Apologies for the spotty updates so far this 2010 - I'm hella busy with lots of pseudo-exciting stuff that may or may not come to fruition, and some of that will involve my posting sporadically worthwhile things on this here blog for your perusal. I do enjoy having a meagre platform for my first drafts and half-formed opinions like terrible irradiated embryos hacked from their dead mothers' swollen bellies.
Anyway, I just wanted to say that last week I went to see the latest solo shows by my dear chums Luke Wright and Ross Sutherland, during their run at the Old Red Lion Theatre (nearest tube Angel), which continues until the end of this month. Luke's is called The Petty Concerns Of Luke Wright and Ross's is called The Three Stigmata Of Pac-Man.
Obviously I'm not a very credible advocate of their work, because, as I've made clear, they're good mates of mine. HOWEVER, if I'd thought the shows were crap I simply wouldn't have mentioned them. I actually reckon that they're brilliant. You should go and watch them and see two experienced young poets operating at the height of their powers. They've had several splendid reviews, and a bit in The Independent, and, you know, if you're in London you should do something different and interesting with one of your weeknights and take a friend along who's never seen performance poetry before. The shows are funny and witty and not so long you'll get bumache, and you'll have a new thing to have an opinion about and you'll feel all cultured and arty when you talk to friends for the next couple of weeks.
Anyway, look, you can make your own mind up by watching these clips from their shows. I hope you enjoy:
Showing posts with label Luke Wright. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Luke Wright. Show all posts
Sunday 24 January 2010
Tuesday 15 December 2009
The Limits Of The Expert
So it's nice to see my old chum and fellow Aisle16er Luke Wright has been back blogging after a long period of sporadic comms. In my continuing efforts to bore the tits off of all my readers equally (my video game posts have a consistent knack for making at least 50% of eyes glaze over) I'm going to write a tiny bit in response to a point he raised around managers involved in live literature administration. Grab the popcorn.
Basically, in his blog post, Luke talks about the distinction between recruiting managers from experts in that particular field, versus recruiting managers from managerial positions in other fields, and how that applies to live literature (a term I fucking hate - eugh bleugh ptooie! (and I'm not much fond of the moribund 'spoken word' either)). In his own words: 'Now there’s more money about (though not for long with the recession looming) the powers that be have had two main options on how to grow the industry: a) use the existing artists and producers who know the scene and have creative vision; b) bring in proven arts managers from other industries to apply their knowledge of fund raising and management to live literature.'
Although he's conspicuously evenhanded and tentative in his overall appraisal - probably a wise move given that his ability to make a living partially depends on the good will of people working in this area - Luke seems to come down slightly on the side of using 'existing artists and producers', whilst acknowledging the value of having an experienced, talented manager with strong fundraising skills.
It's a tricky one. On the one hand, if you take on an active performance poet, there's a potential conflict of interest. Lucrative opportunities are few and far between in live poetry, and there's a real danger that, instead of spreading the word throughout the region and empowering as many poets as possible, they'll just take the best opportunities for themselves and for their performance buddies. From the outside, a poet booking their 'contacts' for gigs and workshops, and signing them up for support schemes, looks a hell of a lot like cronyism. For a poet, taking on an arts admin role is a great way to plug the holes in your finances while securing yourself a prime seat at the trough.
On the other hand, if you're a poet, it can sometimes be hard not to feel bewildered and frustrated when people who watch approximately a tenth of the live poetry you do, and who rarely, if ever, attend any events except the ones they organise, are the ones taking big decisions on the direction of the medium in the UK for the next five years, with very little apparent consultation. Working with different organisations across the country, rather than seeing a unified strategy and a genuine sense of cohesion and progression, it can feel like you're watching a hundred little showponies getting brushed and groomed then sent trotting out to market, all with owners hoping to earn kudos for having raised the brightest and the best. It can feel more about promoting an organisation and showing off how much clout it has, than about getting better live poetry to more people, and providing value to the taxpayers who are often bankrolling most of it.
Of course, these two extremes are both strawmen that don't paint a very accurate picture. We're a nation of armchair football managers and music critics, and I, like so many others, like to lounge on the sofa, yelling at my telly about how I could do a better job, despite the fact I can't kick straight or hold a note. All I'm trying to get at is that both options come with their potential problems, and neither one trumps the other. I don't think oodles of grassroots experience nor a robust background in managerial roles are game-changers.
Nobody working in the Arts - as far as I know - has ever been given a no-strings-attached metric fuckload of money with the instruction 'go and make live poetry better, however you personally choose to interpret "better"'. An Arts organisation's first priority is to secure funding to allow itself to continue to exist, otherwise it has no way of achieving any of its subsidiary aims, just as the priority of any government operating in a democracy is to remain in power, otherwise it can't affect change. While it's usually all in the service of exciting, interesting projects, there's no way you can make replying to emails, checking spreadsheets and drafting press releases as fun as standing on stage, getting whoops and laughter and applause from a crowd. Doing the boring stuff well takes skill, maturity and dedication.
Of course, with the benefit of hindsight, and without knowing the competing pressures and priorities facing people, it's easy for me to pick holes in people's decisions. I'm not sure that's very fair of me and it's not a habit I admire, but I suspect we're all a little guilty of different forms of this from time to time.
However, there was one phrase in Luke's post I'd like to pick up on - not in how it relates to any of his personal views, but in how it tends to get bandied around and vaunted across Arts organisations. Luke talks about this notion of getting people onboard who 'have creative vision'. Personally, I believe that sometimes the disproportionate value placed on so-called 'creative vision' and strong personalities rolling out big, bold projects and proposals, overrides other important qualities like, y'know, listening. You don't need to be a gigging performance poet yourself to work in an organisation that aims to improve and promote the medium, but you do need to be willing to engage in an honest, respectful and sustained dialogue with a wide spread of people who do, not just in this country but across the world. There is a wealth of knowledge out there, distributed amongst hundreds of enthusiastic pro-am experts, and it seems not just foolish, but willfully arrogant not to attempt to draw upon it. That doesn't just mean accepting criticism and sending out the standard survey asking 'How could we do this project better next time?' after you've pissed away 50 grand on some ill-conceived vanity-wank - it means asking a decent spread of relevant people before you've squandered the time and money, to see if what you're doing is actually what the people you're supposedly doing it for want.
I suppose what I'm saying is that, as a performance poet who has notched up over 100 gigs in the last twelve months, I'd like to think that those involved in organising events, initiatives and projects relating to live poetry would see people like me as an important free resource of information and opinions. And I'm not using 'people like me' as a euphemism for 'harrumph, why don't people beg me for the chance to listen to my divine wisdom?' (although I like feeling important as much as the next petty, insecure egotist) - you can only get a true picture by consulting a range of people from across lots of different nights. Indeed, probably even more useful than getting the poets' views would be directly engaging with audiences and listening to their feedback, and, even better, getting into dialogue with people who don't go to spoken events but maybe attend events in stand-up, music and theatre, to see if we can start to think about strategies for showcasing the best live poets to a wider appreciative audience. By the same token, a lot of people who perform live poetry, myself especially included, could do with asking advice from those with experience in larger organisations, then listening to and acting on the responses we get.
