Grenouilles, and I was meant to go on then but I cut my set out so the night would run more smoothly (hence why I did the open mic instead).  Then Greta Healy and Hannah Walker gave us some poetry, and Robyn Comfort began with poetry and moved onto music.

Ending the night was Russell J Turner, Ashley Johnston, and Tim Clare.  I was really happy with how the evening went down, but I think I’m getting a bit too comfortable in my university bubble because I had rather too much wine to drink.  I stupidly left mid-way through Tim Clare’s set because a couple of friends were going out and apparently it was a “now or never” situation.  I feel really stupid and guilty for leaving and really regret it.  It’s something I’d be totally against when sober and if Captain of the Rant saw me that night, he’d be saying “now who’s rude? now who’s the dickhead?! hmmm?!”

I guess I got what I deserved.  I ended up at “Nowhere” and somehow was dancing on my own, wondering where one of the people I came with had gone but figuring I may as well just enjoy myself until we were reunited.  I had an urge at the beginning of the night to do a cart-wheel but we were busy setting up so I didn’t.  You better believe repressed urges will come out.  I decided to use an empty space to do a cart-wheel.  Now, this is something I would do sober as well, and have memories of doing it at kid’s birthday parties in my childhood, so I don’t know if I can entirely blame the alcohol for… maybe I can blame the club, or the dark lighting.

Anyway, I did the cart-wheel and I did it on a load of broken glass.  My hand got cut first and so I fell onto the floor and hurt my knee.  I was really embarrassed and rushed to the bar where I told them my hand really hurt and that I “thought” it was bleeding.  I looked down and there was blood going everywhere (including my lovely dress… it’s okay guys, it came out in the wash, thank god! It’s vintage you see).  I was taken to the back room and they got the first aid kit out and bandaged me up, but the guy said that if I cared what my knee looked like I needed to go to A&E.  I remember being quite casual about it because I didn’t think that I needed more than what he’d done, and I didn’t really want to go but him saying that obviously freaked me out…  I didn’t really want a deformed knee.

So… memory blank… somehow I got there.  Taxi I guess.  I waited for 3 hours and had nothing to do.  I had left my poetry and my iPod at the LitSoc event.  I wasted loads of texts and even tried calling my dad, and a friend I’d planned to call at the weekend.  It was past 2am so I didn’t get through.  I bought some crisps and a cookie from a machine.  I felt so depressed and lonely and just sat there for hours until I got so frustrated with everyone being seen apart from me that I started crying.  Not noticeably, just silently to myself.  I just wanted my parents there but they are in London and I am in Norwich.

Eventually I was seen and it was revealed it was a complete waste of time.  I didn’t even need stitches.  They just washed my hand (which had been previously glued) and then put these strips on my knee (which my dad said were butterfly stitches, but still… not proper stitches).  I got an expensive taxi home for £8 and when I arrived at mine at like 5am, the guy wouldn’t stop talking about how Shakespeare doesn’t exist.  I mean, bless him, but at 5am I just wanted to go to sleep before attempting at my busy day whilst being all tired and hungover.

It’s my housemate, Kristy’s birthday today so we’ve just made her fairy cakes and put them on this amazing cake stand we got her from Notty Green.  I’ve been listening to Funeral for a Friend’s new album Welcome Home Armageddon and it’s great!  More like the old stuff, wooo!  It’s been sunny and I’ve been wearing pink jeans and been in a good mood considering my preoccupation with a guy that doesn’t feel the same as me and general loneliness that creeps over me sometimes.  And random waves of panic about my life in general.  Anyway, before I start getting too personal and bitching about other stuff that’s annoying me, I’ll end.

xxx

Bare Feet Cabaret

Right, I’m going to attempt to make this short and sweet but it’s not something I find easy to do but I’d really love to do a bit more of my dissertation and also need to do ironing and washing up and make a packed lunch tonight as I won’t have time for dinner (I had dinner at lunch though… SCALLOPS! left over mixed beans and French Stick drizzled with olive oil and scattered with salt YUM!)

Okay, so I was gutted Liam Parkin had to pull out of his set because it was a bit of a surprise to me he was even doing it, as he’s part of the LitSoc committee and he’s never mentioned it!  I was on second… I’m not sure what the first guy’s name was but he reminded me of the bands I used to see when I was a teenager (God, that’s weird to say) and I also got an email from this thing where a lot of these old bands were on and I can’t find anything on Facebook about them so they’re probably all finished.  Anyway, I knew/recognised all the front row which was a bit weird, Josh seemed to be occupied with a carrier bag for most of the night but it made for later jokes and he waited to have his cigarette until after me, yay!  Even though I was doing a lot of performance stylee stuff.  I wasn’t in the mood in the day so was glad I got into it when I was there.

Billy Hallett was good, I suppose… haha, but he has just pulled out of the LitSoc event that’s tonight so I can’t find many kind words for him at the moment.  He had lots of friends there though and I had, like, one, so that was good.  Josh read his poetry but he’d said he wasn’t really in the mood and you could tell, though the kind of blasé way can be part of the charm.  I just like listening to the words, it’s nice.

