SpokenWord Paris

By Alberto.

We are changing venue every monday. Tonight we are downstairs au Chat Noir. We’ve been there before but was faraway more violent. I have a deja vu, let’s see how it was: when Writers get Violent. This time was less brutal but not less emotional. Kate Noakes opens it with her Ophelia. Lucy A bought a conditioner for dirty hair. Stay tuned she’s got a show on December 9 and 10. Further details coming soon on this website. Bethany: Fuck connotations, I have no pussy. James Navè started writing in hospital: Where the balls go. Then for the first time on our stage, James Simpson with a poem called “My journey on line 4”.
Second Stanza:

From porte d’orleans to porte de clignacourt
Central & straight goes good old line 4.
“But its better than london” I hear you say
“And you get phone signal to text & play”
A carriageful of people shouting down their phone
Angry & annoyed that they’ll be late home
No I prefer the british way of suffering in silence
And thats what im doing but im sensing violence
Especially now that an accordian has started
And someone around me has definitely farted.

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Amber didn’t want to read poetry: “’ cause my mum is a poet and I’ve got issues.” So she told a story that could be entitled: “I thought suppository was a french thing.” Naser’s Sufi: “As I bathe in the eternal sunrise… I shower my mind with the lucid teardrops of time.” Alberto’s afternoon on roftoops. “I walk on rooftops to watch the others and avoid meeting them.” Felicia: Is there a first stage? Death. Light Leaks were smoking (what?) before playing. Their new LP is almost ready.Mandoline in french: “…tu me meteorite, tu me fragilize, tu me….” Jo. More Jo . Jason. More Jason. Lucile, Troy wants just tenderness with a belt, and then you’ll remember him when you’re hit by a car, Jasmine E. Way hasn’t written anything in 8 years, Georgina …oopps I was upstairs ordering a Gin Tonic, Lucy G: There is a song for the dead children. Kelly’s Very cold friday. The Maxx: Byron on Speed: “I have Jesus in my veins” plus two excerpts from his favourite author Malcolm Lowry, one was Delirium in Veracruz.

DELIRIUM IN VERA CRUZ (by Malcolm Lowry)

Where has the tenderness gone, he asked the mirror
Of the Biltmore Hotel, cuarto 216. Alas,
Can its reflection lean against the glass
Too, wondering where I have gone, into what horror?
Is that it staring at me now with terror
Behind your frail, tilted barrier? Tenderness
Was here, in this very retreat, in this
Place, its form seen, cries heard by you. What error
Is here? Am I that forked rashed image?
Is this the ghost of love which you reflected?
Now with a background of tequila, stubs, dirty collars,
Sodium perborate, and a scrawled page
To the dead, telephone disconnected?
… He smashed all the glass in the room. (Bill: $50)

James. I loved his song, but he disappeared before I could ask him about it. And the ex-virgin, nowadays whore Naser closed la soirèe. Good Stuff Guys! We loved the night, we loved the place, what do you think? Should we stay here every monday? Ok. Come back au Chat Noir, next Monday. Sign up 8ish. The show starts 9ish! On the italian biological clock.

…featuring Emma McGordon, Lucy Hopkins, Benji, Sandeep, Leemore and many others.

Pity les pauvres Parisian men with gold teeth,
 fight off your father’s idea of a cuddle,
  search for your reflection in a bucket of silky oil,
   your heart punctured.
If you’d known me,
 we could have been great friends.
  But now I have to roast you and kill you.
Rise arborescent, my carnivore plant.
Berdache boy –
 he throws like a girl but he fucks like a man,
  and he won’t tell me what you took from him.
Dance, waiting for the metro,
 with looks like the crack of a whip,
  to piano sonata number two in B flat minor.
Every year, make a little piece of Tuscany disappear,
 coax deformations from jagged rock.
Take a deep sea dive down the toilet.
Be witched,
 be bothered
  and be wildered.
Sing golf songs.
Boys, don’t you dream of princesses rescuing you?

Ah, la tristesse…

David, photo (c)  Jean-Alain Le Borgne

Halloween began with B’s scary whispering Nevermorrrrrrrre, Poe’s The Raven. Me reading my translation of Poison (or possibly, The Fish) by Baudelaire. Georgina’s Little Red Riding Hood chomping on her grandmother’s thigh, while the woodcutter throbbed with the smell of sweat, salt and hair.

Patrick

Kate washed down a piece of Mrs Haversham’s wedding cake with the best espresso in the world. Patrick slouched out of Babylon, his hour come round at last. Sandeep practised interpretive dancing before the cafes of Paris. And a fridge-cold fish stared at Lucille, rolling down the hill.

