What Do Serious Poets Do?

I am fortunate. I have been Staffordshire Poet Laureate, I curate the long running Poetry Alight in Lichfield and my poetry has taken me from  Malvern to Stornoway, from Shrewsbury to Leicester. Along the way I have met some fabulous poets, some fabulous people, from manual workers to senior academics, from bedroom scribblers to nationally, and internationally famous, published poets.

I am often asked what you have to do to be published, mainly dewy eyed enthusiasts who believe that a published book is the route to fame and fortune. hand the notebook over and someone else will do the rest. It doesn’t work like that. To demonstrate the hard yards which need to be put in I would like to use a recent news item, on an old school friend.

In those first days of secondary education, when your class has had an influx of new pupils, it takes time to get to know the new kids. One instantly stood out for me, slight in nature and with a shock of tousled, tangled, curly black hair. He was bookish, reserved, and had another worldly quality about him. I resolved to find out more. Over time I discovered that he had read the complete works of Alexander Pope by the age of eleven, his uncle was Robert Bolt who had written “A Man for All Seasons”, his aunt was Sarah Miles, the actress. I subsequently discovered that his father was a Professor at Cambridge University. I guess it is no surprise that he has gone on to be an ward winning playwright, a specialist in French and Classics translations into English for which he was awarded the OBE, and a rather good poet. His name is Ranjit Bolt.

ranjit

Despite his august literary credentials, he rediscovered the joy of humorous verse- and the limerick. In an interview with the Guardian he revealed what happened next:  With a growing body of work, Bolt did what poets have always done: he published himself in handmade editions. Taking photocopies of his latest limericks, he stapled them together and bound them in pink or green cardboard from Ryman. From 2014, armed with a pedlar’s licence and a certain poetic chutzpah, he began to sell his poems in Cambridge market square. On a good day, at £1 a throw, he would trade 10 copies an hour. Selling your own work, he says, “is quite a nice way to spend the time. I became just another Cambridge eccentric.” 

Bolt says his handmade books “sold like hot cakes”. New media kicked in. It wasn’t long before a London publisher, Martin Rynja of Gibson Square, found Bolt’s limericks on Facebook. “I fell in love with his limericks,” says Rynja. “They always make me laugh, and I got in touch to see whether he might have more.” He did, and A Lion Was Learning to Ski became the title poem:

A lion was learning to ski

In the Alps just outside Chamonix.

But he ruined his hopes

Of mastering the slopes

When he had his instructor for tea.

Word-of-mouth has sustained the latest edition of Bolt’s work. This “most dexterous of wordsmiths,” says Simon Callow, can “make anapaests do headstands.”

In these dark times, the poet has a message for his readers. “Escape through anarchy into a surreal world. The joy of the verse is the contrast between the discipline of the form and the ludicrous nature of what’s being described. Funny poems can be seriously ludic.”

There are a few morals to this story. Firstly, if your believe in your work, do something about it, no-one will do it for you. Secondly, there is no shame in self-publishing. Thirdly, if it is good enough, it will be discovered anyway.

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/nov/22/limericks-ranjit-bolt-literary-success

 

 

 

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The Problem With Poetry

I like poetry. I like it best read aloud, maybe in a pub or café. Sometimes I enjoy reading it when I am alone. Yet I hear, and read, much poetry that I do not care for much. I don’t mind not liking “bad poetry”. However when I do not enjoy poetry others deem good, I feel bad. I feel that my intellect is not up to it, or judgement is poor, or both. I feel inadequate.

Recently I had an exchange on Social Media with someone who declared that any such judgement of good and bad on poetry was subjective, and therefore worthless. I understood her point. But I know good poetry when I see it,  read it, hear it. At a live performance those poems which enrich, delight, entertain, challenge stand out. They do not have to be funny to shine. I do not even necessarily have to “like” a poem to appreciate its value, if I see that value in it. So when others eulogise about the work of someone, and I do not appreciate that which they appreciate, I am wracked with doubt, every time. Have my critical faculties deserted me?

Poets who stand up and read their own work are brave. The words are their own. There is no character to inhabit, nor costume to don. They are not offering or interpreting the work of a third party. It is them. I heard an eminent psychologist once offer the view  that nothing that we say is neutral. It all has a purpose. She was right.

As a poet I want you to like what I write, to appreciate the gravitas, insight and skill of my work. But I crave a response. With a witty, humorous, poem, that feedback is instant. You can see the attentiveness, the smiles, hopefully the laughter, the swelling applause at the end of the poem an instant hit. That does not happen with serious blank verse, the response id more nuanced. Of course you still see attentiveness, but sometimes the silence can be a sign of great reflection and appreciation, a post coital lull, or, it can mean complete indifference.

And so I give in. Too often falling back on humour, light rhyming ,and contemporaneous satire, to secure my quick fix. Too uncertain to gamble with the silence. To continue the post coital imagery, are they thinking “Wow, I am speechless”  ? Or ” Thank God that’s over, whatever you do don’t encourage him”.!

Which is not to say that serious poetry cannot be powerful, compelling and capable of evoking immediate reaction. One of my favourite practitioners is Fatima Al Matar, a Kuwaiti, poet who performs in a hijab. Controlled, soft, mesmerising. her trick is to lower, not raise her voice so that the entire audience strains forwards to catch every last syllable. Helen Mort and Liz Lefroy are similarly strong. But I think the task is much tougher, the safe laugh and smile easier – so I capitulate

 

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Inside the Unity Chapel where we held our Peace Vigil at Coventry Cathedral

 

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Outside of the Unity Chapel

Last  weekend I was flattered to be asked by the  formidable Coventry War Poet ,Antony R  Owen to read some of my poems at Coventry Cathedral as part of an all day  Peace Vigil. Panic set in. “Six hours of blood torment and anguish – I won’t be able to compete with the best of that” I thought to myself. So I went light, obtuse, and a poem about words and truth  went down really well, so well I proudly performed it at Poetry Alight a couple of days later, and I read it awfully, from the heights of satisfaction to the depths of despair in three days. To compound the issue I gave a non-humorous, but fey, poem of mine, Café Blend, to a young woman, Emily Galvin, to read out. She did so beautifully imbuing it with qualities which I had not found myself.

That is the problem with poetry.