So basically, I reckon one of the most important qualities a high-level manager in Arts administration can have is an open mind and a willingness to listen. Whether they're an ex-poet, a promoter or someone with management experience in a related area, it doesn't really matter, as long they're not an arrogant asshole who thinks they know it all. (like me) Indeed, I suspect we could use some new blood from different disciplines, coming in to suggest ways to improve. At the moment, live poetry is an obscure cultural curiosity on a par with beekeeping. It deserves so much better.
I should also point out here that I have met plenty of people within Arts administration who clearly devote an awful lot of time to listening to others, and who are incredibly conscientious and hard working. (I'm sure there are people reading this now thinking what? I spend my whole life in fucking meetings! Listening is all I fucking do!) It must be really difficult trying to synthesise lots of different people's opinions on a subject, all of whom have competing agendas, and many of whom, I'm sure, must come across as shambling simpletons. Also, I realise that the whole 'big project launch, big creative vision' way of doing things is, in part, a result of how organisations have to go about securing funding. 'Listening' sounds a bit woolly, unless you launch it as a 'big listening project' or just pitch another dreadful networking event (which tend to be weirdly uninclusive, closed shops). And, of course, at some stage somebody's got to cut through all the bullshit and actually make the decisions. Only hippies throw everything out to a vote, and look where that got them - crusted in their own filth, huddling round shards of green calcite for warmth. (and before someone chimes in with 'well you're just betraying your ignorance there, Tim - green calcite is actually for reducing anxiety' THEY'RE USELESS CHUNKS OF ROCK YOU GORMLESS LUDDITES)
I'll close with a quote from Shunryu Suzuki, to lend a spurious air of Zennish wisdom to my latest incoherent, axe-grindy blather. Suzuki famously wrote about cultivating a quality he called 'beginner's mind', once stating (perhaps a little mischievously) that the essence of Zen was 'not always so'. As he put it: 'In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, in the expert's mind there are few.'
Basically, in his blog post, Luke talks about the distinction between recruiting managers from experts in that particular field, versus recruiting managers from managerial positions in other fields, and how that applies to live literature (a term I fucking hate - eugh bleugh ptooie! (and I'm not much fond of the moribund 'spoken word' either)). In his own words: 'Now there’s more money about (though not for long with the recession looming) the powers that be have had two main options on how to grow the industry: a) use the existing artists and producers who know the scene and have creative vision; b) bring in proven arts managers from other industries to apply their knowledge of fund raising and management to live literature.'
Although he's conspicuously evenhanded and tentative in his overall appraisal - probably a wise move given that his ability to make a living partially depends on the good will of people working in this area - Luke seems to come down slightly on the side of using 'existing artists and producers', whilst acknowledging the value of having an experienced, talented manager with strong fundraising skills.
It's a tricky one. On the one hand, if you take on an active performance poet, there's a potential conflict of interest. Lucrative opportunities are few and far between in live poetry, and there's a real danger that, instead of spreading the word throughout the region and empowering as many poets as possible, they'll just take the best opportunities for themselves and for their performance buddies. From the outside, a poet booking their 'contacts' for gigs and workshops, and signing them up for support schemes, looks a hell of a lot like cronyism. For a poet, taking on an arts admin role is a great way to plug the holes in your finances while securing yourself a prime seat at the trough.
On the other hand, if you're a poet, it can sometimes be hard not to feel bewildered and frustrated when people who watch approximately a tenth of the live poetry you do, and who rarely, if ever, attend any events except the ones they organise, are the ones taking big decisions on the direction of the medium in the UK for the next five years, with very little apparent consultation. Working with different organisations across the country, rather than seeing a unified strategy and a genuine sense of cohesion and progression, it can feel like you're watching a hundred little showponies getting brushed and groomed then sent trotting out to market, all with owners hoping to earn kudos for having raised the brightest and the best. It can feel more about promoting an organisation and showing off how much clout it has, than about getting better live poetry to more people, and providing value to the taxpayers who are often bankrolling most of it.
Of course, these two extremes are both strawmen that don't paint a very accurate picture. We're a nation of armchair football managers and music critics, and I, like so many others, like to lounge on the sofa, yelling at my telly about how I could do a better job, despite the fact I can't kick straight or hold a note. All I'm trying to get at is that both options come with their potential problems, and neither one trumps the other. I don't think oodles of grassroots experience nor a robust background in managerial roles are game-changers.
Nobody working in the Arts - as far as I know - has ever been given a no-strings-attached metric fuckload of money with the instruction 'go and make live poetry better, however you personally choose to interpret "better"'. An Arts organisation's first priority is to secure funding to allow itself to continue to exist, otherwise it has no way of achieving any of its subsidiary aims, just as the priority of any government operating in a democracy is to remain in power, otherwise it can't affect change. While it's usually all in the service of exciting, interesting projects, there's no way you can make replying to emails, checking spreadsheets and drafting press releases as fun as standing on stage, getting whoops and laughter and applause from a crowd. Doing the boring stuff well takes skill, maturity and dedication.
Of course, with the benefit of hindsight, and without knowing the competing pressures and priorities facing people, it's easy for me to pick holes in people's decisions. I'm not sure that's very fair of me and it's not a habit I admire, but I suspect we're all a little guilty of different forms of this from time to time.
However, there was one phrase in Luke's post I'd like to pick up on - not in how it relates to any of his personal views, but in how it tends to get bandied around and vaunted across Arts organisations. Luke talks about this notion of getting people onboard who 'have creative vision'. Personally, I believe that sometimes the disproportionate value placed on so-called 'creative vision' and strong personalities rolling out big, bold projects and proposals, overrides other important qualities like, y'know, listening. You don't need to be a gigging performance poet yourself to work in an organisation that aims to improve and promote the medium, but you do need to be willing to engage in an honest, respectful and sustained dialogue with a wide spread of people who do, not just in this country but across the world. There is a wealth of knowledge out there, distributed amongst hundreds of enthusiastic pro-am experts, and it seems not just foolish, but willfully arrogant not to attempt to draw upon it. That doesn't just mean accepting criticism and sending out the standard survey asking 'How could we do this project better next time?' after you've pissed away 50 grand on some ill-conceived vanity-wank - it means asking a decent spread of relevant people before you've squandered the time and money, to see if what you're doing is actually what the people you're supposedly doing it for want.