The other poet that was on was Tabby Farrar.  Josh had looked her up on Google, and pictures of her on the Font Magazine website.  I thought it was a shame that these pictures came up before her poetry as I’m all for making money from it, but if poetry is your passion, personally I would find it disappointing if that were the case for me.  Then again, maybe she doesn’t have much online presence (I think I’m on A LOT of websites).  The pictures were hot though!  I think I’m a little bit jealous; the pictures online seem pretty fucking cool, but I wasn’t even that great at modelling with my clothes all on the one time I tried it and would love to have the confidence to attempt at being “sexy” rather than constantly smiling (or the occasional pout when drunk).  Then again, maybe if I was 17 pounds lighter and had breasts 3 cup sizes bigger, and two inches taller, MAYBE I would be more confident.  There’s no way I would be able to lie on my back because I would look like a flabby man. Ha! Anyway, on the night, Tabby reminded me a bit of a mix between me when I was younger and someone I know from home.  I started off doing lots of poems about sex (or rather about dancing but alluding to sex, as I didn’t actually have sex until I was 19) and drinking and guys… and I still do, but I try to expand more.  She spoke to me in the interval and was very sweet and complimentary about my set.

A couple of Canadian people spoke to me as well.  One of which was a guy called Devon, and although he didn’t have his band with him, his solo act was great and I could imagine it would be even more amazing with his bandmates and without the guitar crackling problems.  He referred to a ‘she poet’ in his set, which Tabby assumed was her at first, probably from her friends saying it though… I wouldn’t have assumed it was me anyway… BUT turns out it was her because he went up to her and I had to approach him.  Oh well, I got a second-hand download voucher, wow, looks like it has 13 tracks, nice one!  Adam Warne, a comedy act, was hilarious!  The night ended on The Woodland Creatures, who were in the same vein as The Middle Ones, and yet unique in their own right and that was lovely to finish on.

I then went to queue up for Lola Lo’s to meet my housemates, but after half an hour I gave up.  Probably for the best as I’m going to be super productive now!  I just need to pick the poems I’m going to read tonight…

xxx

Love

I just wanted to share some Bob Marley quotes I came across.  Although I don’t share his religious beliefs expressed in some quotes, and I don’t smoke weed but I can see partly that ‘herb is the healing of a nation, alcohol is the destruction’ yet I know a big fan of his who did smoke and treated me really badly, and it is strongly linked to schizophrenia.  I do believe the part about alcohol though, and the drugs classifications are a load of rubbish, reflecting the perceived threat rather than the real threat.

“Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that you’ve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more. You share hopes for the future, dreams that will never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many disappointments life has thrown at you. When something wonderful happens, you can’t wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in your excitement. They are not embarrassed to cry with you when you are hurting or laugh with you when you make a fool of yourself. Never do they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough, but rather they build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you special and even beautiful. There is never any pressure, jealousy or competition but only a quiet calmness when they are around. You can be yourself and not worry about what they will think of you because they love you for who you are. The things that seem insignificant to most people such as a note, song or walk become invaluable treasures kept safe in your heart to cherish forever. Memories of your childhood come back and are so clear and vivid it’s like being young again. Colours seem brighter and more brilliant. Laughter seems part of daily life where before it was infrequent or didn’t exist at all. A phone call or two during the day helps to get you through a long day’s work and always brings a smile to your face. In their presence, there’s no need for continuous conversation, but you find you’re quite content in just having them nearby. Things that never interested you before become fascinating because you know they are important to this person who is so special to you. You think of this person on every occasion and in everything you do. Simple things bring them to mind like a pale blue sky, gentle wind or even a storm cloud on the horizon. You open your heart knowing that there’s a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible. You find that being vulnerable is the only way to allow your heart to feel true pleasure that’s so real it scares you. You find strength in knowing you have a true friend and possibly a soul mate who will remain loyal to the end. Life seems completely different, exciting and worthwhile. Your only hope and security is in knowing that they are a part of your life.”
 
I think this is such an eloquent description of love.  Sometimes I feel like I have loved once and it’s so persistent that I will never be able to feel it for someone else, but sadly that love was not reciprocated so it is not the same as this description… and so it gives me hope that one day I will find a love exactly like that.
 
“Who are you to judge the life I live?
I know I’m not perfect
-and I don’t live to be-
but before you start pointing fingers…
make sure you hands are clean!”
 
I try not to be judgemental.  I don’t think it is always easy, especially at times when I have felt jealous and acted out of character and just basically out of order (usually alcohol fueled).  The important thing is to be aware of negative thoughts and try to have love and compassion for everyone.
 
“The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for.”
 
This is something I really connect with at the moment.
 
“You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She’s not perfect – you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break – her heart. So don’t hurt her, don’t change her, don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she’s not there.”
 