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“Invincible”, by Torben Betts, the Original Theatre Company, Derby Theatre

****

invincible

Derby Theatre is to be commended on bringing this relatively new play (2014) by the highly acclaimed playwright Torben Betts, produced by the Original Theatre Company, to the city. A strong first night house augurs well for the rest of the run, reaffirming the appetite of the Derby theatre going public to give something new a chance.

Of late, I have lamented the lack of strong modern comedy in theatre. Ayckbourn and Benfield penned productions still endure, albeit to an ageing audience , drawn on themes which are forty to fifty years old, and feel it. Even the odd Brian Rix farce still surfaces from time to time. In  1999, Torben Betts’s was invited to be resident dramatist at Scarborough’s Stephen Joseph Theatre by Alan Ayckbourn. Ayckbourn in turn had worked as an actor under Brian Rix’s direction. Betts’ dramatic lineage is a credible one, and he studied in Liverpool, home of the best social dramatist of the eighties, Alan Bleasdale. Betts’ writing combines those former influences in comic farce, with the latter’s dark social satire.

“Invincible” is multi layered. It presents a middle- class couple, laid-off civil servant Oliver and his partner Emily, a Marxist/Buddhist painter (Alastair Whatley and Emily Bowker) down-sizing and recapitalizing by moving to the north of England, and the culture clash that provokes as they invite their new neighbours, Graham Brookes’ portly postman Alan ,and Elizabeth Boag’s busty  dental receptionist Dawn, around for drinks. Olives and anchovies versus a case of beer. I suspect that the sympathies of the audience may shift depending upon where in the country the production is playing. In Derby, the audience was on the side of Alan and Dawn.

Emily is an Islington Socialist who doesn’t really like the “worker” bit in Socialist Worker, with an unflinching commitment to her view of what honesty and truth mean.  Oliver’s Liberal values are in a constant state of reassessment, his patience constantly tested by his wife. Betts skilfully weaves traditional farce material, in this case in the guise of a dead cat, with contemporary political debate . The comic potential of the North/South divide is ruthlessly exploited, having fun with the stereotypes as they are deconstructed, before a more sombre, reflective finale.

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Alan ( Graham Brookes) shares some Northern neighbourly cheer with Emily ( Emily Bowker)

The motor mouth, socially awkward, but benevolent, Alan has to deal with the brassy, taciturn, but quiet Dawn, in a relationship whose weaknesses, and strengths, emerge as the story unfolds.  Oliver, in turn, has to deal with his tactless, self-centred, myopic, emotionally high maintenance, wife. And as  social moral matters of the day are dissected, so is the matter of what abstract art loving Emily thinks of  Alan’s cat paintings. The paintings of his cat “Vince”, named after HMS Invincible, giving the play its title, may lack polish, but  his instincts are true and sure, unlike those of his  hosts.

When Emily piously attacks politicians who send “misguided, ignorant” soldiers to war, the play turns on a sixpence, and in a dramatic gear-shift, their guest’s personal stake in the issue is revealed, grounding her esoteric deliberations in an instant.

The play opens revealing Victoria Spearing’s single set with toys scattered around the stage and a remotely controlled toy train skirting the stage’s perimeter, yet no children. “Das Kapital” sits on the bookshelf, Emily’s abstract art garnishes the walls.

Stephen Darcy’s direction, after Christopher Harper’s original direction, is pacey, fluid, and imaginative. Max Pappenheim’s music choice is eclectic and assured- from William Byrd, through Parry/Blake’s “Jerusalem”, to David Bowie’s “Heroes”. Scenes are divided by surreal dance sequences which work surprisingly well.

Written pre-Brexit, it now shines a post -Brexit light on Southern liberal values versus Northern realism. Trump’s visceral populist zeitgeist also surfaces in Alan’s simple, genuine, nationalism. It is Graeme Brookes characterisation of Alan which creates the greatest impression, from bumbling buffoon, through honest nationalist, to bewildered husband and father. A wonderful performance. Elizabeth Boag undertakes an equally significant, but diverging path, as his comely wife. Starting as a voluptuous, lady in red, scarlet woman, her broken second half persona is equally as compelling, and touchingly poignant.

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Dawn (Elizabeth Boag) shows Oliver ( Alastair Whatley)  one of the better Northern sights

“Invincible” combines a comedy of manners, borrowing from the modern tradition established by Mike Leigh in “Abigail’s Party”, with knock- about humour, and hoary jokes. It drags traditional late 20th century social comedy into the 21st century without abandoning its antecedents. It was reassuring to see the veteran Ayckbourn element in the audience well counter-balanced by a younger crowd too.  Together we laughed out loud, offered spontaneous applause, and hushed silence for the dramatic twists, for a well written script and fine ensemble performance.

Playing till Saturday 4th February at Derby, then continuing on nationwide tour until 5th April

http://www.originaltheatre.com/

Gary Longden

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North Birmingham Amdram Preview – What’s Hot, and What’s Not! Spring 2017

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Many theatregoers, and play Directors, have mentioned to me that although productions are well covered at the time of performance, previews are confined to often cursory summaries in brief advance publicity material. As a consequence, punters can find themselves making decisions to attend, or not attend, productions on fairly skimpy information, and Directors can find that by the time positive reviews bite, valuable performances have come and gone. This is an attempt to redress that.

The following is neither a comprehensive, nor exhaustive, list of upcoming shows, simply ones that have caught my eye. My assessments of the proposed productions are wholly subjective, and cannot anticipate how they will shape up on opening nights. Fine plays can be mangled, indifferent material made to shine by inspired acting and direction – that’s showbiz! But you will have a little more to go on in deciding which shows to back with your hard earned cash.

Sutton Arts

The Vortex  26/1 -4/2, running now. https://garylongden.wordpress.com/2017/01/27/the-vortex-sutton-arts-theatre/

http://behindthearras.com/reviewsam/2017/ReviewsAMJan-Mar2017/the-vortex-review-sutton-SAT01-17.html

 

A Streetcar Named Desire, 9/3 – 18/3.  –  A home banker of a choice. It won a Pulitzer prize, is rightly regarded as being Tennessee Williams best work, and often features in lists of the finest plays written in the 20th Century. Its mixture of taut family tension, conflicting social standing, sexual desire, and domestic violence cannot leave you bored.

Marlon Brando and Vivien Leigh have played parts in the past, this will have had local amateur thespians desperate to be involved. Sutton Arts tends to be able to pull the best actors for the best productions. Claire Armstrong- Mills  was directing, Debbie “Dial M for Murder” Loweth replaces her.  . I am looking forwards to this – and so should you.