I suppose what I'm saying is that, as a performance poet who has notched up over 100 gigs in the last twelve months, I'd like to think that those involved in organising events, initiatives and projects relating to live poetry would see people like me as an important free resource of information and opinions. And I'm not using 'people like me' as a euphemism for 'harrumph, why don't people beg me for the chance to listen to my divine wisdom?' (although I like feeling important as much as the next petty, insecure egotist) - you can only get a true picture by consulting a range of people from across lots of different nights. Indeed, probably even more useful than getting the poets' views would be directly engaging with audiences and listening to their feedback, and, even better, getting into dialogue with people who don't go to spoken events but maybe attend events in stand-up, music and theatre, to see if we can start to think about strategies for showcasing the best live poets to a wider appreciative audience. By the same token, a lot of people who perform live poetry, myself especially included, could do with asking advice from those with experience in larger organisations, then listening to and acting on the responses we get.
So basically, I reckon one of the most important qualities a high-level manager in Arts administration can have is an open mind and a willingness to listen. Whether they're an ex-poet, a promoter or someone with management experience in a related area, it doesn't really matter, as long they're not an arrogant asshole who thinks they know it all. (like me) Indeed, I suspect we could use some new blood from different disciplines, coming in to suggest ways to improve. At the moment, live poetry is an obscure cultural curiosity on a par with beekeeping. It deserves so much better.
I should also point out here that I have met plenty of people within Arts administration who clearly devote an awful lot of time to listening to others, and who are incredibly conscientious and hard working. (I'm sure there are people reading this now thinking what? I spend my whole life in fucking meetings! Listening is all I fucking do!) It must be really difficult trying to synthesise lots of different people's opinions on a subject, all of whom have competing agendas, and many of whom, I'm sure, must come across as shambling simpletons. Also, I realise that the whole 'big project launch, big creative vision' way of doing things is, in part, a result of how organisations have to go about securing funding. 'Listening' sounds a bit woolly, unless you launch it as a 'big listening project' or just pitch another dreadful networking event (which tend to be weirdly uninclusive, closed shops). And, of course, at some stage somebody's got to cut through all the bullshit and actually make the decisions. Only hippies throw everything out to a vote, and look where that got them - crusted in their own filth, huddling round shards of green calcite for warmth. (and before someone chimes in with 'well you're just betraying your ignorance there, Tim - green calcite is actually for reducing anxiety' THEY'RE USELESS CHUNKS OF ROCK YOU GORMLESS LUDDITES)
I'll close with a quote from Shunryu Suzuki, to lend a spurious air of Zennish wisdom to my latest incoherent, axe-grindy blather. Suzuki famously wrote about cultivating a quality he called 'beginner's mind', once stating (perhaps a little mischievously) that the essence of Zen was 'not always so'. As he put it: 'In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, in the expert's mind there are few.'
Wednesday 21 October 2009
Homework Is Due
So yeah, had a faboo weekend over in Liverpool at the Bluecoat, doing some challenging and fun gigs and getting to soak up some culture. I really enjoyed doing the Revolutions In Form gig on the Sunday, which featured live doodles, a poem passed Chinese Whispers style through the whole audience, performance art, music and film. I realise I'm not a very credible advocate for a gig I was part of, and I don't usually like bigging up gigs I liked anyway, because it makes me sound like an awful fawning luvvie, but I thought it was a really interesting show. 'Performance art' especially gets a bad rap as a blanket term, but at its best it just means someone doing something cool and fascinating live.
Um, so next Wednesday, the 28th of October, you should come to the final Homework of the season. Aisle16 will be performing The 9½ Commandments Of Aisle16. Okay, here's the pitch:
'When the British Council approached stand-up poetry collective Aisle16 wanting to commission a brand new live literature show for a "live, appreciative audience", they jumped at the chance. After doing a poetry tour of Britain’s motorway service stations and becoming the world’s first poetry boyband, as well as their regular appearances at festivals such as Glastonbury and Latitude, they were used to taking verse to new audiences. But there was a catch.
The show would be at the 2nd Annual Children’s Book Festival in Athens – and the "live, appreciative audience" would be composed entirely of Greek 7-year-olds, who hardly spoke any English at all. Never ones to shy away from a challenge – or money – Aisle16 set about trying to write a new poetry show that could be understood by people who barely speak the language.
The result is The 9½ Commandments Of Aisle16 – a stand-up poetry show featuring fat bullies, God’s rejected fish prototypes, and a portrait of the yeti as a young man."
So that'll be Chris Hicks, Luke Wright (interviewed here), Ross Sutherland (interviewed here), and Joel Stickley (interviewed here). There'll also be supporting performances of new material from me, Joe Dunthorne and John Osborne. Which means it's going to be that hella rare equinox where all seven members of Aisle16 are in the same place, at the same time, performing at the same gig. I know. You're correct to water your underpants in entrancement and terror. It will doubtless be a dead good finale to a super-successful season of Homework. Come, imbibe heartily with us as we say adios to our darling literary cabaret night for another year. And gawd bless the Arts Council for supporting our efforts. We've done our best to make it memorable, and give our audiences something more interesting than just blokes chuntering on in a vaguely artsy way.
Oh, and hey - you ought to check out the new online ventures from two of our members. Joel Stickley has started a blog called How To Write Badly Well. Partly based on his experience as a creative writing tutor, each short lesson builds up into a step-by-step guide on how to excel in composing dreadful prose. He claims he's going to update every Friday. Even though this seems a modest schedule, from experience I expect it will prove to be a SORDID LIE. Still, you should read it because it is well-wrought and funny. As someone who does a bit of the old creative writing tutoring from time to time, I enjoyed a few recognition laughs, along with a few twinges at stylistic gaffes I'd committed myself.
Also, Ross Sutherland has a new website up, here. Lots of poems, vids, links, gig dates, etc. I reckon 'The End Of Our Marriage' is particularly good.
In other news, after a weekend of appalling eating habits in Liverpool, including two takeaway pizzas and two meals at McDonalds culminating in a McGangbang (a double cheeseburger with a chicken mayo shoved in-between them... I KNOW) I am in the midst of a week of detox. No alcohol, no nicotine, no caffeine, no meat, no dairy, no sweets, no crisps. Steering away from unrefined carbs and stuff that's high on the glycemic index as much as possible. Losing Diet Coke feels like the cruellest blow thus far, which I suppose only goes to prove how much of an addle-pated addict I am. Yesterday I spent the whole day feeling like absolute crap, with a pounding headache. Today, I feel a bit better, albeit enfeebled. It's only until Saturday morning, anyhow, then I get to go right back to stuffing hot hogsflesh into my slavering unclean craw.
Um, so next Wednesday, the 28th of October, you should come to the final Homework of the season. Aisle16 will be performing The 9½ Commandments Of Aisle16. Okay, here's the pitch:
'When the British Council approached stand-up poetry collective Aisle16 wanting to commission a brand new live literature show for a "live, appreciative audience", they jumped at the chance. After doing a poetry tour of Britain’s motorway service stations and becoming the world’s first poetry boyband, as well as their regular appearances at festivals such as Glastonbury and Latitude, they were used to taking verse to new audiences. But there was a catch.