Something I wish a few of the men in my life would have read.
“None but ourselves can free our minds.”
 
Something to remember when feeling trapped by emotions and events we can’t control.
“Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet.”
 
I think that’s a beautiful sentiment and one I shall leave on.  I could stay up longer and listen to more Bob Marley but I have to wake up tomorrow and would rather not be as tired as I have been today as I haven’t been on good form at all.
  
xxx

Carmina of the Rant

I am bursting to say what I did not earlier.  I’m writing this at one in the morning but will post it the next day with the appropriate video.

[Edit: Please remember I was pretty drunk when writing this]

Firstly, I have been accepted onto the Creative Entrepreneurship MA at UEA London!  I didn’t know what to expect, felt it could go either way… my housemate Jordi told me via Facebook that the letter was at our house but I was in London.  In case I didn’t get on, I waited until I got back to Norwich, and with my stupid shoes cutting through my flesh I rushed from bus stop to door and tore open the letter.  I was happy.  I am happy.  It’s a peak, but there are still troughs and that happiness is still temporary.  (That’s actually a reference to that day’s Loose Women… oh dear!)  However, I would be devastated if I didn’t get on.

I’m currently listening to Jessie J’s album and I am increasingly irritated.  She has switched from earlier work into an Americanized accent and it pisses me off.  She sounds so much better natural.  Clearly forgetting her roots… and as soon as Price Tag, the first track, plays, it is clearly bullshit.  She has stated in Style magazine that one of her mottos is to ‘don’t cater for the handful, cater for the masses’ which just is the total opposite of what the lyrics in that song seem to say.  She has a good voice, her songs are good, so why put on some fake accent?  America = the masses = money money money. Bring back the mandem, that’s what I say.

Anyway, tonight.  Despite being tired I went to Word of Mouth.  I feel like I need to do anything I can to expose my poetry.  I knew all the acts and the one I was most impressed with (and during the Christmas holidays I gigged at the same place as him and headline act Pete The Temp) was… Captain of the Rant.  To be honest, I couldn’t remember Pete’s act that much and while this time, I do appreciate he was entertaining, I wasn’t sure he was actually a ‘poet’ but he did do at least one good poem… I would call him more of a comedy act though.

The open mic afterwards was good to do, but the main thing for me was that Captain of the Rant and his friends ruined it for me.  A guy I know from UEA’s CWS ranted about the Captain himself, calling him ‘Captain of the Fuckface’ or something… anyway, I was glad, he deserved it and I’d hoped he felt bad, but him and his mates kept on chatting.  As I was impressed with his act both times I’d seen him, I was disappointed in him and I was just gutted to be honest, absolutely gutted.  Amy Wragg commented it was an open mic and that ‘some people pay attention, and some people don’t’ but personally, I think that’s a load of bollocks!  It’s just rude to talk over spoken word, open mic or not. [Edit: Okay, yes, that’s my opinion but if you argue that one has the right to ignore what’s going on, then I argue it’s my right to be pissed off.  However, I just gave a lot of drunken evil eyes.  Listening back to the YouTube video, I think I attempted to make a point by almost screaming some of Claymore.]

[Edit: I have removed a small section because although I found it funny, it could be misinterpreted as rude]

In the words of Scroobius Pip “thou shalt not attend an open mic and leave as soon as you’ve done your shitty little poem or song, you self-righteous prick.”  I know part of the meaning is that these are things we do… but the main thing is to take it on board.  I’m sure talking through other people’s poems (no matter how shitty they are) is included in this sentiment.  I’m understanding more than ever that when you want to do what you enjoy as a career it can become like a chore… I came to this night because I felt I should, rather than because I really wanted to go.  So, I can understand just going and doing you’re bit, but I don’t want to be like that.  I tend to like to make a night of these things by drinking but I know I’ll have to do less of that the more often I do it… financially and health-wise.  I don’t want that to mean I leave early, I want to stay as long as I can and not forget the places that I came from.

I also got annoyed talking to a friend.  Not because of what they said per say, as they are interesting to talk and debate with… but in terms of my own questioning who I am and what I do. I was told at a Farrago event at the start of the year about an event that’s more for “page poets” and I was offended at the implication that I wasn’t good enough to be considered a performance poet.  Then again, this friend thinks I’m more of a performance poet and that not many of my poems are fit for the page… hence the magazine rejections, I guess.  I do like fitting into both categories, and maybe that’s part of the danger, but it saddens me to be told I don’t fit in either… that I’m not good enough for either.

So, I am happy about my MA… I feel I have direction now and I like that, I like setting goals and ticking things off.  I just need to get some money for it!  Please somebody fund me!  I’m trying to look it as an investment!  Anyway, yes, I’m happy but as always, nothing is good enough… I have to push forward still, and things are still pissing me off, things are still getting me down, my heart is still broken, my body is still alone at night and my poetry was about mental illness tonight, so what do you expect?