Anyone For Breakfast?  4/5- 13/5 A Derek Benfield farce. If you like doors opening and closing, women in their underwear and men without their trousers, people hiding and narrowly missing each other, and a funny foreigner, this should not disappoint. Benfield was directed by Brian Rix as a young actor whose style he emulated. If you like Rix, you will like this.

This style of fare was hugely popular in the 1970’s, and has carried that audience with it ever since. Elena Serafinas directs.

Hello Dolly 15/6-24/6 Another home banker for Sutton Arts who consistently overcome the limitations of a modest stage by finding a way of putting on a big  musical production anyway. Matchmaker socialite Dolly finds pairing couples in hometown New York, but hits problems when she becomes inadvertently embroiled in the process. Some great music and songs in addition to the eponymous showstopper. Expect big dresses, and a show with a warm heart. Premiered in 1964, it was based on a  successful 1938 farce, so expect an above average libretto.

Husband and wife Directing team Mr and Mrs Whitehead are becoming old hands at musicals. This will be well worth seeing.

Grange Players Walsall

Ladies in Lavender  15/3- 28/3  from a short story by William Locke and screenplay by Charles Dance,  adapted for stage by Shaun McKenna. This is a drama/romance, set in 1930’s Cornwall as two elderly sisters find a mysterious man washed up on the beach. Amongst his qualities are those of a gifted violinist.

Although the film dates from 2004, the play premiered in 2012. Not established in amateur rep, this will be new to most people, and offers lead roles to two older women. Expect a gentle, fey evening, and it will be interesting to see how  Director Rosemary Manjunath  manages  the pivotal musical demands of the show.

Heroes, 17/5- 27/5  A  gentle comedy, written in French by Gerald Sybleyras in 2003, but translated by Tom Stoppard, and premiered in 2005 starring Richard Griffiths, John Hurt and Ken Stott. Its lineage is strong. My old school friend, Ranjit Bolt OBE, is the leading contemporary translator of French to English drama, and rates the script very highly. The title was  an arbitrary choice after the French title, directly translated as “Wind in the Poplars” was deemed too close to “Wind in the Willows”. Ratty is nowhere to be seen here.

Seldom performed, this will be new to pretty much everyone. With three male leads, anticipate  character studies rather than a linear narrative. The three WW1 veterans  are seeing out their time  within a French Military hospital. Expect a “Last of the Summer Wine” ambience. Rosemary Manjunath and Dexter Whitehead co-direct an intriguing left field choice.

Touch and Go   12/7-22/7   A Derek Benfield farce, see my comments on “Anyone for Breakfast” for a flavour of what that entails. Benfield is a versatile talent, he starred in Coronation St for eight years as Walter Greenhalgh, and found fame as Riley in “The Brothers” drama serial. Touch and Go  itself was translated into French by Marc Camoletti and ran for a year in his theatre in Paris. My view is that the French, particularly Feydeau, are better at farce than we are, so that was quite a coup.

Of course trousers come off, and there is a running gag in this five hander as Brian uses jogging as a pretext to get out of the house from his wife Hillary for extra marital trysts with Wendy, courtesy of Brian’s friend George, who is having an affair with Hillary. Brian’s pretence of jogging is not the only thing which exhausts him. The reliable Louise Farmer directs. It will be interesting to see whether she injects any Gallic flair into this archetypal British fare.

Highbury Theatre

I Ought To Be In Pictures  24/1- 4/2 – running now, http://behindthearras.com/reviewsam/2017/ReviewsAMJan-Mar2017/i-ought-to-be-in-pictures-review-HT01-17.html

 

The Thrill of Love 14/3-25/3  Amanda Whittington’s play on the life, and death, of Ruth Ellis, the last woman to be hanged in Britain. It premiered as recently as 2013 at the New Vic, Newcastle under Lyme and has not been widely performed, despite receiving very positive press.

Whittington is an ex journalist, and is quite prolific having written  fourteen stage plays and five radio plays in nineteen years. Expect  a tight script, and a tale of contrasts, the dowdy Ellis chasing the bright lights, and  her relationship with her perfidious boyfriend juxtaposed with her friendship with the club char lady. Expect also a tale of love, obsession and betrayal, from dreams of Hollywood to the condemned cell of Holloway.

Although a little known play, I am anticipating much from this production.

Dangerous Corner 2/5 13/5   By JB Priestley, this is their home banker of the first half of the year. The phenomena that is “An Inspector Calls” carries an audience with it. But this is his first play, and is not as well- crafted as those that followed.

The plot is sound enough; the  Caplan’s are entertaining guests at their country retreat. A chance remark by one of the guests ignites a series of devastating revelations, revealing a hitherto undiscovered tangle of clandestine relationships and dark secrets, the disclosures of which have tragic consequences. The play ends with time slipping back to the beginning of the evening and the chance remark not being made, the secrets remaining hidden and the “dangerous corner” avoided.

It is the mix of a gay relationship, drug abuse , adultery, firearms and death which sustained its uncertain opening production. Now, the play works best hammed up, and with the melodrama quotient turned to ten.

Lilies on the Land 20/6 – 1/7 A recently premiered  (2010), so comparatively new, play about the Land Girls of WW2. Compiled from contemporaneous reminiscences, it focusses on the lives of four land girls in a feel-good  exploration of girl power which will evoke warm nostalgia from the elderly, and admiration from the young in a show of cross-generational appeal.

Expect frank, humorous and inspiring tales and an evocation of the British Spirit, so often  casually alluded to in contemporary writing, but here it is given some substance. It is written so that four women, doubling, can present it, or offer parts to as many as eleven. Will the production go small or large?

Amateur Musical Theatre

The Sutton Coldfield Musical Theatre Company and Lichfield Operatic Society dominate in this , with their productions at the Lichfield Garrick a match for professional shows. They are well financed, long established companies able to draw upon the best of regional amateur talent, rehearse for longer than pro companies, put more actors on stage, and often put more money into production values than their professional peers. If you want to see tomorrow’s stars today check out Lichfield Garrick Youth Theatre, who despite of necessity having  a performing membership that constantly changes ,miraculously attract the best of local young  talent maintaining an impossibly high standard, a credit to the long standing management and production team

Made in Dagenham – SCMTC, 28/3- 1/4   A bold choice. The 2010 film was fabulous, the 2014 musical  stage show lasted only six months, closing in 2015, despite generally positive critical feedback. SCMTC will be hoping that the memories of the hugely satisfying film will be enough to lure the punters, despite the absence of a familiar score. The very limited number of previous nights also ensures that very few people will already have seen the show giving minimal opportunity for comparison with the professional production.