The show would be at the 2nd Annual Children’s Book Festival in Athens – and the "live, appreciative audience" would be composed entirely of Greek 7-year-olds, who hardly spoke any English at all. Never ones to shy away from a challenge – or money – Aisle16 set about trying to write a new poetry show that could be understood by people who barely speak the language.
The result is The 9½ Commandments Of Aisle16 – a stand-up poetry show featuring fat bullies, God’s rejected fish prototypes, and a portrait of the yeti as a young man."
So that'll be Chris Hicks, Luke Wright (interviewed here), Ross Sutherland (interviewed here), and Joel Stickley (interviewed here). There'll also be supporting performances of new material from me, Joe Dunthorne and John Osborne. Which means it's going to be that hella rare equinox where all seven members of Aisle16 are in the same place, at the same time, performing at the same gig. I know. You're correct to water your underpants in entrancement and terror. It will doubtless be a dead good finale to a super-successful season of Homework. Come, imbibe heartily with us as we say adios to our darling literary cabaret night for another year. And gawd bless the Arts Council for supporting our efforts. We've done our best to make it memorable, and give our audiences something more interesting than just blokes chuntering on in a vaguely artsy way.
Oh, and hey - you ought to check out the new online ventures from two of our members. Joel Stickley has started a blog called How To Write Badly Well. Partly based on his experience as a creative writing tutor, each short lesson builds up into a step-by-step guide on how to excel in composing dreadful prose. He claims he's going to update every Friday. Even though this seems a modest schedule, from experience I expect it will prove to be a SORDID LIE. Still, you should read it because it is well-wrought and funny. As someone who does a bit of the old creative writing tutoring from time to time, I enjoyed a few recognition laughs, along with a few twinges at stylistic gaffes I'd committed myself.
Also, Ross Sutherland has a new website up, here. Lots of poems, vids, links, gig dates, etc. I reckon 'The End Of Our Marriage' is particularly good.
In other news, after a weekend of appalling eating habits in Liverpool, including two takeaway pizzas and two meals at McDonalds culminating in a McGangbang (a double cheeseburger with a chicken mayo shoved in-between them... I KNOW) I am in the midst of a week of detox. No alcohol, no nicotine, no caffeine, no meat, no dairy, no sweets, no crisps. Steering away from unrefined carbs and stuff that's high on the glycemic index as much as possible. Losing Diet Coke feels like the cruellest blow thus far, which I suppose only goes to prove how much of an addle-pated addict I am. Yesterday I spent the whole day feeling like absolute crap, with a pounding headache. Today, I feel a bit better, albeit enfeebled. It's only until Saturday morning, anyhow, then I get to go right back to stuffing hot hogsflesh into my slavering unclean craw.
Tuesday 29 September 2009
We Can't All Be Astronauts - at HOMEWORK, tomorrow!
So yes, hooray, tomorrow, Wednesday 30th September, I'll be reading from my first book, We Can't All Be Astronauts, at the Bethnal Green Working Men's Club. But wait! Not only will my esteemed Aisle16 brothers in arms Luke Wright, Joe Dunthorne and John Osborne be providing support with new work, but we have a very special guest in the form of journalist and broadcaster Jon Ronson!Basically, we think he's brilliant. You might suspect me of being sycophantic just to big him up for the gig, but one, you're much too clever to fall for obsequious propaganda, so I simply wouldn't bother, and two, I've posted very prominently before now - on this very blog - what a massive fan I am of This American Life, a show which he has contributed some of the best stories to. Check out Them, Habeas Schmabeas, Pro Se, and It's Never Over. In fact, while we're talking about superb radio, why not check out an episode of Jon Ronson On? May I humbly suggest The Wrong Kind Of Madness and The Worst Internet Date as two good places to start?
So yes. Come. The Timeout listing is here. Doors at 7:30pm, and we usually get started some time after 8:00pm. We'll all have books to sell and sign too, if you fancy one. I suspect it's going to be funtimes.
Thursday 21 May 2009
The Performance Poet Interviews - #11: Luke Wright
So yes, here we are again. Another day, another performance poet interview. Goodness. That sounds a bit world-weary. I don't really feel that bleak. I haven't been updating with my usual high-fibre regularity for a couple of reasons, primarily because I've been busy writing actual proper articles that may wind up appearing in actual semi-esteemed organs which some people pay money for. The release date for We Can't All Be Astronauts is just a couple of weeks away now, so I suppose I'll be semi busy-busy.
Also, I've been procrastinating somewhat, because now I've definitely got enough material about open mics to begin putting pen to paper and recording what I've got up to so far. But I think it's probably wise for me to do some planning first, otherwise it's like walking up to a massive cake as big as a house, and wondering where to take the first bite from. I've been perusing my notes, and then I guess I'll just have to take the plunge, and see where it takes me. It always feels a bit nerve-wracking, because I'm not sure whether what interests me will be engaging for other people. The first time we performed Infinite Lives, literally until I got the first couple of laughs from the audience, I still wasn't sure whether all my rattling on about the ways you lose your girlfriend in video games was just something I found personally amusing, or whether other people would go, 'oh yeah - that is pretty cool'. Who knows? I think I just have to press on with it, until I've grown myself a hedge that I can start hacking into. Astronauts developed in a shambling, trial-and-error fashion, and there's something to be said for chasing what's interesting and allowing that to shape the project, rather than forcing a shape onto it before you know what's going to happen - although it's a terribly inefficient way of working.
All of which is just by way of apology. Sorry. I should have been posting more. I missed you. I so want you to be happy. So, as a kind of peace offering, here's an interview with professional word-sayer and quite tall raconteur, Luke Wright:
How did you get into performance poetry?
I went on a lyric writing course by Martin Newell and he talked about John Cooper Clarke and Attila The Stockbroker. A few months later I went to go and see Martin and John perform at Colchester Arts Centre. It was probably one of the most important nights of my life. I loved it. I was most struck by a young guy called Ross Sutherland who did the opening slot. Ross was talking about things I was taking about in my songs, but here he was able to fully explore his ideas and not just allude to them in scant 4 line verses. Performance poetry seemed like the perfect form for me to work in: there was room to maneuver, you could be funny AND serious and there's was plenty of the old instant gratification (I grew up living next door to a sweet shop). Within a month I had made Ross me friends with me and we were doing gigs together - this informal arrangement became Aisle16 a couple of years after that.
How would you describe your work?
Difficult to do without wanking on... but... I'm really interested in form; I set myself rhyme and metre related constraints. I also like telling stories. Much of my work is humorous (or attempts to me) because I figure why NOT make something funny, generally my poems also try to make a serious point. Content wise I write about myself, Britain, modernity and all the nonsense those things conjure up.
