The Festival is organised by Munayem Mayenin, Festival Director, who is an extremely charming fellow whose good nature and enthusiasm for poetry shine out of him. It is obvious he organizes this event for love and not money. St John's is beautiful, and the acoustics were very good as long as you weren't too close to the rather sensitive microphone.
The format was the same each evening - the first session was by the poets in residence, and the second, or main, session, was by the invited poets interspersed with some open-mic-ers. If you sat on anyone's knee in the audience they would probably write about it later, because we were poets reading to poets; but by gosh, there were a lot of poets. Each evening finished with music. The atmosphere was friendly and inclusive, and by the second night I was really enjoying myself.Of the poets in residence, I particularly liked Tony Fernandez (you can find some of his work here:
and Aiko Harman,who blogs here: http://www.aikowrites.blogspot.com/
Aiko had also produced single hand-crafted poems with an accompanying felt toy, and my luck was in as she had written one called "Robots" for her boyfriend. Eldest twin is delighted with "Roby 1" and Aiko promised to construct a second and post it to me for twin 2. I also like the poem.
Aiko had also produced single hand-crafted poems with an accompanying felt toy, and my luck was in as she had written one called "Robots" for her boyfriend. Eldest twin is delighted with "Roby 1" and Aiko promised to construct a second and post it to me for twin 2. I also like the poem.
In the main session, I loved Anna Lindup, who I can't find anywhere on the internet. She performed her own work magnificently, a bit like a pocket Diana Rigg. I could have listened to her all night. McGuire (who blogs here: http://a-glaswegian.blogspot.com/ ) was also memorable, not just for the fact that he opened his set by declaring that he had left his book in the toilet and then running off to get it. An un-phased reading followed.
There were good poems and poets each evening, but the above four names stood out for me because they also read well, and in Anna's case, really well.
I read exclusively from my pamphlet, The Fat Plant, each night. On the Saturday night I chose "Homemaker" as part of my set, and actually felt a little discomforted reading it to an ethnically diverse audience, something I haven't done before (Dumfriesshire, remember). The "I" is not me, but to read it, me becomes "I", Georgia accent included. My discomfort surprised me, and needs thinking about.
Here it is, so you can see what I mean:
Homemaker
Lord, I simply love washing, let me clarify:
I don’t mean myself, but sheets, towels, laundry,
I love washing clothes and watching them dry.
To the world of the soiled and the sundry
creased unsorted chaos of the laundry basket
I restore order on every Monday.
I learnt from my mother, my daughter’s debt,
for it’s ever been a woman’s right
to order the world thus, so we’re washing yet.
Children and husband can shine and be bright,
and I as wife and mother may feel some pride
in that shining, and catch reflected light.
I never get it wrong and I can be your guide,
follow these simple rules which will supply
such pleasure in what’s hanging on the line outside.
Never mix whites with coloureds.
Whites means pure whites: never contaminate
with other dyes.
And do not forget
there are light coloureds and dark coloureds:
do not confuse these either.
Darks, obviously,
are only washed together, and alone,
else they will dull everything.
Finally, never ever trust reds.
Always wash them separately
and consider a rinse programme
for the machine once they are removed.
Red can spread.
It is not to be trusted.
Do these things and you will have
an unchanging world of order
in your linen cupboard and your wardrobe,
and like me you will be happy
for the hour a day
that you are washing.
Lord, I simply love washing, let me clarify:
I don’t mean myself, but sheets, towels, laundry,
I love washing clothes and watching them dry.
To the world of the soiled and the sundry
creased unsorted chaos of the laundry basket
I restore order on every Monday.
I learnt from my mother, my daughter’s debt,
for it’s ever been a woman’s right
to order the world thus, so we’re washing yet.
Children and husband can shine and be bright,
and I as wife and mother may feel some pride
in that shining, and catch reflected light.
I never get it wrong and I can be your guide,
follow these simple rules which will supply
such pleasure in what’s hanging on the line outside.
Never mix whites with coloureds.
Whites means pure whites: never contaminate
with other dyes.
And do not forget
there are light coloureds and dark coloureds:
do not confuse these either.
Darks, obviously,
are only washed together, and alone,
else they will dull everything.
Finally, never ever trust reds.
Always wash them separately
and consider a rinse programme
for the machine once they are removed.
Red can spread.
It is not to be trusted.
Do these things and you will have
an unchanging world of order
in your linen cupboard and your wardrobe,
and like me you will be happy
for the hour a day
that you are washing.
To sum up: I had a good time, heard interesting and diverse work and met some lovely people, the loveliest being Munayem Mayenin himself. Long may he reign.
Ooh, and I sold some pamphlets too!
The official Festival Report can be found here: http://www.londonpoetryfestival.com/5thFestivalReport2009.htm
Finally, for Eryl, did I rock that poet's look? Oh yes, I think so. Smug Mothers-of-the-bride unite!
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