Okay, so I’m going to stop listening to this album now.  Stopping it on Who’s Laughing Now which is a good track because it’s personal, which I like, and it’s clear despite the stupid fake accent, she can sing.  Also, a lot of the stuff in the Style article was pretty cool, and her speech at the Brits was amazing.  She seems like a nice girl, and to me… talent and personality… that’s what’s important right? 

respect

The Captain has since apologised and can have his hat back.

xxx

Farrago Heartbreak(er)

Last night I went to Farrago at the RADA bar, and had bagged myself a feature.  My train was delayed and I didn’t know when I was on, but I didn’t stress myself about it because last time the show started at 8pm.  I was pleased with my set but wished I slowed down a bit.  The time is usually quite tight at Farrago, so it was probably better in this case to be quick so I didn’t have to cut my poems short.  I was quite surprised at some of the noises the crowd made because I guess it just seems so natural to me, but I did deal with some emotional matters with a kind of raw honesty.  I’m glad some people laughed at the last poem, ‘Lullaby’ because I see it as a kind of tragi-comedy poem about the ridiculous patterns of thought when you’re infactuated with someone, and wanting them to like you and hoping they feel the same way when they don’t.  It was inspired by reading Sarah Kane and listening to Regina Spektor’s song of the same title… although for some reason I only have half the song. 

A girl I met through an ex boyfriend came to perform again.  I think I may have mentioned she came to the Tea Box gig as she’s trying to get into the poetry circuit.  Her name’s Harriet Cramer and she’s soon going to get a collection published, so watch this space!

Quite a few people came up to me and asked for any websites etc. which was really cool!  The second time someone has asked if I have anything published!  To be honest, I still get rejected from most magazines, and have never tried to get a collection published.  I don’t think I’m ready but I hope to be at that stage after the MA in Creative Entrepreneurship – if I get onto it!  I need to go through my mass of poems to pick out the best.  I also like the idea of working with a theme.  Visually, I want it to be a cross between Laura Dockrill’s Mistakes in the Background, and Courtney Love’s Dirty Blonde.  I’d love to have a more plain collection as well… oh to be a Faber New Poet!

I was also introduced on stage for a second time as something like ‘the angel of heartbreak’ which I was very embarrassed and uncomfortable about.  I had to introduce the winner or the special heartbreak(er) prize – a pick-up line generator, Patrick Hearn.  He said ‘see you at the pub after?’ which added to my embarrassment but I did what I usually do in those situations and giggled like a little girl, which is probably why people think it’s normal to call me an angel and are shocked at some of the things that come out of my mouth haha!  But, hey, it’s just a shyness thing and it’s part of who I am so, irritating as it is, it is how I shall probably stay!

xxx

First Place!

Okay, this is not poetry related, but I’m very happy! Me and my friend Charlotte won first place at the Pole for U aNd I Inter-University Pole Fitness Competition for doubles! There was only one other pair but they were AMAZING and we never expected to win!  They were a boy and girl and did amazing tricks and even were on the pole at the same time; it was beautiful.  It still is sinking in that we won, and I’m loving my trophy!  We each get a free pole too and I can’t wait!  Two of my housemates also do pole dancing and so we will hopefully find a way of putting it up in the house and then we can spin on it whilst cooking pasta and such things.  I made a couple of mistakes in the routine so wasn’t happy with how it went but I don’t mind now we won, yay!!

Also, I have changed my mind.  It did feel empowering.  I have only done dancing competitions in groups before so it was a great boost in confidence to be able to do this.  I was shaking and really nervous beforehand and was so proud of myself afterwards.  So, yes, it felt empowering.  I went to celebrate that night but sadly drank too much, got upset about a boy and cried.  Those are the things that need changing, and pole dancing makes me feel good and I see it as opposite those things like alcohol abuse, and allowing sadomasochistic relations with men, therefore it must be empowering.

I challenge anyone to try doing an up-side-down pike and not feel on top of the world.

xxx

Spoken Word Seduction – Valentine’s Day

I spent my Valentine’s eve at this open mic.  I went alone, as you can see from the camera angle here.  I wasn’t much in the mood for drinking Foster’s again so started off with some vodka in still lemonade, yum! However, the vodka at the bar was double the price of pints so I went for the cheaper option.

My set was a bitter re-telling of recent romantic failures.  I may have broken both sides of my heart now but at least I can turn these into attempts at poetry.  Writing a poem for your boyfriend (and yes, I’ve done the lovely dovey ‘I’ve never been more happy than this, when you tell me I’m beautiful and give me a kiss’ poetry dedications) may affect them momentarily, but tales of heartbreak will always resonate with more people because I think most people have had mad/sad/bad experiences with love.

I spent the day watching unattractive males walk around with roses and other such bunches of flowers.  I think there’s probably only one guy that ever knew I would rather a packet of seeds fo Antirrhinum flowers, although he would know them only by the name snapdragon, has probably forgotten and doesn’t care for me.  I sent this guy a Valentine’s card as one last shot to make something happen.  However, I accidentally sent it to my parent’s address which is my billing address.  I sent him a text but he didn’t reply.  Time to move on.