As far as I am aware this may be only the fourth run of this show beyond the opening at the Adelphi in London, after Ipswich and Hornchurch last year, and Oxford this year. The bad news is that it has a named cast of some thirty, the good news is that SCMTC have even more performing members! There are also two interesting character parts, Harold Wilson and Barbara Castle. Will they use newsreel footage or cast them?

The stage show does differ from the film with characters omitted and added. What remains is its humour, Englishness, “girl power”, women’s and worker’s rights themes, as the women of the Ford Dagenham car factory strike for equal pay with the men.. The company will be hoping that the closing number “Stand Up” will compel the audience to do just that. SCMTC have the members, loyal audience, expertise, and enthusiasm to pull this off. It will be worth checking out to see how they fare.

Annie –  Lichfield Operatic.  18/4- 22/4 Their choice  of show could not be greater in contrast with that of the SCMTC. Annie will be a cast iron, guaranteed, copper bottomed box office success. Like the other AmOpsoc favourite “The King and I”, it has lots of children, requiring teams of children with lots of friends, parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles who invariably take a chunk of tickets with multiple visits. The ticket manager’s dream show.

LO have performed this before, and have the money, and expertise, to match the expectations of the most demanding theatre goer with a pro class production. Expect loads of oohs and aahs as Annie belts out “Tomorrow” and perhaps a few boos for Miss Hannigan and her evil brother Rooster mid show before the cheers at the end. But it won’t be all plain sailing. “Hard Knock Life” is a fiendishly difficult song musically and vocally, with complex choreography for a young cast. Can they pull it off? This will be well worth a visit to find out.

Legally Blonde – Lichfield Garrick Youth Theatre 25/4 -29/4 Based on the hugely successful 2001 film, the 2007  stage premiere in America received mixed critical reviews, but quickly became a fan favourite enjoying runs on Broadway and the West End.

It is a  girl power  story of Elle Woods, a sorority girl who enrolls at Harvard Law School to win back her ex-boyfriend Warner. She discovers how her knowledge of the law can help others, and successfully defends exercise queen Brooke Wyndham in a murder trial. Throughout the show, no one has faith in Elle Woods, but she manages to surprise them when she defies expectations while staying true to herself.

Teenage girls love it, the show is fun, packed with song and dance and has an upbeat, uplifting message which is hard to deny. Julie Mallaband, one of the best directors around, is in charge and will have bought in plenty of stocks of peroxide blonde hair dye. As  with “Annie”, it is really impossible for this show to go wrong in this company’s hands.

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2016 A Year of Reviews in Review

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Hamlet Kills Polonius

The pace of reviewing is such that one year can blend into the next. But January provides the occasion to reflect back on the previous twelve months and reflect on a year of Midlands theatre.

The Midlands continues to be a hotbed of professional and amateur stage performance, with the latter just as strong as the former. Both camps face familiar, and similar, challenges. Auditoria need to be filled, bills paid, outgoings carefully managed, while giving the audience both what it wants, and what they think it wants.

The most artistically daring and risky productions can bankrupt companies, the most bland and familiar can save a company financially. Even an amateur musical theatre company, putting on a big show like Witches of Eastwick or the King and I at somewhere like the Lichfield Garrick, can find themselves risking the best part of £40,000, and that is with no payment to the cast, and a modest purse being paid to the Director, Musical Director, and then the  musicians on the night. The rest goes on hall hire, costumes, royalties and publicity. Success often equates to only  a few thousand pounds profit even with sell out audiences. Failure can mean losses in excess of £10,000, with the sceptre of personal liability hanging over Committee members.

I had the pleasure and privilege of meeting Opera Impresario Ellen Kent at Wolverhampton Grand a few years ago. “What are you doing in Wolverhampton on a cold February Tuesday night to see a show that you created and have seen dozens of times before?” I enquired. “To look at the audience” came the canny reply. It is good advice to any Theatre Artistic Director, or Amateur Company President.

I saw my fair share of 70’s comedy in 2016, particularly Alan Ayckbourn. The period sexual paranoia and social angst of the genre is wearing thin. The audience is almost overwhelmingly over 65 years old. The young casts are looking increasingly uncomfortable performing the material. Its inevitable demise over the next decade or so will go unlamented by me.

By contrast I saw the Rocky Horror Show, also from the 1970’s, for the third time, this time at the Alexandra Theatre in Birmingham and was shocked by the age of the audience, at least a third of whom were under the age of thirty. A production which has reinvented itself for a new generation.

A concern I have, pretty much across the board, is that in a multi-cultural area, the ethnic audience is either sorely under- represented, or entirely absent, at most shows. There are no easy answers, or quick fixes, but reaching out to this significant audience should be on the agenda for all artistic directors.

So, what were my highlights, and lowlights?

Best Pro Musical – Mary Poppins, Hippodrome, Birmingham. Big ticket prices were matched by big production values and a star in the eponymous lead, Zizi Strallen, who filled Julie Andrews’ shoes with ease. Mathew Bourne’s choreography was scintillating.

Best Amateur Musical – Hairspray, Lichfield Garrick, Sutton Coldfield Musical Theatre. Sally Baxter’s Direction was exemplary in one of the best feel-good productions I have seen. Production values were high, the cast jumped even higher.

Best Pro Play – The Damned United, Derby Theatre. A tour de force played as a home game in front of a partisan and loyal crowd. Vitally, it also brought in a significant number of people who never come to the theatre.

Best Amateur Play – Visitors, Sutton Arts Theatre. Barrie Aitchison is one of the finest directors in the Midlands. This powerful study of dementia stood head and shoulders above the rest.

Best First Run – Holding Baby, Birmingham Uni.  A stunning, and original study of cross-generational parenting by Jan Watts.

Best Comedy – Jack and the Beanstalk, Sutton Arts.  Husband and wife team Mr & Mrs Whitehead have cracked this Pantomime thing, villainous Chris Commander’s Crowfoot was superb.

Most Disappointing Show -Round and Round the Garden, Lichfield Garrick. A strong cast failed to breath life into this Ayckbourn offering, which had probably been dead for some time before they tried.