Do you think there's a difference between 'page' and 'performance' poetry? If so, what?
At a very basic level yes. There are some poems that really only work well in performance. They are mini pieces of theatre really, you can read them on the page, but it is often confusing and rarely rewarding. Similarly there are pieces that rely on being seen on the page and would provide no entertainment value read aloud. And there is of course a huge grey area in the middle. I agree with what Polarbear said - 'good is good.' I'm less interested in poetry as purely an experiment in language, I like to feel poetry, to be left with a story or a character or an emotion, rather than an appreciation of how clever the poet is being. With that in mind there are many poems that I love on the page but which also work really well live. Generally speaking all my favourite poems 'work' both on page and stage.
I'm currently editing my first pamphlet - it's a daunting process and it's teaching me a lot about the distinctions of 'page' and 'stage' poetry. For example, short poems, really short poems, never work well on stage, unless perhaps delivered like one liners, but then really they're just one liners. To a less extent longer poems take more out of the reader on the page and rely on being really well ordered to work well. Most poems in an average collection are less than a page long, but if you were to take an average performance poet's set and look at it on the page most of the poems would be over a page. Much of this is down to the applause at the end of a poem. It's weird applauding after only 30 seconds or so - the poet might have earned that applause as a writer but not as performer because they've barely got started.
What I've found whilst putting together my book is that even the poems where I've nailed the syllable count and rhyme scheme, so that they 'work' on the page, lose something because they take longer to get where they're going that perhaps they would if I'd written them with the page in mind. I've taken care to get them 'right' on the page, but over laboured the point perhaps because I know that in performance I can build up momentum (and laughs) by looking at the same point from different angles.
Good writing is good writing. If you're going to write in iambs, couplets or have four feet in a line then you need to stick to it and get it right whether you're writing for page or stage, but even that good writing is sometimes not enough to make sure the piece is equally effective in both mediums. Personally I'm aiming to get the technique watertight, and the content as close to what I really want to say - if one piece works better on the page then so be it, if another on the stage then that's the way it was meant to be. Hopefully I'll have enough of a range that my work will be available in both formats.
Why should someone come to a performance poetry gig?
A good performance poetry gig is mesmerizing. I know that word is over used but it truly it. It's so clever, funny and riveting you'll want more and more and more. It's the kind of thing people really get hooked on.
What do you think your best poem is, and why?
I'm not one of these poets who constantly revisits old work, I have too short an attention span, but I've been doing a lot of editing and ordering of late. In terms of a real banker during a gig I'd have to say The Company of Men, but I think it's flawed. I'm really pleased with the aesthetic feel I created with The Rise and Fall of Dudley Livingstone and I also think it makes quite a clever (for me) point about morality and our attitudes towards it. I also like Colonel Crampon Goes Off, though I'm feeling edgy about the new edit I've done on it for the book.
If you could nick one other person's poem and claim it as your own, which poem would it be, and why?
Oh Tim, I'm going to sound like such a sycophant but one of them has to be your Heart Of Class. Again, I agree with what Polarbear said about how a poem is often so intrinsically linked to the poet that as much as you love it you couldn't feel you could nick it, but there are pieces such as that which are, I think I could get away with and that's one of them. It's a wonderful romping satire and I have thought many times about how I would perform it and make it my own. Does that give you the creeps?
As much I wish I'd written that poem, or indeed Future Dating by Joe Dunthorne, those are poems I'd like to have so I could perform them too. At the other end of the spectrum, poems that I'd like to put in my book, poems that I wish I'd written - The Old Fools by Larkin; Prayer by Carol Ann Duffy; the list could go on...
What typifies bad performance poetry to you?
Self-righteous, emotionally manipulative rants delivered like they were missives from God, that either don't rhyme, or rhyme / all the time, / where each line / is delivered like stops... time / and the final line / is whispered / like / it's / sublime.
yeah.
What do you think of the state of the UK performance poetry scene at the moment? Is it okay to talk about a 'scene', or is that a bit unhelpful?
There is a scene in so much as a lot of the poets who are doing gigs round the UK know each other and keep in contact with one another. Within that scene there are different cliques and groups and other people who don't really like to be associated with other poets in that way. In music, a lot of what makes a 'scene' is the bullshit written about it by music journalists. We don't have much journalism written about performance poetry and when we do they always try and lump the youngest and most eye catching of us up and try and sell it to the public as a 'scene.' This inevitably gets people's backs up as the journalist represents us in a certain way and that's not really going to fit in with our view of ourselves, apart from perhaps the flavour of the month who's been held up as the saviour of poetry. I've had experience from both sides of this: I've been praised far beyond my worth in the press; and been completely ignored whilst other people who I don't rate are held up as the best thing since iambic pentameter. What I've learned is that it's silly to be annoyed by it, what's important is to keep your head down and go on making work that you're proud of. That said I think a 'scene' is a good thing - it's makes all this a little less lonely and it's a sign that things are going well, that there's loads of good poetry gigs going on out there - as a fan of live poetry I welcome that.
Tell us about a particularly memorable reaction you've had to your work.
At the Strawberry Fair in Cambridge last year I managed to provoke a fight that had to broken up by two policemen. All I said was a poet's work is never done. On the plus side John Betjeman's daughter once hugged me and said that he dad would have loved Services To Poetry, which was pretty special.
Over your work with Aisle16 and into your solo shows, you've developed a format where the stuff you say around the poems ends up being just as important as the 'pieces' themselves. Have you got any advice for poets with regard to thinking about a poem's 'lead in'?
I wouldn't say they are 'as important' to me. I enjoy the stand-up part of what I do more on a performance level than on a writing one. I don't really sit down and write my links any more. I usually have an idea, usually a story, which may become a blog, and then I'll try it out on stage. Because a lot of it is trial and error it relies less heavily on the writing and for that reason I'll always see it as secondary to the poetry.
In terms of advice I wouldn't perhaps use that technique from the off. All of the Aisle16 stuff, and Poet Laureate was very tightly scripted and learned. It was only in Poet & Man and A Poet's Work Is Never Done I started to go 'off-piste' a bit with it. This year I'm reigning it back in again. I'm going to write a script for the stand-up stuff for the new show but the material will be fairly loose so I won't learn it word for word, more use the script as a guide.
Can you tell us a bit about how work's going on your new show?
The new show is called The Petty Concerns of Luke Wright. My wife and I are having a baby this summer and it's made me realise just how much time I spend thinking about myself and all the drivel that surrounds being a writer/performer. The show is about my quest to stop ego-surfing and get to the bottom of what really matters in life. This quest is set against a back drop of grotty Travelodges and the peculiar underworld of the London open mic circuit as I cast my thoughts back over the last ten years of my career (it's been that long!) and find out how the seemingly innocuous desire to be adored by millions turned into a horrible ego trip.