I went speed dating the night before, and although the layout was pretty bad (it was like a school canteen, with the girl’s moving along) and you had to shout to be heard in the roar of noise… well, it was really fun!  I went with a frex of mine and so it’s pretty cool we can do that together.  I have ZERO female single friends.  Anyway, I put down about 8 guys names and got 4 matches, so that’s not bad.

I ended Valentine’s Day by walking home from town as I got a 35 bus and didn’t know where to get off.  I took a detour through the park and, slightly inebriated, I ran up the steps to the slide and went down it.  I ended up with on my knees, ripping my dress.  It was probably the best way to end up in that position really.

xxx

LitSoc Celebration & Social

The other day I organised a small event with LitSoc in one of the UEA common rooms.  It went even better than the last time we did it as we had a pretty crowded room of maybe about 30 or more people.  No microphones or anything, just the room filled with fairy-lights, lamps, cushions etc.

The first act was a guy called Joe, I’m not sure of his surname, but he was pretty good.  Catherine Woodward read some of her published poems, some written when she was between 16 and 18!  It was so good, even if she doesn’t like it anymore and no longer believes in free verse. 

After a break, Joshua Fisher came on and he was amazing! I don’t know if it was if the room was cold (we later found the heaters on in the room next door, not ours) but it gave me shivers!  His voice has so much range and the words were beautiful.  I was next and I did a few new ones, that are now old because I’ve edited them for my creative writing class.  I also read an extract from Sarah Kane’s 4.48 Psychosis.  I’m reading all her plays now, she’s so fucking great, I love her writing.  I wanted to read more but would need to scream and get properly into it and not be reading it from a book.  Robyn Comfort ended the section with some of her lovely poetry and we took another break and saw a couple of other sign-ups.

The remaining people then enjoyed a really great performance of a poem from Pavel Goncarov, someone in my creative writing class.  Billy Hallett ended the night with some comedy and we began clearing up the empty wine bottles and washing plastic plates and bowls.

I got the bus just on time and so it was a pretty perfect night. Although, at one point, when Catherine was reading, I suddenly felt really lonely.  I thought that was strange, but it passed.  I just have this need for comfort and company at the moment, with Valentine’s approaching, I can only hope for someone to occasionally fall into my bed to hold for a bit and then rant my anti-love poems until anything resembling reality appears.  I also just saw I Love Philip Morris which was a heart-wrenching tragi-comedy, that I didn’t realise was based on a true story until the end.  I’m now off to see a preview of Never Let Me Go.

xxx

My terrible essay that I got a 57 for….

Although I got a bad mark, it connects to poetry so thought I’d post about it.  I’m also going to attempt at a couple of different essays related to the module of ‘Words & Music’ around May/June.

Blurring the Boundaries: An Argument for the Musicality of Poetry

 

The study of the relationship between words and music is centred around the debate on the ability to define music in linguistic terms. One way of defining music is often by describing the impossibility of the task in hand, or resorting to define it in terms of what it is not. Therefore, one might claim, music is not poetry. However, this essay will explore this statement in an attempt to prove the opposite. To do this effectively it is necessary to concentrate the argument. Poetic form will act as a starting point prior to looking at the four perspectives of voice as outlined by Simon Firth – voice as an instrument, body, person and character. Beyond this, the role of genre will be considered, along with any general arguments that arise through this exploration. In the comparison of poetry to music, the popular song will be a focal point, as opposed to classical music. As poetry itself is a vast subject of comparison, there will also be a focus on the contemporary. The aim is to establish, not only a relationship between words and music, but a blurring of the boundaries that takes place when one finds the musicality of poetry.

Although there is a contemporary bias in the argument for poetry as music, it is important to note that there is a ‘modern scholarly reluctance to interpret poetry, music, philosophy and politics in the same breath,’[1] yet in Ancient Greece they did not ‘distinguish song from poetry.’[2] This can be explained as being due to the natural associations that tie song and poetry together. Robert Bridges notes that as speech developed, humankind was ‘bound to take an aesthetic view of it, that is, to be more pleased with some sounds than others.’[3] He also states that ‘poetry selects certain rhythms and makes systems of them, and these repeat themselves: and this is metre.’[4]  Metre does not only hold explicit associations with song lyrics, but it is also related to the patterns of music itself, in the repetition of sound and rhythm. Calvin S. Brown suggests in Amy Lowell’s After Hearing a Waltz by Bartók that ‘it would be an easy task to write out the time of the entire poem in musical notation, in spite of irregularities indicating rests and syncopation.’[5] In this example, the poem’s musicality may be coincidental, and this could be argued as stronger support than when deliberate as it implies a natural association between music and poetry. However, when the musicality of the poetry is intentional, it shows the poet’s belief in the ingrained relationship between poetry and music.  For instance, this relationship cannot be denied in the case of Basil Bunting’s writing, as ‘he believed that poetry should skilfully take over some of the techniques that he only knew in music.’[6] Not only was he influenced by his love for music, he used the musical form as a model for writing; a method which he saw as essential to the success of the piece.  This can be seen in Briggflatts where ‘Bunting had Scarlatti’s B minor fugato sonata (L.33) in his mind from the outset of the poem and the eighteenth century composer’s readiness to modulate between the light and shade of major and minor informs the shift from’ the ‘fells’ late spring’ (l. 4) to the ‘solemn mallet’ (l. 24).[7]

