Write Out Wrong!

I wrote a blog for Write Out Loud about all my recent poet-y adventures. You can read it here:

http://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=25437

And my previous one for them is also online:

http://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=24675

Happy reading!!!

Exciting News!

Here's a little update on recent events for you...

1. 100 Thousand Poets for Change - was a brilliant success!! An absolutely packed-out event with 26 poets reading in total, including the wonderful Labi Siffre who very kindly came along and did a set for us! A wonderful afternoon.


2. RSC Open Stages - a recent meeting with the National Theatre Wales TEAM yielded a good result, with the promise of assistance and advice on this project from TEAM members. Thank you Devinda of NTW for this!!

3. My own career arches ever-upwards, with gigs coming at me from all sides! You can see me perform in Sheffield and Bournemouth next week, as well as on the streets of Cardiff this Saturday eve in Everwake - the game - a live experience on the streets that's been taking the UK by storm! I'll be in Dylan Thomas's Swansea house on Friday the 7th, as well as adjudicatng the World Schools Debating Championships in Cardiff, too... Much to do! Onwards and upwards!!

100 Thousand Poets for Change in Cardiff

A worldwide poetry reading, with over 450 cities in 95 countries involved, takes place this month on Saturday 24th September. Of the 600 events, only one of these will be in Wales, with selected poets and open mic readers performing  at Shot in the Dark, on City Road in Cardiff, from 1pm.

The Welsh poets will join others around the planet in a celebration of poetry as a vehicle to promote serious social, enviromental  and political change, with poetry demonstrations being organised in such political hotspots as Cairo, Kabul and Jalalabad. The Cardiff event places its focus on mental health, creativity and well-being, with an event theme – ‘the doors of perception’ – and donations going to Lapidus Cymru, although these are voluntary as the event itself is free to attend.

The many poets taking part include local authors Bob Rogers and Susie Wild, Somerset Maugham award winner Mark Blayney, storyteller Amanda Rackstraw, spoken word artist Liam Johnson, as well as a reading from Labi Siffre, the poet, musician and songwriter whose hits include “(Something Inside) So Strong” and “I Got The”, the sampled rhythm track of which provides the basis for Eminem’s hit single “My Name Is”.

This will be Siffre’s first public performance in roughly 12 years, with the star reading some of his poems, rather than the songs which have, variously, been covered or sampled by Madness, Olivia Newton John, Fatboy Slim and Jay-Z.

The event organisers, poets Gill Brightmore and Mab Jones, will be streaming the event live via the internet for those who are unable to attend -http://bambuser.com/channel/mabjones. Those who are able to attend are very welcome, and further information can be obtained from mabananajones@gmail.com

Yes, it's the Royal Shakespeare Company, dah-ling!!

So, as per usual, I have committed myself to a massive project, the breadth and depth and height of which I was very, very unprepared for.

     Earlier this year, the RSC announced it was holding a massive competition called Open Stages, which involved inviting amateur theatre/performance groups to hold a performance of a Shakespeare play or some related activity.

http://www.rsc.org.uk/explore/projects/open-stages/taking-part.aspx

     I decided I would re-write Troilus & Cressida. For those of you who don't know, this is considered Shakespeare's most problematic play. I decided to write it as a modern, spoken word-style satire. I decided I would direct it....

     Considering the number of characters in the play (two whole armies' worth) and the fact I've never directed before, this is a massive undertaking. No, let me re-phrase that - ma-HOO-sive.

So. There is much to do. As bloody usual!!! Anyway, if you'd like to take part in my play, please drop me a line. By which I mean, message/email, or find me jittering in my usual corner, if you know where that is...

     And, here's the Facebook group, if you'd like to join it: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=158332134249479

     It's the RSC, dah-ling! That's the important thing, I guess . . . . . . . . . . . . 

A Funny Short One

I've razed a field of rye

Sheafs of wheat I've strangled

I've made some maize to die

Heads of barley I have mangled

I've spelled the end for spelt

My job title is 'miller' -

But in my heart I've always felt

I am a cereal killer

Ten of the Best

I have been published!! Every poet's dream, made glorious reality... This lovely anthology features 10 poems each by 5 upcoming young Welsh writers. I am one of them!! It is part of Parthian's Bright Young Things series, with me definitely putting the 'Thing' into that particular phrase... Anyway, if you'd like to buy a copy, please message me, or go to

http://www.parthianbooks.co.uk/content/ten-best

You are also very welcome to attend the Cardiff launch of this and the Nu2 anthology of nu Welsh writing (which I happen to be in as well!) on Weds 13th July at 7pm, Chapter Arts Centre in Cardiff

http://www.chapter.org/23395.html

Useless/Useful Things Competition

Spurred on by the useless/useful nature of the Banana Guard, I have decided to conduct a small competition. Write a poem (ode, ballad, villanelle, blank verse, etc) dedicated to, or inspired by, one of the least, or most, useful things you know of, and you could win a prize!!

