Garyswordz

If a prize existed for the most exotically named event and venue, this would win easily, and so it was with some expectation that I made my first visit .The name comes from a line in James Joyce’s “Ulysses”; “The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit,” the former phrase also the inspiration for a local poetry publisher. The vaults themselves are 19th century coal vaults which acted as stores for canal transportation and have now been converted into a cavernous, and atmospheric bar. The ceilings are still vaulted, the original tiled floor remains, and the windowless interior is vented by an exposed suspended stainless steel ventilation system which is quite brutal in appearance. However a combination of church pew benches, wooden tables, sofas, and freestanding lampshades creates an altogether softer, louche, ambience which would not be out of place in a David Lynch film set.

Every event has its own character, and that is set by the host, who has two options. Those are to either act as an unobtrusive facilitator for the event, or to act as the hub around which the event turns. Host Barry Patterson is in the latter category. A physically imposing man, loquacious, eloquent and a fine poet in his own right, Barry encouraged, enthused and ad libbed in equal measure. His “Astronaut” piece is a fond and affectionate paean to the Moon landings, and “Happy Birthday Howard” also caught my ear about the controversial H.P. Lovecraft, enfant terrible of the “weird fiction” genre.

The spirit of the evening was captured by a young woman , Carey, who had been before, and had this time brought some of her own work to read for the first time. Yet such was her apprehension, that she had asked a friend to go up to read on her behalf. But as that friend made her way forwards, Carey had a change of heart as she witnessed the literary equivalent of a mother having her babies taken from her, and read herself instead. “Thinking” and “On the Cathedral Steps” were described by Barry as “good old fashioned introspection”, were warmly received, and I am sure that Carey will be back. The relief as she stepped down, saying “that wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be” was palpable, an endearing reminder of how tough it is to stand up to read in front of others for the first time, but also evidence of what a supportive environment Night Blue Fruit is in which to do so.

The polar opposite to Carey was the vastly experienced Mal Dewhirst who had opened proceedings fresh from his exploits on the Great West Midlands Poetry Relay. “Polesworth Word Triathalon” was a clever Olympic style word challenge, “Dungeness” a beautifully observed landscape poem and his final poem about Liverpool and the Cavern Club and its music had a particular resonance in a cavernous club.

Sometimes an open mic can deliver the unexpected, and tonight it came in the form of Sukhat (phonetically correct but almost certainly not the way he spells it).Flamboyant, and a little left-field, Sukhat romped through a series of poems about vampires and “The Dream I Had” ( at 3.40am), in a surreal, but hugely enjoyable performance. His attention getter is brilliant, he arrives on stage with bundles of large writing pads, upon which there is just one poem per pad, and after delivery he smashes the pad down onto the floor which resounds to a very satisfying thump. Quite extraordinary- and a lot of fun.

Martin Green’s vignette about poems written on the inside of a cigarette packet was good, “Citizen” Andy Biddulph was on top form with his political polemics, Josie conjured up a memorable erotic image of a walnut smooth chest and Colin Dick, poet and painter was as inspirational as ever.

Closing the evening was Anthony R Owen, a man whom I have had the pleasure of listening to quite frequently in recent months, and he never ceases to impress. Not content with the success of his collection, “The Dreaded Boy” he debuted a sparse, beautiful homage to the victims of Hiroshima in a series of self styled “anti-haikus” which worked very well indeed. He also offered what amounted to a meditation on Heinrich Heine, the 19th Century German Jewish poet whose work was burned in the Nazi dawn in 1933 at Berlin’s Opernplatz, an event which had been anticipated in his play Almansor, written over a century earlier, in which he said: “Das war ein Vorspiel nur, dort wo man Bücher verbrennt, verbrennt man auch am Ende Menschen.” (“That was but a prelude; where they burn books, they will ultimately burn people also.”)

Night Blue Fruit meets on the first Tuesday of the month at around 8.30pm.

2/8/11

The office of Birmingham Poet Laureate is honorary . What you do with it is pretty much up to you. Current office holder, Roy McFarlane has seized the opportunities that such a title affords and grown the position to new heights, not least with his Bring & Share Poetry evenings, the last of which this was with him in office. Previous events have used Valentines Day, Mothers Day, and Fathers Day as their themes. This one was a double header, a promotional launch for “ Celebrate Wha’”, an anthology of contemporary Black Midlands Writers and a platform for poems on Freedom, a combination which worked splendidly.

We were fortunate to have the publisher of “Celebrate Wha’”, Andy Croft, of Smokestack Books in the audience for the occasion. A “smog monster” from Middlesbrough, Andy is a hugely distinguished author in his own right, with some 18 poetry books, four novels and forty two books for teenagers to his name, as well as a poetry column in “The Morning Star”. He has performed his own poetry around the world. Smokestack has a bold manifesto, it claims to hold open a space for what is left of the English radical poetic tradition in the twenty-first century. It champions poets who are unfashionable, left-field or working a long way from the metropolitan centres of cultural authority. It is also committed to the common music of poetry; is interested in the World as well as in the Word; believes that poetry is a part of and not apart from society; argues that if poetry does not belong to everybody, it is not poetry. As authors read from “Celebrate Wha’” it was apparent how neat a fit material and publisher were.

My only frustration from the evening was that we heard only one poem from Andy himself, the brilliant “Crash, Bang ,Wallop” , a parody of Jean-Marie Le Pen’s bizarre bid to outlaw onomatopoeia . if ever you want evidence that the pen is mightier than the sword, listen to this.

A packed bill meant that poets were limited to a single contribution resulting in a night of rich diversity too dense for me to try to chronicle in any sort of detail. Sam Hunt told of how poetry had personally set her free, Gary Quinn of how it had set him free from alcohol, and many explored political freedom. Of those, one stood out head and shoulders above the rest, “Mr President” from Chester Morrison, an attack on the record of Nelson Mandela. It encapsulated the zeitgeist of the theme of the evening, and Chester described the hostile reaction his poem had provoked from many quarters for his effrontery in questioning The Great Man. The poem was a profound, simple, powerful and lyrical tour-de –force.

Tellingly ,afterwards, several audience members were moved to debate the successes, and failures of Mandela’s regime, and what any political revolution can reasonably hope to achieve. All of which bore testament to the capacity of a poem to have a life far beyond the page.

Those authors present reading excerpts from “CelebrateWha” did a fine job. Kokumo’s heavy patois elevated “Democracy is Dead”, Marcia Callum’s roots poem “Memory Loss” was inspiring. Kokumo had amused us earlier on, Michelle Hubbard had us in fits of laughter with her “Jack and the Beanstalk” poem about how an inadvertently discarded marijuana seed had taken root in unexpected circumstances. And, as she had done at the Valentines Bring & Share evening, it was Sue Brown, making an all too rare appearance who shone once more. She delivers her words, motionless, using just her voice to emote, confident that it is all that is required, and she is right. “Birmingham” was an affectionate homage to our city, the ambiguity of “Pain” was wry, “I Am” was a defiant manifesto of self affirmation.

Roy expressed his hope to continue such events beyond when he relinquishes the Poet Laureate crown. I hope he does, for it brings together communities and offers a platform to share ideas. Rohit Ballal was able to give a rap influenced performance, Sarah Tamar was spotted by Roy last Thursday and performed this Monday, and it is that sort of alchemy and spontaneity which has made this series such a success.

“ Celebrate Wha” is available from: http://www.smokestack-books.co.uk/index.php
1/8/11