SpokenWord Paris

To be taken seriously as a writer, it’s important to have sleeping problems: follow the steps of Franz Kafka, Sylvia Plath, William Wordsworth and Walt Whitman in this all-night poetry lock-in. If you’re stuck for inspiration, need to write an emergency Valentine’s Day poem, or just fancy an excuse to stay up all night writing some poetry, then this event is for you.

Come and join us as we attempt to write through the night, starting just before midnight and ending as the sun rises. There will be coffee and tea a-plenty, plus some suitably witty beverages. There will be prompts and challenges to pace us through the night; we will inspire ourselves from some choice examples of poetry. Before the sun rises, we will take to the streets with our notebooks and pens.

Places are limited and to cover the cost of food, drinks, and material we ask for a small contribution. Tickets can be purchased here: http://poetrylockin.eventbrite.com

Please bring: a notepad and pen, your favourite poetry collection, and the energy to last the night.

Spoken Word 31 January 2011

January’s gone but the cold remains, wolves and foxes gathered at Culture Rapide where “il faut (pas) se méfier des mots….” From the list tonight: Dylan, Benjamin, Ariel: “I want to be an artist forever without thinking about the consequences….” Romantic Troy Yorke, Moe, Claire, Corneliu states that for him stand up comedy is very similar to sex (why do you stay there staring at me without doing anything?)

Part II: Leander, Claire, Miss Peacock:

“When the time of the wenting come to an end the earth taken out,

the green sown back in, the prince lays there in rest,

and forget-me-nots sprouted unforgivingly over him.”

Bastien Loriou:

“Et je crois qu‘éternellement, je courrai ce pâturage.

Il ne suffit pas d’en être amant pour qu’une femme vous offre son visage.

Il demeure cette distance, qu’aimer en retour seul peut enjamber

Cette infime distance entre soi et l’autre, d’un doigt librement déplié.

Et de cette distance elle me demeure, précisément, la moitié.”

Bubu, Hard-Core Troy Yorke, Alberto.

Chris (from the) Newens who set up an old school tragedy with a proper four blokes g(r)eek chorus:

Chorus:

Sing, oh muse

Of Mighty Odysseus, wanderer of many Oceans

To Ittica, returning to Penelope besieged

Of Heroic Theseus, Prince of Athens

Vanquisher of the Minotaur, who claimed Ariane as his own.

Sing, oh muse,

of Arthur Sneddon, a touch socially awkward but basically alright bloke

whose attempt to win Jane Kemp with a two for one dinner at Pizza Express,

was never likely to go to plan.”

Roy, Dalea, editor of Core, reading her first poem and presenting Volume X Issue I,

Tyler and Ariel, who’s going back in the USA after a few months of great poetry performances

on our stage. Our stage is still open to everyone, every monday night. See you there.

Alberto

Great night ladies and gentlemans, I do think so,

we started with Dylan Harris reading his poem The Player from his book Antwerp,

David reading a poem by Alexander Maksik from Issue Zero Magazine, now on sale:

yesterday at the pharmacy

a tall man in beard trembling

paying says, Jesus Christ it is

cheaper just to die.

Benjamin reading the Grave of Shelley by Oscar Wilde:

Like burnt-out torches by a sick man’s bed

Gaunt cypress-treesstand round the sun-bleached stone;

here doth the little night-owl make her throne,

and the slight lizard show his jewelled head….

Anthony singing:

Have you ever loved?

Have you ever loved and lost?

Have you ever loved and lost and worked on a ferry-boat?

Of course. Moe Seager, Yara and Stefanos, Alberto Rigettini.

Eleanor (on stage singing) and Katherine (almost strict judges),

Chris and Benjamin, Anthony, Zine, Nina Karacosta reading “My Cities”

un morceau of her forthcoming readings:

http://www.wice-paris.org/wice/events-with-upstairs-at-duroc?19de6d321fb1038835cca5f16bb4a662=2c0b83c6512fb206e39dfd1850a46632

Moe supporting tunisian poets, then James:

Words are bollocks: shit, piss, fuck….cunt.

Words get attention.

Indeed. Julie Anne’s perfect slam style, Ariel and Emily banjoing and singing:

I love you for your money

For what money can do

You know what is funny

They think I love you for you

Or that’s how I remember it.

I remember then Tyler and the Jazzy end: Dumb Ego’s night in Tunisia:

http://www.myspace.com/dumbego/music/songs/Night-in-Tunisia-78849956

For many more tunisian and bellevillian poetic nights, come on monday at Culture Rapide!

…Alberto

The mailman was lost on route. Atlanta stood aghast. The ceiling fan was lit and William wanted to be buried in a sandcastle. Anna saw the man on the Staten Island ferry dancing for dimes. Anton channelled William Service, “The Man Who Knows.” Lynn Jeffries picked up the pieces. And Ariel banjo’ed us.

Ariel went to Peru. Georgina was stuck with the voice in her head, some kind of tribute to frat boys. John brought a message from Sting. Jena stands up in dark places. Angel talked about Pancho Villa and La Cucaracha. Moe riffed on jazz. Mandoline brought kindness as a verb. A mountain sliver leaned back into the ocean. Beth’s silence lingers like…