Also, I've been procrastinating somewhat, because now I've definitely got enough material about open mics to begin putting pen to paper and recording what I've got up to so far. But I think it's probably wise for me to do some planning first, otherwise it's like walking up to a massive cake as big as a house, and wondering where to take the first bite from. I've been perusing my notes, and then I guess I'll just have to take the plunge, and see where it takes me. It always feels a bit nerve-wracking, because I'm not sure whether what interests me will be engaging for other people. The first time we performed Infinite Lives, literally until I got the first couple of laughs from the audience, I still wasn't sure whether all my rattling on about the ways you lose your girlfriend in video games was just something I found personally amusing, or whether other people would go, 'oh yeah - that is pretty cool'. Who knows? I think I just have to press on with it, until I've grown myself a hedge that I can start hacking into. Astronauts developed in a shambling, trial-and-error fashion, and there's something to be said for chasing what's interesting and allowing that to shape the project, rather than forcing a shape onto it before you know what's going to happen - although it's a terribly inefficient way of working.
All of which is just by way of apology. Sorry. I should have been posting more. I missed you. I so want you to be happy. So, as a kind of peace offering, here's an interview with professional word-sayer and quite tall raconteur, Luke Wright:
How did you get into performance poetry?I went on a lyric writing course by Martin Newell and he talked about John Cooper Clarke and Attila The Stockbroker. A few months later I went to go and see Martin and John perform at Colchester Arts Centre. It was probably one of the most important nights of my life. I loved it. I was most struck by a young guy called Ross Sutherland who did the opening slot. Ross was talking about things I was taking about in my songs, but here he was able to fully explore his ideas and not just allude to them in scant 4 line verses. Performance poetry seemed like the perfect form for me to work in: there was room to maneuver, you could be funny AND serious and there's was plenty of the old instant gratification (I grew up living next door to a sweet shop). Within a month I had made Ross me friends with me and we were doing gigs together - this informal arrangement became Aisle16 a couple of years after that.
How would you describe your work?
Difficult to do without wanking on... but... I'm really interested in form; I set myself rhyme and metre related constraints. I also like telling stories. Much of my work is humorous (or attempts to me) because I figure why NOT make something funny, generally my poems also try to make a serious point. Content wise I write about myself, Britain, modernity and all the nonsense those things conjure up.
Do you think there's a difference between 'page' and 'performance' poetry? If so, what?
At a very basic level yes. There are some poems that really only work well in performance. They are mini pieces of theatre really, you can read them on the page, but it is often confusing and rarely rewarding. Similarly there are pieces that rely on being seen on the page and would provide no entertainment value read aloud. And there is of course a huge grey area in the middle. I agree with what Polarbear said - 'good is good.' I'm less interested in poetry as purely an experiment in language, I like to feel poetry, to be left with a story or a character or an emotion, rather than an appreciation of how clever the poet is being. With that in mind there are many poems that I love on the page but which also work really well live. Generally speaking all my favourite poems 'work' both on page and stage.
I'm currently editing my first pamphlet - it's a daunting process and it's teaching me a lot about the distinctions of 'page' and 'stage' poetry. For example, short poems, really short poems, never work well on stage, unless perhaps delivered like one liners, but then really they're just one liners. To a less extent longer poems take more out of the reader on the page and rely on being really well ordered to work well. Most poems in an average collection are less than a page long, but if you were to take an average performance poet's set and look at it on the page most of the poems would be over a page. Much of this is down to the applause at the end of a poem. It's weird applauding after only 30 seconds or so - the poet might have earned that applause as a writer but not as performer because they've barely got started.
What I've found whilst putting together my book is that even the poems where I've nailed the syllable count and rhyme scheme, so that they 'work' on the page, lose something because they take longer to get where they're going that perhaps they would if I'd written them with the page in mind. I've taken care to get them 'right' on the page, but over laboured the point perhaps because I know that in performance I can build up momentum (and laughs) by looking at the same point from different angles.
Good writing is good writing. If you're going to write in iambs, couplets or have four feet in a line then you need to stick to it and get it right whether you're writing for page or stage, but even that good writing is sometimes not enough to make sure the piece is equally effective in both mediums. Personally I'm aiming to get the technique watertight, and the content as close to what I really want to say - if one piece works better on the page then so be it, if another on the stage then that's the way it was meant to be. Hopefully I'll have enough of a range that my work will be available in both formats.
Why should someone come to a performance poetry gig?
A good performance poetry gig is mesmerizing. I know that word is over used but it truly it. It's so clever, funny and riveting you'll want more and more and more. It's the kind of thing people really get hooked on.
What do you think your best poem is, and why?
I'm not one of these poets who constantly revisits old work, I have too short an attention span, but I've been doing a lot of editing and ordering of late. In terms of a real banker during a gig I'd have to say The Company of Men, but I think it's flawed. I'm really pleased with the aesthetic feel I created with The Rise and Fall of Dudley Livingstone and I also think it makes quite a clever (for me) point about morality and our attitudes towards it. I also like Colonel Crampon Goes Off, though I'm feeling edgy about the new edit I've done on it for the book.
If you could nick one other person's poem and claim it as your own, which poem would it be, and why?
Oh Tim, I'm going to sound like such a sycophant but one of them has to be your Heart Of Class. Again, I agree with what Polarbear said about how a poem is often so intrinsically linked to the poet that as much as you love it you couldn't feel you could nick it, but there are pieces such as that which are, I think I could get away with and that's one of them. It's a wonderful romping satire and I have thought many times about how I would perform it and make it my own. Does that give you the creeps?
As much I wish I'd written that poem, or indeed Future Dating by Joe Dunthorne, those are poems I'd like to have so I could perform them too. At the other end of the spectrum, poems that I'd like to put in my book, poems that I wish I'd written - The Old Fools by Larkin; Prayer by Carol Ann Duffy; the list could go on...
What typifies bad performance poetry to you?
Self-righteous, emotionally manipulative rants delivered like they were missives from God, that either don't rhyme, or rhyme / all the time, / where each line / is delivered like stops... time / and the final line / is whispered / like / it's / sublime.
yeah.
What do you think of the state of the UK performance poetry scene at the moment? Is it okay to talk about a 'scene', or is that a bit unhelpful?
There is a scene in so much as a lot of the poets who are doing gigs round the UK know each other and keep in contact with one another. Within that scene there are different cliques and groups and other people who don't really like to be associated with other poets in that way. In music, a lot of what makes a 'scene' is the bullshit written about it by music journalists. We don't have much journalism written about performance poetry and when we do they always try and lump the youngest and most eye catching of us up and try and sell it to the public as a 'scene.' This inevitably gets people's backs up as the journalist represents us in a certain way and that's not really going to fit in with our view of ourselves, apart from perhaps the flavour of the month who's been held up as the saviour of poetry. I've had experience from both sides of this: I've been praised far beyond my worth in the press; and been completely ignored whilst other people who I don't rate are held up as the best thing since iambic pentameter. What I've learned is that it's silly to be annoyed by it, what's important is to keep your head down and go on making work that you're proud of. That said I think a 'scene' is a good thing - it's makes all this a little less lonely and it's a sign that things are going well, that there's loads of good poetry gigs going on out there - as a fan of live poetry I welcome that.