Best Amateur Musical Perfomer –  Kitty Roberts, Hairspray, Lichfield Garrick

Best Pro Musical Performer –  Kay Murphy, Rocky Horror, Alexandra Theatre Birmingham

Best Amateur Actor –   Ashleigh Aston, Holding Baby, Birmigham University

Best Pro Actor –  Andrew Lancel, Damned Utd, Derby Theatre

Honourable mentions should also go to Priscilla Queen of the Desert at Wolverhampton Grand, and Flare Path at Derby Theatre.

Another good year overall with Derby Theatre leading the way on professional productions, a  testimony to the fine work of Artistic Director and CEO, Sarah Brigham, and Sutton Arts leading the way on amateur ones. But 2017 holds much further promise…

 

All  the above reviews can be found on the Behind the Arras website, together with hundreds reviewed by my colleagues.

http://behindthearras.com/

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The Vortex – Sutton Arts Theatre

 

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****

This rarely produced play was a shrewd, but challenging choice by Director Stuart Goodwin. Written by Noel Coward, and first staged in 1924, it titillated, outraged and divided opinion at the time, almost a century later I regard it as being amongst his best work. The Daily Mail contemporaneously dismissed it as “ a dustbin of a play”, The Times opined: “It is a study that has wit, observation, and a sincerity, leaping out between flippances, which is its peculiar merit.” Hannen Swaffer,  called it “the most decadent play of our time”.

It is an intensely personal piece of work. Coward wrote it, acted in it, co-directed it and had to fight to prevent it from being banned. Coward gives full rein to his Wildean wit, intertwined with existential issues: the curse of aging, drug addiction, adultery, nymphomania, homosexuality and Oedipal tension.  A middle -aged woman takes a young lover whilst her son spirals into the grip of cocaine addiction, also used as a metaphor for homosexuality, amongst the louche parties of the Jazz set. Think of a party thrown by Madonna, Boy George, and Keith Richards.

Ninety  years on, despite the likes of Coronation St and East Enders normalising what was then scandalous subject matter, the script still packs a punch.  It opens as a bitchy, gossipy, light comedy. But over the three acts the mood progressively darkens, so that by the end we are presented with a drug-addled and effete young man confronting his mother about her serial adulteries with lovers half her age in a dramatic passage that owes a debt to Hamlet’s anguished “closet scene” with Gertrude. “How can we help ourselves? We swirl about in a vortex of beastliness,” Nicky Lancaster rants.

Goodwin  stylishly handles the play’s dramatic changes of mood in three acts well, and  revels in an at times claustrophobic, overheated, hothouse atmosphere. The compressed second act set works particularly well in this regard. The languid opening and its sedate repartee is played for barbs rather than laughs, its throw away badinage anticipating something of greater moment.

The script lends itself to a period set, a sixties set, or contemporaneous one, and Goodwin roots the action in the 1920’s. The star of the show is Chris Commander, as Nicky Lancaster, as Noel Coward. He bursts onto the stage, an energetic bundle of energy. Flamboyant, effervescent, rakish and sallow. He commands the part, his emotions nuanced, his angular frame twisted to wring out every ounce of value from the script.

Nicky does not present as outlandishly effeminate, the script does the work for him. I should also mention  the  understated  awkward tenderness  he brings to his relationship with his cuckolded father, satisfyingly played by Alan Lane.

In a supporting role Jayne Lunn, as family friend Helen Savile, also shone. Detached from the madness around her, she is the anchor of the script, and production. Carrying a stylish flapper dress with some style, her second act confrontation with Nicky is an unexpected highlight of the show.

The role of Florence Lancaster, Nicky’s mother, is a great part, which is open to considerable interpretation depending upon the actress. Alison Daly assumes a matronly, bombastic strident persona, flirting with her young lover and making  vacuous small talk with her house guests. Her  vanity and insecurity abounds, and she rises to the challenge of playing off Commander’s extraordinary performance  of self -loathing, self-doubt and abandonment, in the final act bedroom scene, admirably.

In the “Hamlet scene”, in which the Prince confronts his mother, Commander is stunning as he strips his mother of her dignity, beauty, youth and self-delusion leaving her with nothing but her  mortality and guilt.

In supporting roles, Pawnie (Andy Tomlinson)), described by Coward as “an elderly maiden gentleman”  entertains, and  Florence’s toyboy, Tom (Dan Holyhead), is portrayed with apt immaturity, his lack of chemistry with Florence, instantly juxtaposed with his affection for Nicky’s temporary fiancée  (Kira Mack). Wanda Harris’s androgynous butler Preston is a little gem, Clara Hibbert ( Valerie Tomlinson) is delightfully dotty.

The curtain falls with Nicky cradled in his mother’s arms, lamenting  his unrequited longing for a maternal bond in an evening that  manages to stay clear of melodrama,  and memorably moves from cocktails, laughter and small talk to  relationships  and character laid bare in raw  drama. A fine production from Stuart Goodwin, go and fill the remaining seats for the rest of the run to enjoy Christopher Commander’s outstanding Nicky, supported by an able company.

The Vortex runs till Saturday 4th February, ticket information: http://www.suttonartstheatre.co.uk/booking.htm

 

Gary Longden

vortex-cast

 

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A Letter on America

 

map

I have always felt a relationship with America. As a child I lived in the USA, as an adult I have holidayed there. As an Englishman living in the United Kingdom, the effect of America culturally and politically has been omnipresent. While living there, and for many years after, we used to listen to Alistair Cooke’s Letter from America radio programme. Contemporaneously my parents would compare his reflections, on our experiences, after our return it was a good way of keeping in touch. Some fifty years after I first arrived to live there, this is my letter on America.

I was only six when we arrived, almost ten when we left. Yet a sense of displacement sharpened my senses. With no extended family, or established friends, around, I found myself eager to soak in everything around me. We arrived  in New York on the Queen Mary, the towering skyscraper skyline even more impressive after five days crossing a grey , grumbling November Atlantic ocean. The quayside was still busy then, a working port, and we were greeted by a brass band on docking, as we had been serenaded from Southampton, streamers, horns and all. The twenty odd tea crates contained all of our worldly possessions, but Customs still insisted on opening a few – because they could. Charmless US customs has not improved over the years.

qm

 

My impression of New York was not favourable, dirty, busy, noisy, fume filled, and daylight starved, as the skyscrapers reached upwards. The cavernous, capacious Amtrak train, which dwarfed the boat train we had taken from Waterloo to Southampton, offered welcome relief as we eased into the countryside going south.