It is worth outlining obvious similarities between music and poetry in order to establish valid reason in the comparison being made here. In contrast to other art forms, both music and poetry are temporal arts, unfolding with time and reliant on one’s anticipation of what is to come. Whether in composition of poetry or reading the end product, similarly to music, sound is of major significance, and as mentioned previously, there is an importance of structure, as much of the pleasure of both art forms is contained in the patterns of rhythm created.  Brown again, asserts that ‘the impossibility of reading more than one thing at a time makes poetry incapable of really reproducing any contrapuntal or polyphonic forms of music.’[8]  However, if one takes the oral tradition of poetry, this is not entirely true, as one can see in the existence of ‘poetry choirs’, or ‘poetry collectives’, such as Aisle16 and Spoken Word All-Stars, whereby lines can run simultaneously as in song, often accompanied by instruments.   Roland Barthes analysed the historical meaning of the French mélodie and concludes it ‘derives very little from the history of music and a great deal from the theory of text.’[9]  He makes a connection between language, poetry and performance in relation to the mélodie; when encountering poetry, perhaps as opposed to prose, one needs to read the text aloud in order to engage with it.  The sound produced creates meaning in the individual’s mind.  Thus, this act of interpretation relies on the experience of the individual, which brings about the ideas of person and character as proposed by Simon Frith.

          In the same way as song, there are different layers of meaning in poetry.  Firstly, there is the intended meaning of the poet, and within this there may be a character created either as an extension of the poet, or separate from them.  When the poem is performed there may be an extra layer added through a stage persona, and lastly the multiple interpretations of the audience.  When poetry is spoken aloud, the text is brought to life because when a poem is on the page it is not fully formed; it lays incomplete and waiting for a body to give it a voice.  In explaining the idea of mimesis in poetry, Aristotle believed it ‘dramatises and embodies human speech and action.’[10]  Both are cathartic by nature, and it is when spoken aloud that the emotional expression that is embodied in the words is fully produced.  This is where the boundaries blur as ‘the music of poetry and the poetry of music are one and the same thing.’[11]  There have been surges in the popularity of poetry, and since Kenneth Rexroth noted in the 1970s, with regard to the Beat generation, ‘poetry has become once again an art of direct communication,’ poetry has seen a rise in recognition within pop culture, not only with live literature events, but also with its associations with music.[12]  Like certain genres of music, poetry can be seen as elitist.  However, the current ‘poetry scene’ is more easily comparable to a wave of underground music.  With connotations of fashion and poets achieving a celebrity status, it may be argued that this is a phase or fad, yet this merely asserts the notion that poetry and music are one and the same thing.  Between these surges of popularity ‘the geyser is grumbling underground and gathering its strength.’[13]

          Basil Bunting believed ‘music and poetry are twin sisters born of the primitive dances.’[14]  With their roots both in the body and movement it is essential to the nature of poetry that it is voiced, using the body as a vessel for its sound.  Lawrence Kramer used the word ‘gestural’ when describing the relationship between music and poetry, reflecting the idea that both ‘define their formal shape as a function of rhythmically integrated time.’[15]  The movement of the body in dance has a natural rhythm that is mirrored within the spoken word.  This can be seen in any school playground where clapping and skipping games are played such as Down Down Baby, where the rhymes are combined with hand claps, stomping feet and other movements.  The poet, Tracie Morris establishes a connection between the body and the voice as an instrument, stating ‘the body is full of these cavities that reverberate sounds.  Sounds are physical things.’[16]  The sound of words can be manipulated by the slight movement of the mouth, and in the way one’s body dictates the sound when singing, it does the same in speech.  Poets and singers are not restricted to rules of sound as both are free to fluctuate between talking and singing.  For example, PJ Harvey is categorised as a singer, yet she varies her voice considerably, at times not just talking, but whispering.  In Poeticat, a current ‘poetry band,’ Catherine Martindale performs poems which include parts that are sung in a genre they call ‘folk n word.’[17]  This leads on to the idea of the voice as an instrument which the individual, poet or singer, can use to determine the sound that is produced.