Since I am going to be in a book called 'Ten of the Best', the best of the poems received shall win a copy of the book as 1st prize. Second and third will win smaller prizes, taken from the Mountains of Crap I seem to accumulate (cool crap, tho! I promise).

Please send your poems to: mabananajones(at)gmail.com

Winners will be announced on the 13th July, at the Ten of the Best launch at Chapter Arts Centre, Cardiff.

http://www.parthianbooks.co.uk/content/ten-best

Banana Guard

You never know what you need until you find it. Yes, *neeeeed*!! A banana guard is a wonderful idea. It will guard my banana (singular?) from potential banana thieves. This could happen! No, really....

I found this in a charity shop in Canton, Cardiff today. To find out more, see:

Banana Guards Website

NaPoWriMo - Poem 12 - Bankers Rhymes With...

This is a poem inspired by the news images of bankers waving monetary notes above an NHS demonstration in London: http://politicalscrapbook.net/2011/03/grinning-deutsche-bank-staff-wave-money-at-nhs-protesters/

So let the bankers wave their notes
At nurses from their bunkers;
The buggers will have empty purses
One day, for their deeds.

Ignore the wankers with their bills
Above the noble workers;
They'll wake up in that other world
On bended f***ing knees.

NaPoWriMo - Poem 11 - It Could Be You

It Could Be You

That big white finger
In the sky
Could split the clouds
And come on down
To stop above
Your little house
And turn you
From a pauper
To a prince

But then that finger
Could come down
To point out
To the whole world how
You’re guilty
Of some unknown crime
And turn you
From your bed
Into a straightjacket or cell

We read our
Sunday papers
And marvel at the luck
Of those
Who win
And those
Who lose

But when a knock
Comes at
Your door
Remember that
This time
It could be you

NaPoWriMo - Poem 10 - Bone Poem

By mistake, you break a bone;
Take a smashing trip, or lose your grip
On a stair, somewhere.
Unable to get up
Because your tibia’s in two,
Your fibula in need of glue,
Disabled by your humerus:
Not humourous
At all. So, you could try calling the
National Accident Helpline. But all they’ll do
Is help you sue
Whoever made you fall.
And if that who was you,
Well, then – your bank account
Will be in two ‘n’ all.

NaPoWriMo - Poem 9 - Whatifyou

Whatifyou
(Or, better call the National Accident Helpline!)

Whatifyou have an accident at work
Whatifyou get tangled up in wires
Whatifyou trip or stumble,
f
a
l
l
Bounce on your bonce
Like a rubber ball, neckbones
Mangled, eyeballs
Angled so that you look
At everything sideways?

Whatifyou slip on milk in the supermarket
Whatifyou go flying arseovertip or
Headoverheels, whatifyou trip
On the trolley’s wheels
And all your microwave meals
Go f l y i n g ?

Whatifyou crash in a smash
With your car, or a bustumblesoveryou,
Or you’re walking along and a long
Lorry worms your way
Resulting in a terriblecase of
Stubtoe or
Backbreak or
Headinabrace?

Then you’d better call
THE NATIONAL ACCIDENT HELPLINE

Well, either that,
Or stop being such
A clumsy PRAT.

NaPoWriMo - Poem 8 - Llantwit

Llantwit Major is one village down from St Athan, where my mum lives. While I realise people from Llantwit are known as 'Llantonians', this is just a bit of fun, okay...??

Llantwit

If Cardiff’s the Diff,
and Newport’s the Port,
then what

is this?

NaPoWriMo - Poem 7 - Hey bud

This is my 2nd poem inspired by the Puya bud that is blossoming for the first time in 10 years at the Botanic Garden of Wales. It's a shorter n funnier one, and is meant to be read in a Cardiff accent. My longer (n better!) poem is below. Forgive me - this is written as part of the NaNoWriMo poem-a-day challenge. I'm - getting t i r e d . . . !

Hey bud

Hey bud. Stickin out the mud
Like tha - like summin rude.
I yurd you wuz the biggest in
The wurld. Well -
Yuh no’ so big tuh me.
I’ve seen biggerer, an berruh-
Ruh... I’ll gerruh measurin tape
An chuck ir at yuh, in a min.
Fatso. Freak. Yuh nor as brillyunt
As wha they says. Yoo-neek?
Nah. Bud? Hey bud??
Uh you listenin
Tuh me....???

