SpokenWord was a hot, sweaty cave in Paris. Look closely at the first photo and you can see Kyle standing before the door of the bar, about to go in. Patrick, the one facing the camera, with the cigarette, in the group of dodgy looking poets, later got a bucket of water thrown over him by the neighbours for singing after 1a.m.
Kyle takes the stage in the next photo. Two photos down you see Trélys DuPré reading her poetry and finally Benjamin recounting his true shark story.
(In the photos on the next post you can see Troy Yorke soaked in the jet fuel of a fly-by-night conundrum, Marie singing with sugar on her tongue, and Anthony (I hope it’s Anthony) singing of the whores of Amsterdam.)
I took notes on what some of the poets said.
Maxx was at the vanishing point, spitting and struggling against suffocation (Joseph Brodksy). Hal got what we all want. Jo likes to let her electric toothbrush run wild all night. We saw Adèle Giraud as if far away in a burning land. Moe Seager is a conspirator stealing back his life.
Meanwhile Gabriel said he’d settle for ”her biscuit-shaped ears, her squinting eyes,” but Emilie said she wasn’t gonna be anybody’s second best. Preston handed you a bouquet of yellow post-it notes.
Alberto revealed that Shakespeare’s dark lady was a furry man. Maxx was looking for love in bad poems. Suzanne saw 2 flies fucking.
There was lots more, too much for me to name everybody. We started before 9 and it went on well after last metro time, with Beth taking over as ringmaster. Many thanks to all who read, sang and made up the audience, and especially Vlad and Hélène who work the bar.
À ce soir à 20h!