          The idea that a performance is dependent on the individual, means the performer also has the freedom to change the how the words sound and toy with the audiences expectations, for example, elongating certain words or adding extra pauses.  Therefore, the idea that a singer of popular music (as opposed to classical whereby the score dictates the singer) having less control over the sound than the poet, who ‘can never be fixed by or to a performance,’ seems archaic of Simon Frith, writing just over a decade ago.[18]  The spoken word and the sung have the same role.  Poetry is often assumed to be more concerned with meaning over sound, than lyrics of songs.  For example, in recent years there has been an emergence of genres of music such as post-hardcore, screamo, metalcore, deathcore and crunkcore, whereby a common feature is that lyrics are often screamed to an inaudible degree.  However, it is arguable that this does not necessarily mean the words have less significance.  For example, in the post-hardcore band, The Blood Brother’s 1, 2, 3, 4 Guitars, lyrics can contain poetic elements such as metaphor and simile with ‘guitar one fastens languid years to busty bones like dust and skin on a dull antique moon.’[19]  In reverting once again to the example of Tracie Morris as a poet, she experiments with ‘sound poems’ whereby the sound overtakes the meaning, as apparent within certain genres of music, originating from the Dada movement of the 1920s.    Edith Sitwell defined this type of poetry as ‘abstract poetry’ and claimed they act as ‘virtuoso exercises in technique of extreme difficulty, in the same sense as that in which certain studies by Liszt are studies in transcendental technique in music’[20]  Critics have noted that her poetry ‘seems to cultivate multiple voices… and forces a more nuanced reading of the relation of performance poetry to avant-garde experimentation,’ where words are repeated to a degree that they merge into one another and form a new sound, epitomizing the concept of the voice as an instrument.[21]  An example of the blurring of boundaries between music and poetry is I Am Sitting in a Room by the experimental composer Alvin Lucier; the piece of text is recorded and re-recorded until it becomes inaudible.  As poetry is often assumed to be more concerned with meaning, than lyrics of songs, it is interesting to note these formats, and the examples given here mark a merging of music and poetry, increasing the difficulty of distinction between the two.

          Contemporarily, the most obvious ‘musical use of spoken language’ is in rap music.[22]  Although the genre of rap is rooted in African culture, in today’s society it is unlikely that any colloquial language will be ‘misunderstood when taken over into a white town,’ at least by younger generations, not only due to multiculturalism, but also because there are less limitations in regard to popular music – sounds described as ‘indie’ and ‘alternative’ have become assimilated into the mainstream and rap is one of the many genres of what is popular.  Rap is arguably not only a genre of music, but a genre of poetry, and thus bridges the gap between the two.  Without venturing into the complexities of musical history, recently rap music has seen the emergence of ‘alternative rap,’ which includes the concept of rappers distinguishing themselves as poets.  This includes artists such as Scroobius Pip, who began collaborating with laptop musician dan le sac in 2006 after working as a solo performance poet, with lines such as ‘hip hop is art, don’t make another pop hit, be smart,’ in a pastiche of rapper Dizzee Rascal’s Fix Up, Look Sharp, thus promoting the poetics of music with an emphasis on the meaning of words.  Another example is poet Kate Tempest, who performs both solo and with her band Sound of Rum, and has gradually adjusted to being described as a poet rather than a rapper, before the publication of her poetry in print.  Although there is admittedly, in some cases, a distinction that can be made between poetry for the page and that for the stage, it is no longer required for an artist to place oneself in a box in terms of an artist distinguishing oneself as either a poet, rapper or musician – one is able to bridge the gaps through defining oneself within a multitude of disciplines.

          In writing about Arabic song, Virginia Danielson stresses the importance of both sound and meaning, and notes that ‘musical genres often shared the names of the poetic genres to which their texts belonged, for instance the mawwãl and the qasida.’[23]  This raises the question as to why there is even a need for such differentiation between music and poetry.  The point that is being illuminated here is that poetry is simply a genre of music, rather than something distinct from it.  If one looks at song in comparison to performances of poetry, the components are the same.  Conversely, Peter Manuel argues ‘when a poem is set to music, it loses its literary status and becomes part of the music, with a purely musical function and value.’[24]   Whether or not poetry is a higher art form that lyric-writing is solely a value judgement, which has no function other than to create a pretence surrounding poetics, distancing it from its roots.  If the function is said to be purely musical, this undermines the importance of the words and renders the textual element meaningless.  The art of poetry is interdisciplinary by nature, thus it lends itself to an amalgamation with music, drama, and so on.  The difficulty of the issue is that it is not black and white, and it is the grey areas that make poetry so interesting.  Music is tied to the roots of poetry, and the performance of poetry serves to highlight the musicality ingrained within it through the use of the voice as an instrument.  In poetry, one is not purely concerned with the meaning of the words, but also with the sounds created, and in music, one is not just concerned with the sound, but equally desires to attach meaning to it, with the meaning often enhanced by words, where song is considered.  The function of genre is to create taxonomy for simplicity’s sake; however, once conventions are over-used, there is a welcome relief when the restrictions of genre are defied.  To separate music and poetry is to celebrate the mundane.