NaPoWriMo - Poem 6 - Poem for the Puya

This is a poem inspired by the fact the biggest bud in Wales is now beginning to bloom! A marvellous sight I am hoping to see within the next week... The Puya, as it's called, is on view at the National Botanic Garden of Wales, and this is the first time it's blossomed for a whole decade! Quite thrilling news... and the first of a few poems I feel inspired to write about the thing.
Find out more here: http://www.gardenofwales.org.uk/news/biggest-bud-in-wales/

Poem for the Puya

Puya, they call you. The word sticky
In their mouths. You prickle the roof
Of the glass house, unsettle the groups
Of visiting classes. Like a nettle, your
Leaves are stingsharp, laced with thorns.
“Cruel”, they remark. Your taste is for
Animal flesh, which they hook, pull in, and
Starve to death. Their blood is your food.
Your bed more wet with this than dew.

From the Andes to Llanarthney you
Came. A monster baby in a way: eight
Feet tall and closer to a mutant than
A flower. Towering above the others,
A giant in the nursery. Cursed to slowness,
Reliant on your new owners, still you
Grew, your brontosaurus neck too thick
For them to prune; a Chilean imposter
That loomed above its human masters.

But now, a decade later, you’re in bud,
About to blossom. Your body as round
And fulsome as a woman’s. Crowds
Come to marvel, wondering at your
Beauty. Eyes hunger for your form.
Cameras snap and looks are thrown,
But sweeter than before. You ignore
Them; take no note. Your name now
Sweet as nectar in every thirsting throat.

NaPoWriMo - Poem 5 - This is a poem

This is a poem

with a title that tumbles into the first line,
headlong, headstrong, with a sense of
entitlement. A trickster poem, its first offence
that thing you think a name. This is a poem
that doesn’t wait for you to collect or gather
thoughts; doesn’t sit there while you pause,
and then, begin. This is a poem that takes you in,
a sales pitch to itself; that shifts the posts to kick
you into some uncertain goal. But, don’t fret.
You don’t have to wait til the end. You can leave
at any point, grammatical or otherwise.
If this is a poem you really despise then please,
stop reading. Leave. Don’t bother with courtesy.
We won’t pause, won’t even remember because
this is a poem like life, you see.

NaPoWriMo - Poem 4 - Snowdon Poem

Snowdon Poem

Shake that shawl
From your collossal shoulders
And let your golden hair
Fall down.

I’m here, my dear,
To conquer your boulders
And with boldness emboldened
Step on your crown.

With my bootheels I’ll kiss you,
On your foothills I’ll climb;
When the fog falls I’ll curse you,
But still -
You’ll be mine.

NaPoWriMo - Poem 3 - Wringing True

Wringing True

Must be my inner raincloud,
Trying to get out.
That miserable dishcloth
That’s been about since I was young,
Blocking out my inner sun and
Soaking up each goddam ray,
A smoky thing that pisses
Grey, its coke-like kisses
Stinging, wringing curses and dismay...

My mucky puddle eyes reflect
The murky drizzle
In my depths that lets my freckles
Grow from specks to
Massive resevoirs.

My murky wishwash smile implies
Some inner grey
That seeps through sighs
As weeping for no reason
I recede to my boudoir.

My inner cloud’s
A dishcloth veil that hides all trace of sun...
I wish that I could smile, my face
A clear
And not a clouded
One.

But that, I cannot do. And yet -
Raincloud, greycloud
Dismal as a frown, I’ve found
That only you
Wring true.

NaPoWriMo - Poem 2 - Bra Poem

The bra was invented
In two places
Simultaneously.
By Herminie Cadolle in France
And Mary Jacob in America.
Both sprang up in
The two countries
Almost instantaneously.
Twin buds of an idea,
Fleshed out and
Eventually ripening.
But no-one really knows
Who is the true
Discoverer.
Tho one of them,
Like the things they cup,
Is bigger than the
Otherer.

NaPoWriMo - Poem 1 - Under Wraps

Under Wraps

From a young age, my tits gave me trouble.
Got me pinned by girls in the shitter as they
Inspected those things they hadnt yet got.

Made that man on the French tube slide
His hand onto mine, escargot eyes sliming
A trail over my pink sweater, me just eleven.

Impinged into the rear view mirror of a chap
Who happened by the motorway, that time;
Who licked his lips when I asked why and what

He wanted. Opened his car flaps and came
Towards me. And I ran away,
Into a teenagehood of hiding, myself and

These things: bubs, boobs, baps.
Twin bumps I only saw through the target eyes
Of others. And which from that last day

I kept, like the rest of me, hidden; under wraps.

NaPoWriMo - What IS it???

NaPoWriMo, or National Poetry Writing Month, is an annual project in which participating poets attempt to write a poem a day for the month of April.