Lucile, photo (c) Jean-Alain Le Borgne

Marie Baby combines Little Red Riding Hood and the wolf in one.

Alberto: While I was killing you, I was saying I love you.

Camille selling a little girl’s soul.

Troy: festering feet from the old country

Bruce was Black Pelvis, brought us the liar who says sleep will come easily and a girl who smells of bacon fat. James gave us ‘Bicycle, my Bicycle.’ Margot and Tamara shook dreams from our hair.

Next SpokenWord: Tonight at Le Ballon Vert
Sign up from 8pm, first round starts 9pm
Thanks to Julianne Sibiski and Jean-Alain Le Borgne for the photos.

By Alberto.
B like Bukowsky, bothered by me repairing a sink, David: The Corporate Goldfish and the 7 rules for living. Chris: All those mushy things between amphibians. Carolyn: Naked in Hotel de Ville. Marie: Bondage Darling Mistake. If you want listen to her for a whole week, here you’ll find one song a day. Lucile: We are living dead. Troy: I’m squishing flies between my fingers, you are a terrible fuck. Camille: Out of my bush, home-made socks, the angel is lost, for all who consume home made socks. And we didn’t have our happy report by Trelys, it was a terrible shock, everyone immediately felt sad, and negative and cinic, almost Parisian. We had to do something. What?

Round Two. Beth Jervis / Miss Peacock reading from Revolutionary Poetry for Individuals in Capitalism, buy it here.
Patrick: Plum Prize, Dice are Cast. Lucy: Troy gets me into missionary position. Alberto: We can float like an oarless boat. Jason: not do do do do but pa pa pa pisser sur la pipe du pap pa pa pas. Chris Newens starring Georgina: Boning yours social inferiors on a night bus at Lambeth North. Alex: It’s later than you think. We made it. We can’t live without it anymore: Collective Dramatic Happy Weekly Report: Matilde Happy Monday, Molly Happy Tuesday, Alex Bad Tuesday, Lucy Happy Wednesday, Jason Happy Thursday, Patrick Sad Then Happy Friday, Ashley Happy Saturday. But where is Trelys?
Remember: Next Monday Spoken Word Halloween Special! Dress Up and Read (And Party!)
Where? We’ll keep you posted!

The Happy Report

Beth aka Miss Peacock

 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.

Georgina

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

Lucy Gellman

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.

Routine makes the life comfortable and the humans weak and pavid. Finding ourselves suddenly homeless, put us a back to the essence of what is Spoken Word, not the wrap, but the content. Valiant spokenworders gathered in Bastille instead of Belleville, to demonstrate we can make poetry everywhere, and everyone seemed to to his best to prove it. David Barnes opened with a press conference about why we are here and a patriotic speech modeled on the famous “Carpe Diem” Georgina explained how all this started (the earth and the life as we know it, I mean), I told you was a very vigorous night, Kellyjoy went on stabbing like a butcher, Mari read “The Phoenix”, Gus played and sang a song dedicated to all the political springs around the world, Alexa was having an heart attack, I was having an heart attack, listening to her powerful poem entitled: “La Merde”:
“I must be sick cause I see shit everywhere, Je vois la merde partout!”
Shit taking the RER especially.
Patrick, read a poem with his band playing along:

“On a Railway Bridge in Cologne there hang Ten Thousand Locks.
Engraved tokens of Eternity, but they do not Eulogise,
the Monument they are attached to is one of Attachment:
Vivacious Exuberance of the Living Heart,
that hopeful Idealism that Reminds us we are not yet Lost.”

Carolyn wanting to be an insect, but not a cockroach, not a bee, not a fly, not a mosquito, not a bedbug. Marie playing acoustic but complaining she should have been playing electric! Trelys happy report ends up with somebody telling her: “Excuse moi Monsieur!”. Jo singing “This Life.” James offered the audience a multiple choice, becoming a demagogue. Gabriel is such a great rapper. Gus followed with “I’m gonna be number 1 in America”. Chris’s monologue: “Voyeurs”, encouraging you to watch youtube classics like “2 girls 1 cup”, “1 guy and 1 jar”. Camille inspired by the previous shit: “I met a man who shitted out of his side into a bag”, Jason do that when u do do not do do not do do do do what you do not what you, Mandoline recited by heart: “What do women want” by Kim Addonizio. Do you want to play it again? Dododoit!

Alberto has been in Andalusia translating Lorca “La Luna Asoma” or “The Moon Rises” winner of the competition Lorca In Translation. Ryan nailing Jesus on the Cross (I told you wa s a very vigorous night) indeed, Kelly, yeah, Kellyjoy’s final greeting card:
“I wish your balls would just explode.”
Spoken Word it’s every monday. Where? Stay tuned.