SpokenWord Paris

Photos: Julien, Helen, the Public.

SpokenWord crowded night and the theme was “Space”.
Sarah stole a kiss in a crowded disco, Gèno in francais: “Je vous ecris d’un autre planete”, Marty started with: I’d heard about this thing: Smoke chuffing away like liberty. Blocks none of the blank panes. Claudia was amazing, they told me, but I was outside adding other poets on the list, Michele read a poem about the first time he had sex in the vineyard, I don’t remember if alone or not, David for the first time was free to enjoy the night as a full time poet and came up with two cosmopoems and an outcast star. The featured poet of the night was Antonia Klimenko, slam champion from San Francisco, and you can watch down here an excerpt about her stunning performance. John, who created a very interactive piece with the audience playing with the word space, followed by Bruce, just arrived from the World Cup of Petanque, with a poem-song that has a refrain like: “Your helmet, gentleman, your helmet”, Nancy said that all her poems are about space, and this one was about time and space: Heart is the clock of creation./ Time is clock, time is money, this has to stop cause it’s not funny!” Alberto read “Dwell on the moles on your girlfriend’s body, observe them by night like constellations”, and Jonathan closed our first half in a standing ovation. (And I don’t think that was because of the break). Sally opened the second round reciting: “I still love the lover I didn’t meet.” And Yara sang she still love Johnny. Daen read three poems, inspired by Wendy Cope and Martin Newett, listing “101 ways why he is David Bowie and you’re not”, and a multivoiced Charlie “in space anything is possible”, Antonia Klimenko was on our stage for the second part of her reading, and we have a second video, Betty rocked the house with a song-heartbeat-poem in which all the public participated. With Rufo “Will Coyote will fall forever”, Will “The night seems like a stranger”, Helen O’Keefe with the pseudonym of “Ukulhelen” played with her Ukulele a Russian tune in honour of Yuri Gagarin, the first man in outer space, overheating our secret Russian audience, Bruce came back to affirm “I’ve got a dirty brain and a dirty mouth, assholes!”, and Kelly with a sweet poem for her scracth-pad, Michele invited everybody to follow him in his psichedelic trips, Nancy II, David to close and invite everybody back on Novembre 2 for the next episode, but, hold on, the real end was Julien, Culture Rapide’s bartender who left his station and came up to read his stuff, reminding everybody that he’s a poet, too.

Charlie was on a blind journey. Rufo had a day at the zoo watching the machines-for-existing. The myth of smoothness dropped horribly into a pail. Gèno was crazy-obsessed with a machine à sous (one armed bandit? fruit machine?). Il a mit tout sa confiance en elle. I’d completely overlooked that in French machine is feminine, a missed opportunity for a poem there.
Susannah was a bad cat mother, shouldn’t be who she is. Ooog went fisting for your love. Yes, I do mean fisting. Rod Tame brought Saturday night from Deansgate, Manchester. The hangover endures on Unreality TV. Dominic Berry spoke of la machine humaine et la puissance des haricots. The stablisers taken from his bicycle, he feasted on speed. Thérèse brought une petite machine pour faire la cuisine. Jonathan’s library books were scratched with other people’s clichés. He found that there’s pleasure in thinking what’s been thought before. In retrospect, he admitted the poetry was a mistake. Memory is a machine that lies. When the vodka failed, he scalped her cat. Jason wondered whether, maybe, all we need is to watch TV together. Bruce brought Earth, Wind & Amplifier. A story shorter than the rope around his neck. Dorry Funaki read Edna St Vincent Millay’s Renaissance. Nina told of the New York Machine. Pia had that soap-induced feeling of being clean, and a permanent cigarette. Daen had too many hairdressers. And the Devil’s own nightsoil. (Any chance of a copy, Daen?) I was at 17 Poisoner’s Row. For Peter, feeling is a human error. Kezia was tied to the moon; friable. Francesca remembers the day you ripped up her poems. Alberto slipped memories into the mouths of fish. Quite one of Alberto’s most beautiful lines yet, I think. Charlie read The Tortured Artist’s Rant/This Guy Needs Therapy. Bruce had a chainsaw in his throat; tatooed letters.

Thanks to all who came.

Next SpokenWord Monday October 19th
Theme: Space/l’espace

The theme was school. John McNulty was sent to the back of the class. Sally described a break up in 6th grade. Sam admired the act; the small, persuasive scene; birds’ blood.

David Barnes (me!) asked ”What’s the craic?” Pointed to his box of stolen bibles. Dana was Unforgiven. Alberto was, and is, still trying to escape school. Who knows why humans kiss? Sally went commando. Erica got out her banjo, for a song about learning from mistakes (photo below.)

Sam got a lemur wrapped round his shoulders. Julie slammed to Betty’s beat on the box (clip posted below.) Bruce (last photo, below) gave us the story of an elevator repair man who saved a suicide jumper, among other things.

12 poets, singers, performers. Improvised poetry! And a full bar. SpokenWord is back!
I kicked off with an account of how I broke my arm the day we found the electric vagina in the cellar. Pieton, Utopianist, revait d’un pays qui s’appelle Noland, where there are no hangovers. Maxime, suffering from Mercury Retrograde, read from Lebanese (and Paris resident) poet Etel Adnan http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Etel_Adnan The sun revolves in cyclones… Christopher sang (no metaphor) that this poem is my stance – an imbecilic man falling off a ladder. Brought his broken banjo, missing teeth. He says my wife’s ghost lies with him. Sam gave a remote interview, looked over the piece of toast’s shoulder, charged the zinc. Armen Kassabian did his freestyle and improvised rap thing – you can find the pills we eat on his blog http://armandoloco.blogspot.com/ Alberto said something incoherent and unprintable about me and how he claims I really broke my arm, then launched into his jazz tribute to Archie Shepp, French-kissing a golden swan. Betty listened to Stevie Nicks’ loneliness, like a heartbeat. John Kirby Abraham brought the guy who tried to break the metro. Sally extracted from her novel a short piece: The Break-Up (God told me to.)
In the second half, Christopher was in a Sentimental Mood. Sophie smashed porcelain at German weddings. Betty broke through the wall between her voice and the world. Alberto apologised. I told about houses, used as homes. Bad dreams carried in the metal of the cars on the roads. Sam read Ted Berrigan http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ted_Berrigan which turned out to be stronger than alcahol. Lia spoke of New Year’s Day, breaking with the past, disappearing fast. Oog (yes, that is what he calls himself) advised everyone to Remain calm! Stay in your homes! Be happy! (Or you’ll be shot!) a text by Jello Biafra used on Ice T’s Copkiller album. And at the end, as the numbers dwindled to a happy few, Sandy brought out an ode about loneliness. feeling kind of funny, gotta find your number.

Next SpokenWord is 21st September. Theme – School.

SpokenWord returns Monday 7th September, 20h30 at the Cabaret Pop/Culture Rapide, as ever.
It will then be every fortnight until at least 14th December.

As I have just broken my arm, with the help of a certain cello player, the theme for the 7th will be Breaking things.

Cheers,
David.

The night was good! (unexpectly)
When I arrived the culture rapide was completely empty and dead.
And so it was even at 9.15 except Michele.
I was kind of letting Michele doing a one man show when everybody arrived
together in almost 10 minutes and I had like 26 poets on stage.
some old glories, (John, Colin, Susan, Maxim, Helen and the surprising comeback of Leemore)
and some totally new and some from abroad.
–Alberto