SpokenWord Paris

This was the first time since I started two and a half years ago that I’ve done SpokenWord (formerly called Kerouac and hosted in the cellar of the Lizard Lounge) entirely sober. The stress! The anxiety! All those nerves that 2 pints usually deadens. Not about doing my poems, that’s rare now. But anxiety about whether enough people’ll come, about whether they have a good time, about whether they’re getting bored because I let someone go on too long or whether they’re pissed off with me because I cut somebody off at the time limit. Not to mention whether we’re gonna get drunk or high arseholes come in, or there’ll be a fight. (We’ve nearly had fights 2 or 3 times.)
On the other hand, being sober makes everything more real, more intense. The world and whatever’s happening has more presence. I don’t feel very tempted to drink, because this sobriety gives the same kind of benefits as meditation.

On to the report.

Thomas opened singing Smelly Cat and a long half sung, half spoken rendition of a song from Sweeny Todd. (A way to get around the 4 minute rule?) John McNulty brought remembered rain & radiosongs. Erika, backed by Betty on box, said Smell transports us across a 1,000 miles. Helen Kelleher said. Scratch’n’sniff cinema. David Fishel’s feet still stink. A secret language of dry wit, and bull-shit. I had a case of halitosis of the soul. Maybe I’ve been watching House too much. Erik smelled chocolate crepes and a paniiiiiiiiini… and – cough, cough – a nasty cigarette. Denise threw fresh oranges to the crowd. Noses awake! She had a story of Love at first smell. Kelly said Karen made her move on the Greyhound bus. Lifted one idle finger to her wet mouth. Loss transmutes to beauty. Ellen sang for Garcia Lorca, poet and revolutionary murdered in the Spanish Civil War. Also, Will we last the Fall? Jaco dreamt of being a shoemaker. Vivement qu’ils inventent les pouls qui auront des dents. Elena said France smells. And she likes it. There’s something fishy about Sarah – she has fins for hands, fingers fused together. Peter brought the truth – Everything you thought about poets but were afraid to ask. Leemore sang of doves, with thick earthen breath. Michele produced a poem written on his way to do military service in Italy and something about sex in the Bottleshop. Camille slammed. She met a man once, who shit out of his side. Masha was, to be terrible frank, a 68 year old Russian man, her alter ego. Great monologue! Peter Two was drawn in like a wasp; his lover’s scent moves with her like a haze. (Oddly very few people talked about the way the people they love to smell.) David Fishel came back to the stage with an ode to cheese – I’ve posted a clip of this on the blog. Amber says You smell! and spoke of daffodils’ teeth. Christophe had a murder mystery in mind. Smells are like soul to all things. My name is Chris. Chris McCrump, private detective in Belleville. Frank Sinatra crooned ‘Shadow of your smell’ and someone was out to get me. I’ll leave you with Ally, who woke up with a second chance.

Thanks to all who came, apologies to those who I didn’t manage to jot down what they did for this report. See you Monday 6th April! David

From Monster Munster:
Lactose intollerant?
Tollerant does not even come close to where I am now…

The crowd settled in on red plastic chairs, clutching glasses of blonde. David, in black, donned his top hat and hopped on to the stage. Every color in the acrylic box sprang from the walls of the cabaret… but first, “Ce soir, une nouvelle régle!” Pour les lecteurs, une limite de quatre minutes, et pour les chanteurs, deux chansons! A consolation: you can sign up for another slot in the second half. A creative challenge! Can you fit your thoughts on the evening’s theme into 240 seconds or less?
The evening’s theme was already bursting from the walls: colors. The brave opener Rufo took the stage and showed us what poetry could be shared in three minutes, 51 seconds. Poems about “the death of a family member, Iowa, and the death of a family member and Iowa” in which he gave thanks for the “surety of colors…” Surely colors abounded in the kaleidoscope of poetry and prose that followed.
Thomas (4 min 00 sec) gave us a visual demonstration of the “cataracts” of all colors that manifest in his “clothes that are skins” (take it off, Thomas!). David (3 min 54 sec) painted a scene in red and black. Denise (4 min 00 sec) gave us blue bottle flies and Memorization Charlie, all in brown. Sarah (2 min 46 sec) cast forth the browns of pennies and the color of bone. Jaco (2 min 57 sec): “Quand je croise la vie, je lui offre un bouquet…” et nous sommes offerts les couleurs des fleurs. This reporter’s synesthesia was ignited by the intervening musical offerings. Geno sang a rainbow a capella, I still hear him singing,“bleu, tout est bleu…” Dana threw orange and yellow flames from her accordion while she sang about red anger, blue sorrow, and green jealousy. The duo The Hands plucked a spring time meadow of sound from a banjo and an African cora. And there were many more colors that filled the evening, and many more voices that brought them to us. Merci à tous qui ont fait parti en tantque lecteur ou audience….

Next time – smells/les odeurs

New rule: Only 4 mins reading/speaking time.
Last time too many people went on too long. Even past the old rule of 7 minutes per slot. It’s not easy to concentrate for so long on spoken word, especially if it’s not your first language. The mind just wanders. So this Monday, to make things snappier and avoid boredom, the rule will be 4 minutes per slot. That’s all you get.
I have a timer and a whistle I got from a kids’ party and I will be ruthless!
It should actually make your stuff better, having to cut it down to 4 minutes. Cutting out all the fat, leaving a lean, mean text. You can still sign up again later to do another slot, after everyone who wants to do their thing has done it once.
Note: there will be two exceptions to this 4 minute rule: first, for songs. Songs are not as tiring to listen to as spoken word – and in fact they give us a break from the spoken voice, a break we need – so the new rule will be 2 songs, not timed, although if you go on way too long I will blow my whistle to send you off. Second, if someone is being specially featured on the night e.g. to do a play reading or a puppet show (yes we have one lined up for April!) they may be given longer.
But 4 minutes is enough to startle the world with sheer poetic wordful brilliance. Cutting a text down to 4 minutes should make it better.
Colours…in 4 minutes each. Starts 20h30, lundi/Monday 16th March.