A second fine evening at the Dallery. Jamie erased dead-eyed cyclists at his discount funeral service. Alberto was back from the UK where he colected a prize for a translation of a Llorca poem into English. Carolyn saw the afternoon spilling all its clear light over the threshold, saw motorcycles used against the crowd in Iran till the crowd pulled them down, asked When will my heart stop?
Me & Jason read Neruda’s Puedo escribir los versos… (Tonight I can write…) in Spanish & English. Jason was in the underground city. Southbound on the line 5 is the best place to commit suicide. James (we have about 4 Jameses right now) totalled his friend’s car.
Patrick said Should I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more dreary and more grey. Trèlys preyed she’ll always feel kinship with other humans, no matter how many legs they have. Camille brought the revolution in finite time, cut that platinum card.
B (centre, photo above) followed the Easter Bunny, found a catbit – half cat, half rabbit.
|Bruce: The Sequel|
One of the most amazing things though this night was Moe’s jazz poem with jazz dance by The Pillow Project Jazz Dance Company… really incredible. Chain gangs of song and memory. No photos though – pity – my camera can’t do people moving. So check em out here: link
Finally Max should’ve been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas. (TS Eliot of course, and for some reason makes me think of Halloween which is coming next week…) And I tried to terrorise Trèlys and the rest of the audience with my poem about poisoning people. It really worked well with the intimacy of this small bar. Til next time. 🙂 Or see you at Halloween? That’s also on Spokenwordday. Or as it is also known, Monday.