SpokenWord Paris

Cesare Pavese

I thought I’d test how loud we can get with John Lennon’s Gimme some truth. Quite loud, but I reckon we didn’t reach the limit yet.

Rather than teargas and tazers, Moe barrelled in to Marseille – hot, undulating, woman. The city, he means, not himself. Alabama Sandra, on short, sweet recess from conformity went to Mobile and pursued her some prosperity as a go-go dancer. Erica was back with a new song: “My doctor wants to medicate my imbalances but I tell him that’s where I’ve built my palaces” For Ayayogi, fresh from the poetry squats of South London, the World of the End is nigh. I love the idea that there are poetry squats in South London. Alexa and her free-range heart were into sex with Canned Heat. She asked tough questions. Like, chicken pussy – is it enticing? The kissing is missing, she said. What happened to the kissing? I just want to punch you now. Alas, Kate predicted that you too will also be difficult to decipher. Lucile brought hate poems. And JD is the hottest thing in Alaska.
Then round 2, Kerrie’s stars lit you up in the dark. Melamar from Vienna was sharp as a harpoon, a raw diamond. Sid dug down in a sore spot in the earth to find My Lady’s Lolling Tongue. Hrayr’s God wiped the sweat off his forehead, took out his gold watch. Bea read smokers of paper, translations of Cesare Pavese, an interesting Italian poet, not very cheerful. There was a lot of geography this week, from the poetry squats of South London to Melamar’s Free Republic of Poetistan, Moe’s road into Marseille. Marie’s radiospark whispered of roadblocks ahead. Jessica saw you as the red hot voodoo of New Orleans cemeteries. Chris had a message for his exploiters. While Beth was a fool in burning brown paper, thinking about stealing from Toby. (Go on, Beth. He’s asking for it.) Shane brought the silence in the room when you’ve been caught feeling up one of the other guests. And Rat. And then michael brought the night to a close with beautiful piano, singing some of us learn slow.


See you tomorrow, Monday, for the next episode of SpokenWord.
David

Report by Alberto.
Beautiful Photos by Kate Noakes.

Spoken Word Rules #2/Bis:

“Don’t ask yourself for whom this little bell tolls, it tolls for thee.”
Christelle opens the dance reading Le Diserteur by Boris Vian.

Welcome to spoken word weekly french lesson. Here you have the song with the English translation, and here the original lyrics. Lena kissed Bod Dylan. Theko playing Ukulele. Kate with scissors near her eyes. Ian W. S. warns: “This is the dead land, this is the twinkle of the fading star!!!”. Audience Reaction:

Alberto Peeps his God through his ass-hole, his God peeps him through his ass-hole. J.D.Ragan breaks my heart again in several shards , he doesen’t know who wrote this song but it is very romantic it goes like: “I taste your strawberries, I drink your sweet wine…” James, also known as James The Elder: “A comic is the guy who says “I can do Stand up comedy” and you are the one who says: “Yes, but it’s not funny”. Evan reading two poems about wine and age. Costanza, Oh Costanza, I just write down “I tremble” and your poem is over already. Georgina telling us epic stories about the drunken mothers of Connecticut and the biggest ass ever seen (In Connecticut?). Continue reading →

As Shakespeare & Company is closed, this Saturday (only) we will meet upstairs at

Café de la Marie
8 place St Sulpice
75006
Métro St Sulpice/Odeon

Usual time 5pm-7pm

By Alberto.
First Spoken Word in 2012!
New Year, New Life, New Stuff by James, for example, like the Polish Chuck Norris Jokes (Chuck Norris can wear an helmet inside out. For example), Christelle being Sublime and Gourmand, Jason translating Samarago from Portoguese. I guess he had the idea while reading Playboy…

Alexa indeed: “I was raised as a catholic girl and I’m still recovering” and read “Thank you, Sister Mary Andrè” from the first issue of Issue Zero. Griffin following the oral tradition (“not the oral tradition that you think” – he said): “We do not perform poetry, we perform surgery”. Kate: “there is nothing simple about a line.” Lucille introducing the new issue of Scarecrowllective Fanzine. Brian: This is not poetry: Writing with headache. Madeleine borrowing a guitar and singing, Jimmy’s tributes “the view of a dog catching a frisbee.” Lucy’s poem about Concentration Camp.

Marie for David Bowie’s birthday “Sufragette City”.

David Bowie

David Barnie takes us back to the good old times at Shakespeare’s and Company with his Alithosis of the soul. J.D. playing “Hard Times Come Again No More” by Stephen Foster. Another song you should listen while reading this blog (and having a deja-vu.) Ok. I link you a karaoke version. I know what you need.You also need Sid marvellous Last Line:

Told me to walk up here, to put my neck there
Now, speak to me in the language of ducks:
Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack
‘n speak to me in the language of crows:
Caw Caw Caw Caw Caw Gouge my eyes
Speak to me in the language of men,
‘n hang me tight
Then speak to me in the language of God .
Pray Jesus won’t rule us after we die. Continue reading →

Next Other Writers’ Group
~ Saturday 7th January 5pm Shakespeare & Co.
Next SpokenWord
~ Monday 9th January Au Chat Noir

By Alberto
Mandoline Song Of Victory, Marie Song of Draw, Anthony: “I want to leave the City”, Jason reading for his personal pleasure leftovers from his old website something about bleeding tomatoes (as an Italian I’m moved). Kate reads four short poems, James told the tragic Story of a Butcher called Jean Marie “qui avait the best meat of Paris”, Eva singing a sad song called “Too much talking is good for a blind.” Alberto dedicated this monologue to last saturday night fighters. Griffin, for Griffin I mean this guy

performed a poem called “the third box” referring to Plato’s (Aristophane’s) sex myth.
In Round II the first is Claire. That’s how I found out another fellow spokenworder won the Troubadour’s third prize even in 2010, her name is Claire Gheerardyn with her poem “Nest”. Troy Yorke, our Personal Jesus: “My hoven was hot and I was a witch”. Matt: you wake up in the morning and your head is on fire.
Amelia Parenteau:

Drift back to the beach,
Me, pot bellied and princessing,
You taught me to float,
And I haven’t sunk since.

Pablo singing: Les Anges de Paris. Patrick gurgling waves like a saxophone altissimo.
and Lucy from:

Full Body Blush
(or)
Warning, Lucy Gellman is Supernovaing in the Grad Study Center

I leave black holes where I walk. The hallways of Paris IV breathe
with them, and the dixièmes cobblestone streets, and this bright bright city,
the only thing we share in the night.

What galaxies you hold in your hands, I told him once.
How much light you have trapped inside of me.

Chantal: “On dit que cette musique c’est votre nome, Sokol asking Proust for a sip of strenght.

And finally Kelly: “My apologies”. Please forgive her, folks. Last Spoken Word b4 Xmas holidays will be Monday, December 19 Au Chat Noir. See you there.