          One can see the similarities between music and poetry in regard to the form, features such as repetition, as well as the temporal nature of both art forms.  The roots of poetry have been established as being the same as those of music, and thus there will always be a connection between the two.  If poetry is regarded as a genre of music, one can see many sub-genres that are produced from it, such as hip-hop, the avant-garde sound poetry, contemporary performance poetry as we know it today and so on.  As new seeds are planted, and as poetry is expanded upon, the roots remain the same.  The poets themselves express the influence of music, the importance of sound and the use of voice, thus through the many difference ways of performing poetry, the unification of music and poetry is highlighted.  The poem on the page is incomplete unless sounded, whereby meaning is created and it can be fully understood as a whole.  The role of genre has its place, but it can also be a hindrance when it is used to pigeon-hole unnecessarily.  One needs to allow the boundaries to blur, to merge somewhat, in order to see the musicality of poetry.

[1] Kramer. Music and Poetry: The Nineteenth Century and After (London: University of California Press, 1984) p. vii

[2] Nagy. Poetry as Performance: Homer and Beyond (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996) p. 2

[3] Bridges. Collected Essays Vol. 10 (London: Oxford University Press, 1936) p. 216

[4] Bridges. p. 217

[5] Brown. Tones into Words: Musical Compositions as Subjects of Poetry (Athens: The University of Georgia Press, 1953) p. 26

[6] Forde. The Poetry of Basil Bunting (Newcastle: Bloodaxe Books, 1991) p. 11

[7] Brinton.  The Poetry of Basil Bunting’ in English Association Bookmarks No. 61 (Leicester: The English Association, 2007) p. 3

[8] Brown. p. 39

[9] Barthes. The Responsibility of Forms: Critical Essays on Music, Art, and Representation, trans. Richard Howard (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991) p. 274

[10] Nagy. p. 4

[11] Kramer. p. 241

[12] Rexroth. The Alternative Society:  Essays from the Other World (New York: Herder and Herder, 1970) p. 148

[13] Rexroth. p. 39

[14] Bunting. Basil Bunting on Poetry ed. Makin, Peter (Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press, 1999) p. 19

[15] Kramer. p. viii.

[16] Crown. We Who Love to be Astonished: Experimental Women’s Writing and Performance Poetics, ed. Hinton, Laura and Hogue, Cynthia (Tuscaloosa: The University of Alabama Press , 2002) p. 223

[17] http://www.myspace.com/poeticat

[18] Frith. Performing Rites: Evaluating Popular Music (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002) p. 179

[19] http://www.songmeanings.net/songs/view/3530822107858628757/

[20] Sitwell. The Canticle of the Rose Poems: 1917-1949 (New York: Vanguard Press, 1949) p.xii

[21] Crown. p. 219

[22] Frith. p. 175

[23] Danielson. Music, Words and Voice: A Reader, ed. Clayton, Martin (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2008) p. 92

[24] Manuel. Music, Words and Voice: A Reader, ed. Clayton, Martin (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2008) p. 103

Joshua Jones – Thought Disorder

I know too much (and yet, too little) about Josh to write a review of his first collection of poetry, Thought Disorder.  Though I will write a little about my reading of it here.  I told my mum about his book and out emerged the competitive mother.  She skimmed through to a page and spotted an Americanism, scoffed and criticised him.  I told her he was really smart.  She said so am I.  I told her his girlfriend designed the cover.  She said I could do better.  I told her some of the things I knew of him.  She changed her mind.  And here, where it says Elliott, that’s his son.  She didn’t bother reading anymore.  But then, neither did I, I wanted to wait until I had a nice section of time to sit with it.

When reading Josh’s poetry collection, it’s a bit like reading about song lyrics about the famous to find out about their lives instead of reading gossip magazines.  However, I don’t know much more than what I started with; Josh has eyes and his room is an ashtray.  And he’s shit-hot at this poetry lark.

The opening poem, Exposure, is not his best but it lures you in enough to make you want to read more, and introduces you to the collection thematically.  I’m trying to avoid any pretension here, and just say bits I liked, so I think it was a good poem to start with; there is clear imagery, and I like the use of the viewfinder.

I love the way Josh uses similes and metaphors and this strength starts to show by the second poem, with ‘fill your sugar bowl with rubber shavings,’ and ‘I built this cabin out of explanation’ the italics seeming to emphasise my favourite parts.  An example of this from another poem is ‘I tear the moon off like an old sticker’.  I find these moments really imaginative and beautiful.

In Bus the ‘jewellery store of tears dressing her cheeks’ reminds me of Jeff Buckley’s Jewel Box, which I love, as well as the wonderful idea of “moist windows”.

Pub is humourous and familiar, and by Eyes I’m thinking this must be the best of Josh.  However, I turned the page and was engrossed in all parts of Sigging.  I’ve always shunned prose-poetry because my experience of it through other people’s work was always just nothing resembling poetry at all, just (bad) prose.  This is my favourite part of the book, I think it’s amazing.

Then we are left with After the Pull, and it feels like snapping out of hypnotherapy.  Back to the real world then.

So, yeah, buy the book by clicking here.