We were heading to Arlington, Alexandria, Virginia where we were to live as  my father worked at Arlington Hall, an RAF attache to the Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA), whose security was ahead of that of Mission Impossible. I went to school at the local Elementary School in Arlington where I was treated with great kindness by staff and pupils alike.

 One instant curiosity was that there was no morning assembly, like I had been used to in London. Instead, each day would start with the national anthem, broadcast over a loudspeaker system from the Principal’s office , to each classroom, followed by the pledge of allegiance which required each pupil to put their right hand over their heart as they declared: “I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” The teachers made it clear that I was not required to pledge the oath, as I was not American. But I was the only non- American in the class so joined in and learned it anyway – I can still recite it today!

I was taught handwriting using a musical stave, a brilliant device to create neat uniform script, we also all had to learn a musical instrument, I chose the violin. Sport I found frustrating. Baseball seemed an unnecessary complication of rounders, but nonetheless I found myself playing  “peewee” baseball ( don’t ask). American football seemed to be ludicrously complicated, but again we were taught the basics of some of the moves. Football really is much easier to learn, and better to play, America.

My childhood there was idyllic. I ill-advisedly explored storm drains with local children that were notoriously inhabited by venomous snakes. It always snowed in winter, proper snow, three feet deep that you could sledge in and down till dusk ,and exasperated parents called you in. The summers were hot and humid, a “crew cut” was pretty much essential. And the long summer break was enlivened by summer camps, residential camps  in the cooler mountains that parents sent their children to in order to give themselves a break and provide some welcome adventure for their children. And of course there was the ubiquitous yellow American school bus which picked us up from the end of the road, a cultural icon every bit as great as the red public double- deckers in London.

Washington DC, or DC, as everyone called it was odd. The centre was small, an administrative district only. The Lincoln memorial was impressive, as was the Washington memorial and Mall, particularly when the cherry blossom was out. On the opposite bank of the Potomac to the Lincoln memorial  lies the Arlington National Cemetery, which was magnificent, and busy, as the war dead from Vietnam waited to be buried.

The Vietnam war dominated the news, with the day’s GI body count on every bulletin. Even as a child, you could not help but be aware, with graphic combat footage regularly shown. The effect was corrosive on US public opinion. I can still recall the protests being broadcast on television with the slogan, “ Hey, hey LBJ, how many kids have you killed today” ringing out. The view amongst my Dad’s co -workers as we relaxed at wonderful Arlington Hall barbecue and picnics , the senior of whom were Korean war veterans, was that the war was lost.

There were no black children in my class. Outside of the DC centre lay the so-called black ghetto, it was a place, a dangerous place, spoken of in hushed terms, but never visited. I did sometimes see black people, mainly packing groceries, in an unusual system at some supermarkets where you shopped, your groceries were bagged up and tagged, then you collected them in your car from a delivery point. I recall being on holiday in Montgomery Alabama at the time of George Wallace and, as a precocious nine year old, asking an American mounted policeman what the bullwhip on his saddle was for? “To whip niggers” came the reply.

We also went to Church in Fairfax, everyone went to Church, and I was struck by how prominent God seemed to be in America, politicians routinely intoned “God bless America”, the pledge of allegiance declared “One nation under God” and God seemed to be on “our” side in Vietnam. I was curious as to how he seemed to have overlooked England. Sunday school was less an opportunity to avoid the main boring service and play and instead was a rigorous exploration of bible stories. The sense that God was on the side of America was very strong. But for me, Sunday was the day that having endured Church service, I was rewarded by a Hershey Bar or Slurpy flavoured ice drink in the summer.

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The best thing about America for an English child in the late 60’s was undoubtedly the television. In England it was black and white transmission  from 4pm to 5.55pm ( Herge’s Adventures of Tin Tin to close), then shut down! In America it was colour TV ! The cartoons I loved were Popeye, Tom and Jerry, Yogi Bear, Road Runner and Top Cat. The TV series I watched were the Beverley Hillbillies, The Munsters, Bewitched ( I adored Elizabeth Montgomery and wanted her to by my mom), Daktari, Flipper, Lassie, Time Tunnel, Batman and the Monkees.

barnum

As a treat we would be taken to the Barnum and Bailey three ringed circus at Christmas. Before modern zoos and safari parks, before colour tv, before wildlife documentaries and specialist nature and geography tv channels it was still a place of wonder, where what you had only seen in Tarzan films was brought before your eyes. I accept that its time has passed. I also accept now  that unnecessary cruelty was central to the show. But at the time, it really was “The greatest show on earth”.

When it was time to come home to England I was sad. It felt like America was home. The material, and emotional, generosity of our American friends resonated, as did their wisdom, although I accept that we were moving in a wholly unrepresentative social bubble. But America seemed to have a fix on God and good, and bad and evil, it also had a “can do” positive outlook, where kindness and good deeds were a virtue, and public duty.  Upon mentioning to our host on stopping at Quantico, the US Marines HQ and Training base that we liked fishing, “Red” insisted on taking the day off and taking us fishing on a lake in what must be the most secure fishing in America! I recall stopping for gas at a gas station in the Everglades Florida. Upon hearing our English accents, the attendant , who also turned out to be the Towns Sheriff and Mayor ( it was a very small town) insisted on taking our family out on a swamp boat into the Everglades there and them closing down his gas station to do so.

That fundamental goodness resurfaced when I returned some thirty years later with my own family to Florida. We arrived late and the seven eleven store was closed, unsurprisingly as it was past eleven. But the owner was inside sorting some stock. He came to the door and asked me what I wanted, I explained that I was a visitor wanting some basic groceries for my family for tomorrow. Not only did he open the door for me to shop, he refused payment as the electronic tills were closed, insisting I pay the next day. You can guess where we shopped for the rest of the holiday!

