Report by David Barnes. Photos by Sabine Dundure – more on the facebook page.
As the theme was Rejection I thought I’d kick off by resurrecting my Bitter Valentine.
Christelle read some poems by Jacques Prévert, my favourite being Le retour au pays, about a Breton who couldn’t enjoy his crêpes because when he was very young someone had told him he would finish on the scaffold. And since then he’d dared nothing – not gone to sea, nothing. He finds a solution.
David Jaggard read personal ads from his satire site (he’s looking for submissions by the way!): Exceedingly handsome, financially independent man in his mid-40s seeks Ms. Right. Must be able to pull her own weight, handle herself with aplomb in tricky situations, talk her way out of big trouble, win difficult people over to her way of thinking and save the day in a life-or-death emergency. Our first date will be a test of all those things… more here.
Angela’s Seymore was a drifter. ”Papa, who owns the sky?”’He wasn;t mad eof ash and stone. Melinda told Joey ”baby, don’t get crazy!” Sairey didn’t love you back. Gabriel: ”Everybody my age who makes excuses/inevitably/reproduces/asexually.” Moe Seager: ”You say I should curb the flow/Your native son howls along the American Way…” and that was the end of Round 1.
Victor brought us the Synthetic Eighties where on s’en fou de tous – continuing the history of chanson. See his post on the SpokenWord facebook page for more. Pearlann sang ”no alarms and no surprises” by some British band who apparently are quite well known. David Sirois continued his impressions of Paris: ”the cars create a form of quiet… bridges walk on water.” Gaby Blues, up from the Downtown: ”Je reconnais’.’ Sandra from Alabama was hired as a go-go dancer and wanted to go trailer shopping. Thomas felt love’s greenness in his roots. Timothee sang a Bob Dylanish thing in the cauldron of life, living on stars and cigarettes. And Alberto finally finished his story, in which he narrowly escaped by run over, was robbed and finally evacuated to hospital. Typical day really.
Round 3 began with Natacha’s plan to kill Obama. Jonathan ran into some Russian thugs and urinals in space. For Calum, maths is love. Bruce asked ”What would you bribe a fat, smelly cop with?” among other things. And then the night dissolved into cabaret with Ana and Rafael, him on piano, her singing ”I want baybeeeeess! Right now!” amidst last metros and the general dissolving chaos of the end of a night at SpokenWord au Chat Noir.