Tell us about a particularly memorable reaction you've had to your work.
At the Strawberry Fair in Cambridge last year I managed to provoke a fight that had to broken up by two policemen. All I said was a poet's work is never done. On the plus side John Betjeman's daughter once hugged me and said that he dad would have loved Services To Poetry, which was pretty special.
Over your work with Aisle16 and into your solo shows, you've developed a format where the stuff you say around the poems ends up being just as important as the 'pieces' themselves. Have you got any advice for poets with regard to thinking about a poem's 'lead in'?
I wouldn't say they are 'as important' to me. I enjoy the stand-up part of what I do more on a performance level than on a writing one. I don't really sit down and write my links any more. I usually have an idea, usually a story, which may become a blog, and then I'll try it out on stage. Because a lot of it is trial and error it relies less heavily on the writing and for that reason I'll always see it as secondary to the poetry.
In terms of advice I wouldn't perhaps use that technique from the off. All of the Aisle16 stuff, and Poet Laureate was very tightly scripted and learned. It was only in Poet & Man and A Poet's Work Is Never Done I started to go 'off-piste' a bit with it. This year I'm reigning it back in again. I'm going to write a script for the stand-up stuff for the new show but the material will be fairly loose so I won't learn it word for word, more use the script as a guide.
Can you tell us a bit about how work's going on your new show?
The new show is called The Petty Concerns of Luke Wright. My wife and I are having a baby this summer and it's made me realise just how much time I spend thinking about myself and all the drivel that surrounds being a writer/performer. The show is about my quest to stop ego-surfing and get to the bottom of what really matters in life. This quest is set against a back drop of grotty Travelodges and the peculiar underworld of the London open mic circuit as I cast my thoughts back over the last ten years of my career (it's been that long!) and find out how the seemingly innocuous desire to be adored by millions turned into a horrible ego trip.
Wednesday 25 March 2009
The Performance Poet Interviews - #6: Joel Stickley
Since you asked, Cone O' Tragedy's most popular feature is my weekly interviews with UK performance poets. We've heard from Dockers MC, Polarbear, Nathan Filer, Yanny Mac and Nathan Jones. This week, it's the turn of Joel Stickley.
How did you get into performance poetry?
I saw Luke Wright perform a few poems at a cabaret night when we were both at university. Immediately seeing that perfomance poetry was a formulaic and creatively bankrupt art form, I wrote a parody of him hilariously entitled 'Luke's Right.' When he heard it, he was so angry that he offered me a gig at a night that he and Ross were putting on. Rather than trying to make a two-minute poem fill a ten minute set, I wrote some more material. One thing led to another and, three months later, I found myself standing in the rain at the Edinburgh Fringe, handing out flyers for a perfomance poetry show. That was seven years ago.
I see this as a kind of cautionary tale.
How would you describe your work?
I'd pretend to be thinking about it for a while, cock my head to one side and make a kind of humming sound before asking the interviewer how he would describe my work. Then I'd agree with whatever he said.
Do you think there's a difference between 'page' and 'performance' poetry? If so, what?
Yes, definitely. I think performance poetry is closer to stand-up or music than it is to page poetry. If there's a performance poem that works on the page, it's probably only by chance, like having a computer that also works as a door-stop.
Why should someone come to a performance poetry gig?
Well, there are two possible reasons. The first is that they should come to a perfomace poetry gig because they've been to one before and know that they'll like it. The second is that they haven't ever been to one before and have no idea what to expect. The second reason's better than the first, but you can only use it once.
What do you think your best poem is, and why?
It really would depend when you asked me. I tend to like ones I've written more recently, whereas old ones I can see all the flaws in and am bored of. Given that, the only real measure I have of one of my poems is how long it manages to stay in circulation before I get too embarassed to perform it again. On that metric, the winner is probably one called 'The Rhyming Poem', which I've been wheeling out for a few years now.
But if you're asking for my current favourite, I'd have to say my poem about the evolution of fish, 'Playing God', which is only a few weeks old. I wrote it for the Athens Children's Book Fair and illustrated it myself in brown felt tip.
If you could nick one other person's poem and claim it as your own, which poem would it be, and why?
I'd love to be able to pick something that made me sound well-read and intellectual, like saying that I'd nick something off John Donne or Pablo Neruda, but let's be honest - I'd sound like a right ninny reciting 'To His Coy Mistress'. If I was going to try and pass something off as my own, it'd probably have to be something written by one of my fellow Aisle16ers. Boring, I know, but plaigarism is all about being methodical.
What typifies bad performance poetry to you?
Ambition.
Tell us about a particularly memorable reaction you've had to your work.
At Port Eliot Lit Fest a few years ago, I did a set which caused one member of the audience great offence. The first poem I did was called 'My Passport Photo Makes Me Look Like A Suicide Bomber'. She didn't have a problem with that one. The second poem was called 'The Tale Of Britain's First Paedophile Prime Minister'. She laughed along with everyone else. Then I did a poem called 'The Rise And Fall Of Lightning Jim', about a snail who throws away a promising career in snail racing after a doping scandal involving salt. It's a poem I tend to do when I go into primary schools. She glared at me throughout, then turned to her friend and, with barely concealed outrage, said, 'I don't think that's very funny, actually. My uncle was an alcoholic.'
I read the moral of the story as being this: you never know who's going to be offended by what, so you might as well tell jokes about terrorism and child abuse.
You say 'ambition' typifies bad performance poetry for you. I have no idea whether this is one of your clever meta-answers or an utterly straight response, and if either is the case I still wouldn't quite be sure what you meant. Would you mind clarifying?
I thought about how to answer that question for a while, and I actually think that's my real, considered and unflippant answer. Most of the really cringe-worthy poets I've seen had one thing in common - they took what they were doing incredibly seriously and thought that poetry was the most important thing in the world, a powerful tool to affect real change in society. And they're wrong. Poetry isn't the answer to anything - it's just an entertaining way to ask the questions. Sometimes not even that. Sometimes it's just a game you play with words. And you know what? That's fine. That's what poetry's for. Trying to use poetry to correct all society's ills is like trying to travel from London to Manchester on a space-hopper. By all means play with it, mess around and enjoy yourself, but if the journey's that important to you, buy a fucking train ticket.
You say your starting point as a performance poet was parody - I wonder if you feel that was the beginning of a long creative arc that finally culminated in Who Writes This Crap?, a book and show entirely fashioned from lampooning the form and content of different everyday texts. I say, 'I wonder if you feel' - what I mean is 'I personally believe and want you to agree'.