Yet there is a sting in the tail. On the wall of the 7/11 was a firearms arsenal substantial enough to arm an army platoon, pistols, rifles and semi- automatic rifles. Despite my affection for America, its fatal love affair with guns is such a weakness.

america

America fixes its history against guns. An armed militia drove the British out of the Colonies. The Winchester rifle was “the gun that won the west”. Al Capone’s Thompson sub-machine gun enforced his criminal empire. . All of this is part of American folklore. In the first half of the 20th century Hollywood reinforced and glamorised the gun in Westerns, in the latter part of the 20th Century Hollywood glamorised the gun in the hands of police, criminals and vigilantes. For Rambo and Charles Bronson, the gun was an agent of peoples’ justice.

the-gun

 

There can be no justification for legislation which allows an armed population to engage in annual mass slaughter, and forces an embattled Police force to shoot first, and ask questions later. Yet America, via the National Rifle Association remains committed  to confronting the evil that men do with guns by arming the population further. It is a madness from which there is no escape.

A country so rich in resources, can be very introverted and paranoid in its outlook. A country which has dominated world affairs for over half a century now, post WW2, still possesses a homestead mentality. Over half the population has never travelled abroad – they don’t need to, America is a vast continent. They have little interest in world affairs, they don’t need to in a country with five time zones where local news, is the world news. In the UK, America is seen as an urban country, mainly because the news is reported from New York, Washington and LA, and films tack on Boston and Chicago. But beyond the urban centres the majority of America is rural, or semi rural, quiet unassuming towns, with family values and a warmth which is rarely represented in the media. The  friendliness and climate of Florida, and the awesome scenery of the Smokey Mountains is just as emblematic of America as the subway in NYC or the beltway around DC.

But there is one thing that connects my childhood there with the present, American music. My earliest memories are from the radio, in the mid to late sixties, the close harmonies of 5th Dimension’s “Up Up and Away”, the Mama’s and the Papa’s “Monday, Monday”, Nancy Sinatra’s These Boots Were Made for Walking”.

bruce

As I was hitting my teens back in the UK, Jimi Hendrix, Crosby Stills Nash and Young and the Doobie Bros were always on the turntable, as was the black  sound of Motown and Philadelphia. What teenager could not instantly empathise with Alice Cooper’s “Schools Out”? Then, as my late teenage tastes matured, Lynyrd Skynyrd, the Allman Bros,, Springsteen, and Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers found their place- and have never left. Some American Rock is preposterous, see Kiss, Boston, Foreigner, Aerosmith, but the best is amongst the very best of the genre.

trump

And tomorrow we have the inauguration of Donald Trump, the least qualified man politically to assume the role of President in modern times. My heart tell me that disaster awaits, my head tells me that the Office is so great, that the sheer enormity of the job will curb his worst excesses. I hope so.

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Holmes for the Holidays – Grange Players, Grange Playhouse, Walsall

holmes-pic

**** 

Holmes for the Holidays, aka The Games Afoot, is written by Ken Ludwig, an American anglophile whose education takes in both Harvard , and Trinity College Cambridge. Ludwig likes English literature. He has written  about Shakespeare,  Gilbert and Sullivan, Dickens,  and Robert Louis Stevenson and adapted Farquar’s Beaux Stratagem. Unsurprisingly he is also a devotee of Sherlock Holmes.

There are two excellent directors of comedy working in North Birmingham and its surrounds, Barrie Aitchison and Christopher Waters. It is the latter who has taken on the task of realising this show, along with producer Louise Farmer. Ludwig is seldom performed on these shores, whilst being widely played Stateside, winning numerous accolades, prizes and awards in the process. Sherlock Holmes is a perennial audience favourite in England so tackling a rarely performed play by a lesser known playwright was not quite the risk that it could have been.

A six hander, the curtain rises to offer that Shakespearean favourite device, a play within a play, ending with a shocking denouement. Thereafter, the company retreats, out of costume, to Holmes’ country mansion for the main event. We are presented with an American author, writing about an English literary hero, who perform on stage in English accents, then at home in American accents as the action is set in America, a curiosity that subsides as the play progresses.

holmescast Waters has assembled an excellent character driven cast. Robert Meehan takes the part of William Gillette, renowned for his Holmes parts, and whose mannerisms he happily mimics. Wisely he allows the checked cloak, deerstalker and pipe to do a lot of the work, while his fellow cast members ham things up uproariously. Sam Evans plays Felix Gisel playing Moriarty. Sam is fabulous. A big man, he physically imposes himself on stage and dominates the scenes he is in, the perfect visceral foil to Meehan’s more cerebral Gillette. Lorraine Samantha Allen similarly is well cast as Madge, Felix’s wife and enjoys her featured moment memorably. Indeed a feature of this play is that each character is effectively given their “solo”, a scene in which to shine. No-one fluffs their opportunity.

Julie Lomas plays Williams’ mother in a part more complex than at first  appears, reflective, timid, murderous  and batty by different plot turns. The young couple are played by Rod Bissett as Simon Bright, funny, engaging and self -effacing, but quick witted when he needs to be. His widowed new wife is consummately performed by Leanne Brown who offers an assured understated performance carrying a beautiful elegant gown with some style.

The investigating officer is Suzy Donnelly who makes the most of her latter second act appearance, whilst leaving the stage clear for  Gillette to make his elementary deductions.

But the  star of the show is Liz Webster as theatre critic Daria Chase. No barb is too sharp, no put down too hurtful, no aside too cutting for her. Even before she has spoken, an upturned lip, a dismissive eyebrow, a glowering look portends what is to come in a fine character performance. Obviously the homicide of a theatre critic is to be regretted, as is her revelation that sleeping with the critic is the key to good reviews, but her ebullient first act performance, and her stiff second act performance, really is a treat too good to miss.

Waters squeezes the most out of the production with an impressive set featuring revolving rooms, more weapons on the wall than any psychopath could realistically dream of, and numerous sound cues which are utilised faultlessly- well done Stan Vigurs and  Colin Mears. The physical comedy is very well handled both by Waters’ direction, and Webster, and Evans’ acting execution. They deliver a five star performance.

My four stars overall is not for the production, but the play itself. Well written, and neatly plotted though it is, to these eyes and ears some of the literary jokes are a little ham-fisted for my tastes, an American trying to get Englishness – but not quite making it.

Nonetheless this is a funny, entertaining and rewarding production that drew uniformly warm vox pops from the departing full house on Wednesday night- and deservedly so. “Holmes for the Holiday” runs till Saturday 21st January. https://grangeplayers.co.uk/

Gary Longden

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The 40th Anniversary of David Bowie’s “Low”

 

low

Today is the 40th anniversary of the release of an album now regarded as being seminal in the popular music cannon, but which was divided opinion on its release. I thought it deserved a reflection. 

