SpokenWord Paris

And then began the whole mad swirl of poets and words, guitars and accordions and all of what was left in Paris of my mad poet friends, who sweltered in a cellar beneath the Lizard Lounge to spin tales and verse-thoughts and punchlines and songs, enough to well up around us like a drowned sea of sound. Stefanos asked to meet my mother and sang me a waltz (Thanks!) while Leah and Nila and Erica nailed down various shades of just what is hollow and wrong about tacky suburban boxes. Conor was Raven-ous (how the hell does he remember all those words?) and lent a hand as Alexa revenged herself on the Lawn and remembered Getting It in Mexico. Neil’s beautiful bottle-green jacket was as elegant as his poetry was understated and true, Bex bit us with laughter and Pearlie shone, while anonymous lost 18th century wisdom from a toilet wall illuminated the night. And a good bit more besides.
When I left, Conor had grabbed the guitar and was singing with a mad gleam in his eye.
Pics will follow.

A cracking night, thanks all who came for making it that. Over two hours of continuous poetry and song, broadcast by phone to Norma in the Alps – we should put one of these nights out as a podcast. Naomi’s last night since she’s off to England to get rich. To give you just an idea of some of what was read: American greats included Whitman, e.e.cummings, William Carlos Williams and Ginsberg. Alexa had rerservations about America, but not about kissing. Neil spun out a story the way only he can. I did my fastest ever poem. Erica was all paper hearts for Jack & Jill. Stephanos loaded his dice and revealed he knew that everybody knows.
Sadly missed: Conor & Gideon.
For those still around there’ll be another Spoken Word at the Lizard Lounge in July before we break for summer.
Photos: Naomi Wood, Neil Uzzell, Colin Joseph Wolfgang Mahar, me.

So. The Spear Danes in days gone by and the kings that ruled them had courage and greatness. The Ogre, that mead hall held in high esteem, a fine house wherein to hear the tale of Grendel told on Woden’s day.

But aside from a fragment of Seamus Heaney’s translation of Beowulf, the oldest surviving English poem, what did we have? Forty plus people at the bottom of the stairs, stories, poetry and song. Neil and Alexa’s stuff I really liked, Alexa’s Cinderella and the big bad wolf is posted below somewhere. A fair number of dirty limericks, such as:

There once was a man from Kanass
Whose bollocks were made out of brass
in stormy weather
he’d clack them together
and lightning shot out of his ass
(Conor)

There was a young girl from Hanoi
Much hornier than any boy
She went to the florist
and met a sex tourist
whose butt she explored with a toy

Erica, Alexandra and Stephanos broke into song & music depsite Erica’s cold.
Stephanos had us passing the mic around and improvising verse to a song about Georgie Boy, who I think came to a bad end. And a good time was had by all.

If you’ve not seen it check out this clip from a film about George Whitman & Shakespeare & Co.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2hLk11K9OPI
Full film:
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=5574284408427118756

Photos from the night follow.
Cheers, all.
David