Dear Mr Panesh
I would like to complain about your poetry festival
It is billed as a three day festival, yet it started on Thursday night and finished in the early hours of Monday morning, that is five days. Can poets not count?
Then there was Elvis McGonagall- I was laughing so much he left me no time to breathe, very dangerous. As for Luke Wright, the room went so quiet intently listening to his spellbinding performance, I thought my hearing aid was faulty.
Then there was this queue an hour before the doors were open on Friday night- since when was poetry popular?
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This was the 5th Morecambe Poetry festival, my second, it will not be my last. The big problem is that the line up was so stellar, that short of exhuming Yeats , Zephaniah and Auden, it will be a difficult roster to beat.
The informal Thursday night warm up at the Bath was packed, a feature replicated throughout the weekend at the Winter Gardens and Kings Arms. Organiser Matt Panesh does not believe in a gentle build up. Friday night in the main hall was staggeringly good. Past festival favourite Trystan Lewis delivered a stunning trio to open proceedings setting the following two poets a blistering pace. It was a reminder that quality trumps quantity.
I saw Dublin poet Jan Brierton here last year, then once again on nationwide tour with Henry Normal. Twenty dates on, she is tour tight. Her longer set now reaches beyond her established female audience to appeal across the board. She was terrific.
Forty eight years ago I saw a young gangly Manchester poet dodge projectiles supporting the Buzzcocks at Leeds University. Subduing, and winning over a rabid Yorkshire punk crowd, enraged by the presence of a poet AND a Manc, was no easy task- but one he succeeded in doing . It was very apparent that he had something special then- he still does. An adoring Morecambe poetry crowd was somewhat easier meat – and he still performs Beasley Street. Nostalgia and star quality in one irresistible package- in the words of his latest book “Let’s ‘Ave it”
Saturday night requires something special, and so it came to pass. Henry Normal has rightly become a fixture at this festival, but there was not a hint of complacency about him. This was the third time I had seen him- and it was his best performance yet. Where was he on Sunday afternoon? In the audience at the Kings Arms supporting other performers ,embodying the community spirit of the weekend. Salena Godden followed him with an evangelical messianic panache. Earlier Nick Helm had somewhat unusually and bravely introduced himself by revealing that his recent Edinburgh festival show had drawn one star reviews. Local lass Helen Logan was taking no such chances coming onstage to literally take the audience hostage in Teeside style balaclava and pistol. It was a memorable attention getter- and her compelling poetry performance did the rest. Another example of the power of ten minute brevity.
Sunday’s honours were claimed by the incomparable Elvis McGonagall in the afternoon at the Kings Arms. Not only was the room jam packed, but most of the weekend’s headliners were there to see him perform as audience members- including Henry Normal, Luke Wright, Salena Godden and Atilla the Stockbroker. His helpful advice to Andy Burnham on how he should approach trade negotiations with Trump still has me guffawing.
Immediately following, the Midlands takeover comprising the politically reflective Steve Pottinger, the Wolverhampton sassiness of Emma Pursehouse and the streetwise jabber of Nick Degg more than held the formidable pace of the afternoon.
Sadly all good things must come to an end. The previous year Luke Wright had delivered an uproarious late night stand up set, this year he hypnotised and drew in an adoring audience for his “Later Life Letter” show of the eponymous book.
Kate Fox gave us a beguiling musical sequence on the Sycamore gap tree, and the ever reliable Brian Bilston and Attilla the Stockbroker ( perky after Brighton’s back to back victories over Man U and Arsenal) closed proceedings in some style.
The Festival was a triumph of organisation, Matt Panesh’s poetic pulling power and the hard work of dozens of volunteers.
As Arnie once said: “I’ll be back!”