I remember well purchasing it in release. It had received indifferent, and sometimes hostile, reviews from the music press, not least from Charles Chaar Murray at NME. 

You have to remember that this period was one of very rapid change for Bowie, with each release attracting, and losing, fans. Pin Ups, which I loved, was widely reviled. Diamond Dogs, the bastard child of the 1984 project swung between the conventional rock of the title track and Rebel Rebel and music theatre, Young Americans was his soul album, Station to Station veered back towards conventional rock and then there was Low…. 

I didn’t know quite what to make of it. It didn’t sound like anything else that he, or anyone else, had ever done. Sound and Vision was the only coherent commercial hook, but Warzawa did have a instant grandeur. 

I liked it, but I was unsure. Contemporaneously it was also amongst a tide of incredibly innovative punk and new wave releases which were equally as different, but three minutes long. There wasn’t time to assimilate it. It was also self- consciously serious, in a way that the new wave wasn’t, Nick Lowe’s “I love the Sound of Breaking Glass” was such a joyful antidote to Bowie’s Breaking Glass”. However it was clear that there was Something Important going on. Marlene Dietrich liked it too. 

A measure of how low profile he became at the time was that he was able to tour on keyboards for Iggy Pop on the “Idiot” tour playing the likes of the Rainbow in London to little fuss. 

The success of the album, and crucially title track, Heroes undoubtedly helped with some retrospective reassessment at the time, but by then there were so many great innovative new wave albums being released that it did become a little lost. 

Ironically Lets Dance, the greatest commercial success for Bowie, was also the point at which many of his die hard fans, myself included, parked our fandom, and started to look backwards. It was at that point that Low started to grow in stature and its influence on the new wave, from Gary Numan’s “Cars” to magazines “Real Life” ,and the rest, become apparent. 

Its place as an “album” began to harden. In the same way that Mike Oldfield’s “Tubular bells”, Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side” , Beatles “ Sgt Pepper” and Beach Boys “Pet Sounds” were about the whole, not individual tracks, so “Low”  started to make sense. And it works on vinyl in a way that it does not on CD or download. Having to get up and flip over the vinyl from side one to side two is as important as any track.

Side two is a mini symphony, side one seems like a soundtrack, with an instrumental intro in “Speed of Life” and outro in “New Career”. In between we have cinematic snapshots. “Breaking Glass” evokes Cavani’s “Night Porter”, “Sound and Vision” is a moment in a room, “Always Crashing in the same Car” a nightmarish vision, and the one line romanticism of “Be My Wife” and “What in the World”. 

“Low” is not an album of great songs. It is an album of fragments, which when assembled as an entity, assume greatness.

 

 

 

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Poems 2017

 

Skinhead

 

Ben Sherman’s, buttoned down

Levi’s turned up, braces locked tight

Doc Martins laced high

Harrington’s for fight, or flight.

 

Heads bristling

Legs loping

Fists clenching

 

Richard Allen

Pulp fiction

Barely 200 pages

 

Finished in a session

A blinding whirl

Of boots and girls

 

Knuckles and rucks

Birds and fucks

Chancing your luck

 

Woodbines and beer

A snarl and a sneer

What are you doing here?

 

They linger and hover

Awaiting some bovver

Some gnarling and gnashing

Some fun Paki-bashing

 

While tranny radios play

Infectious reggae tunes

To dance to in rooms

Of tight terraced houses

In Party Seven carouses

skinhead

——————–

Stripped

To a place
Where there is nothing
Everything is beyond

Coarse rocks groan
Under the weight
Of my abandonment

Somewhere flotsam floats
Mocking my suspension
In the darkness

Deaf, blind, mute
Only a salty taste
And the tides caress

Safe at last
Lost
Within an ocean’s vastness

 

Church

I don’t care much for Church

Our Christening Party outnumbered

The congregation many times over

And I wondered who was joining who

 

His robes older than the pews

The vicar conjured bonhomie and boredom

Unfamiliar hymns blared amplified

As if volume was enough to disguise bland dirge

 

There were no notices

Perhaps no-one cared anymore

hixon

 

Hiraeth

I yearn, my body aches

To return

To a place which

Is no longer

There

A longing

For something

To assuage my soul

A soul

Which has been

Rent asunder

 

Orange E Mail – An Epitaph

Orange e mail stops today
Wednesday the thirty first of May
They’ve had enough, they didn’t ask
They just decided they could no longer be arsed

 

The Akashic Records
Suspended in a place,
Beyond earthly reach,
In a store of infinite space.

Where everything is known,
From east, south, north and west.
Where everything is shown

To those who wish to look,
Before now and after,
Recorded in a book.

Past Life Fragment
It was as if I had always been there
That I had known them all my life
My untaught hands knew what to do
I did not need to learn these things anew

 

Travel
We journey to experience,
To discover.

To learn, to taste new foods,
To hear new sounds, to see new sights,
To touch for the first time.

Yet however far we travel,
The past is never far behind

Goose Fair Nottingham

Amidst the tumult, I grasped her slight hand, tightly,
Cheers, laughter, song and wild gasps
Filled my soul, filled her soul, I knew
A dizzy euphoria, an intoxication, I sensed
Such rapture transcended our temporal happiness
It gathered all the joy that surrounded us,
And had ever surrounded us, and had ever been,
And was yet to come.
It gathered it all in a celebration of what was now,
What had been, and what was to come
In a moment

Ophelia
You promised, you threatened , you left
Without saying goodbye
Girding your skirts in crumpled dark clouds
Yet holding onto your tears
”God has given you one face, and you make yourself another”
Midday morphing into a ghostly orange hue
Daytime and night time maddeningly askew
Great huffs and puffs scatter boughs and branches
Strewn like discarded flowers tossed aside by a disinterested lover
You said we should call you Ophelia
We know what you are, but know not what you may be
Passing momentarily

Ruby
A silent world of fear
Where to say nothing
Is better than to say something
I did all the talking
She nodded, and smiled
I almost heard a giggle
As I teased her
I called her puppet spot
Walking to the park
She clung tight to my shadow
Afraid of the bright light
Of the world beyond
As we raced to climb the grappling ropes
Her frenzy to reach the top first a soundless scream
Exchanging exhausted gasps
She gleefully looked down
I asked whether she knew what stoic meant
Of course she did not
An innocent beauty
Incarcerated in a brutal cage
Struck dumb in a cacophonous world
She could not say goodbye
Nor could I

 

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