It's certainly been a common thread through the whole time I've been writing and performing. I think I just like writing things in character, inhabiting other people's voices, and parody is one of the most fun ways to do that. And by parody, I mean the whole range of ways to imitate: satire, pastiche, homage, parody, tribute. Taking the piss. Stepping into someone else's shoes. Taking a piss in someone else's shoes. It's all good.
With regards to poetry, you seem to have wound in the performing duties a bit. What are your plans? Are you hoping to produce and perform lots of new poems, or are you searching for pastures new? Or what?
I don't gig compulsively. I never have, really. I've always enjoyed impromptu, one-off shows more than huge, unwieldy tours. Luke and I did a very short tour of the Who Writes This Crap show earlier this year and it was an absolute joy. A handful of dates, then a bit of time at home to write. Once I rack up fifty or so performances of the same material, I start to get really sick of it. So the thing is to keep working on new projects. Luke and I are collaborating on a script for an animated film at the moment, as well as tentatively trying to work WWTC into a radio-friendly format. I've been doing a lot of work in schools, getting kids to write poetry. I teach on a creative writing course for adult learners. I write when I have the time. It's all great fun. I wouldn't have it any other way.
How did you get into performance poetry?
I saw Luke Wright perform a few poems at a cabaret night when we were both at university. Immediately seeing that perfomance poetry was a formulaic and creatively bankrupt art form, I wrote a parody of him hilariously entitled 'Luke's Right.' When he heard it, he was so angry that he offered me a gig at a night that he and Ross were putting on. Rather than trying to make a two-minute poem fill a ten minute set, I wrote some more material. One thing led to another and, three months later, I found myself standing in the rain at the Edinburgh Fringe, handing out flyers for a perfomance poetry show. That was seven years ago.
I see this as a kind of cautionary tale.
How would you describe your work?
I'd pretend to be thinking about it for a while, cock my head to one side and make a kind of humming sound before asking the interviewer how he would describe my work. Then I'd agree with whatever he said.
Do you think there's a difference between 'page' and 'performance' poetry? If so, what?
Yes, definitely. I think performance poetry is closer to stand-up or music than it is to page poetry. If there's a performance poem that works on the page, it's probably only by chance, like having a computer that also works as a door-stop.
Why should someone come to a performance poetry gig?
Well, there are two possible reasons. The first is that they should come to a perfomace poetry gig because they've been to one before and know that they'll like it. The second is that they haven't ever been to one before and have no idea what to expect. The second reason's better than the first, but you can only use it once.
What do you think your best poem is, and why?
It really would depend when you asked me. I tend to like ones I've written more recently, whereas old ones I can see all the flaws in and am bored of. Given that, the only real measure I have of one of my poems is how long it manages to stay in circulation before I get too embarassed to perform it again. On that metric, the winner is probably one called 'The Rhyming Poem', which I've been wheeling out for a few years now.
But if you're asking for my current favourite, I'd have to say my poem about the evolution of fish, 'Playing God', which is only a few weeks old. I wrote it for the Athens Children's Book Fair and illustrated it myself in brown felt tip.
If you could nick one other person's poem and claim it as your own, which poem would it be, and why?
I'd love to be able to pick something that made me sound well-read and intellectual, like saying that I'd nick something off John Donne or Pablo Neruda, but let's be honest - I'd sound like a right ninny reciting 'To His Coy Mistress'. If I was going to try and pass something off as my own, it'd probably have to be something written by one of my fellow Aisle16ers. Boring, I know, but plaigarism is all about being methodical.
What typifies bad performance poetry to you?
Ambition.
Tell us about a particularly memorable reaction you've had to your work.
At Port Eliot Lit Fest a few years ago, I did a set which caused one member of the audience great offence. The first poem I did was called 'My Passport Photo Makes Me Look Like A Suicide Bomber'. She didn't have a problem with that one. The second poem was called 'The Tale Of Britain's First Paedophile Prime Minister'. She laughed along with everyone else. Then I did a poem called 'The Rise And Fall Of Lightning Jim', about a snail who throws away a promising career in snail racing after a doping scandal involving salt. It's a poem I tend to do when I go into primary schools. She glared at me throughout, then turned to her friend and, with barely concealed outrage, said, 'I don't think that's very funny, actually. My uncle was an alcoholic.'
I read the moral of the story as being this: you never know who's going to be offended by what, so you might as well tell jokes about terrorism and child abuse.
You say 'ambition' typifies bad performance poetry for you. I have no idea whether this is one of your clever meta-answers or an utterly straight response, and if either is the case I still wouldn't quite be sure what you meant. Would you mind clarifying?
I thought about how to answer that question for a while, and I actually think that's my real, considered and unflippant answer. Most of the really cringe-worthy poets I've seen had one thing in common - they took what they were doing incredibly seriously and thought that poetry was the most important thing in the world, a powerful tool to affect real change in society. And they're wrong. Poetry isn't the answer to anything - it's just an entertaining way to ask the questions. Sometimes not even that. Sometimes it's just a game you play with words. And you know what? That's fine. That's what poetry's for. Trying to use poetry to correct all society's ills is like trying to travel from London to Manchester on a space-hopper. By all means play with it, mess around and enjoy yourself, but if the journey's that important to you, buy a fucking train ticket.
You say your starting point as a performance poet was parody - I wonder if you feel that was the beginning of a long creative arc that finally culminated in Who Writes This Crap?, a book and show entirely fashioned from lampooning the form and content of different everyday texts. I say, 'I wonder if you feel' - what I mean is 'I personally believe and want you to agree'.
It's certainly been a common thread through the whole time I've been writing and performing. I think I just like writing things in character, inhabiting other people's voices, and parody is one of the most fun ways to do that. And by parody, I mean the whole range of ways to imitate: satire, pastiche, homage, parody, tribute. Taking the piss. Stepping into someone else's shoes. Taking a piss in someone else's shoes. It's all good.
With regards to poetry, you seem to have wound in the performing duties a bit. What are your plans? Are you hoping to produce and perform lots of new poems, or are you searching for pastures new? Or what?
I don't gig compulsively. I never have, really. I've always enjoyed impromptu, one-off shows more than huge, unwieldy tours. Luke and I did a very short tour of the Who Writes This Crap show earlier this year and it was an absolute joy. A handful of dates, then a bit of time at home to write. Once I rack up fifty or so performances of the same material, I start to get really sick of it. So the thing is to keep working on new projects. Luke and I are collaborating on a script for an animated film at the moment, as well as tentatively trying to work WWTC into a radio-friendly format. I've been doing a lot of work in schools, getting kids to write poetry. I teach on a creative writing course for adult learners. I write when I have the time. It's all great fun. I wouldn't have it any other way.
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