NaPoWriMo was founded in 2003, when poet Maureen Thorson decided to take up the challenge (modeled after NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month), and challenged other poets to join her. Since then, the number of participants has gotten larger every year, and many writers' organizations, both national and local, organize NaPoWriMo activities.

I will be taking part this year. Keep posted on my posts, and check out the website - it isn't too late to take part!

http://www.napowrimo.net/

Forked Up!

Just a little blog to say what a *brill* time I had at Forked in Plymouth last week... Thanks to Gina and all at Apples & Snakes for the booking!!

The next day, I was very happy to visit the National Marine Aquarium and see all sorts of amazing fishy things in their *huge* tanks and pools...!!

Next up: All You Need is Fluff at Cheltenham Poetry Festival this Sunday! Hope to see you there!!
http://www.cheltenhampoetryfest.co.uk/

Come On Down! To World Book Night

On Saturday nights there are all kinds of giveaways. Gameshow contestants win holidays, cars, and wide-screen TVs. Countless millions win however-many-quid on the Lotto. In town, there are drinks promotions, free entries before 11, and all kinds of deals to get you into the various rival restaurants. Literature, on a Saturday night, is normally off the menu; the crowds crave fantastic wealth, via their hopefully held lottery tickets, rather than a wealth of words; bookings for dinner, rather than books themselves.

This coming Saturday will be different! World Book Night is the largest book giveaway ever attempted, with one million of the lovely things being distributed at over a thousand bookshops and libraries around the country.The books themselves are being donated by roughly 5000 “passionate readers” who want other readers (perhaps those with less access to, or less experience of, books) to have and enjoy them. A sort of literary ‘pay it forward’, which includes distribution in places where people may not be able to attend the event themselves, e.g. hospitals and prisons.

Supported by the Publisher’s Association, the Booksellers’ Association, the BBC, and a host of other Guilds and Agencies, World Book Night is a breathtakingly BIG event, stretching from Glasgow to London to Abergavenny. Twenty-five titles have been chosen for distribution, and the range of these is, like the event itself, w i d e – classic tales rub papery shoulders with lesser known gems; adventure-led romance walks tantalisingly alongside gripping travelogue; award-winning pages flicker themselves at the merely adored. Something for everyone in the selection, which was chosen by a panel of even more “passionate readers” (those who make books their life’s work, as well as love).

Those who receive the books are encouraged, once they’re been read, to pass them on to other potential readers. And the givers themselves can track the progress of each book, via the Book Crossing website, in which each book is ‘tagged’, like an exotic animal, before it is “released into the wild”. In effect, you get the pleasure not just of reading the book and sharing it with others; you get the satisfaction of seeing the thing literally ‘take flight’. Who knows where that well-thumbed copy of Seamus Heaney’s Selected Poems, Philip Pullman’s Northern Lights, or Nigel Slater’s Toast will end up? Wherever it does, you can be sure, via the Book Crossing system, that it will be passed on, and on, and on again, the bookish equivalent of pass-the-parcel, in which everybody wins.

Yes, that’s right, ladies and gents, everybody’s a winner, here! World Book Night takes place just two days after World Book Day, and it is calling you to come and take part. So, log in to the website (http://www.worldbooknight.org/), and see what’s going on! As well as FREE books, there will also be readings, performances, fun, games, and (if you are very lucky) a glass of wine! I will be performing in Abergavenny Library this Saturday from 8pm, for example – attendance, like the books themselves, is free – and you are invited to attend. So – come on down! The price is right! And, strike it lucky, with a book (or 25), on the inaugural World Book Night.

Find out more: http://www.worldbooknight.org/

NTW Soul Exchange Reflections

I really enjoyed taking part in the Soul Exchange recently (which also doubled as a Germs Exchange – hence this late blog post!!!) and thought you might be interested to see some of the photos I took (on my rubbishy, 2 megapixel camera – apologies – I only got it because they me a free Wii), as well as read my spoken word piece(yes! A poem), written specifically for the event. It’s basically a first person piece in the voice of a Christian grandmother, whose daughter marries a Muslim sailor, around the same time Butetown’s first ever mosque was built, in the 1930s. She is unhappy that her grandson might be given a Muslim name – so, steals the baby away and gets him secretly Christened. It’s based on real event of the time, with real nans nicking real sprogs and getting them really named, without their parents’ prior consent. If this hadn’t happened, there’d probably be more Achmeds in that generation, than Peters and Paulines, which would make hardly any difference to us, now, but for the innocent babies, angry parents, and adamant nans, must have been a huge hoo-ha.

In any case, I tried to keep the piece as unjudgemental as possible, and as much from the view of the old lady as I could, rather than paint her as a busy-body or, worse, some sort of interfering old witch. It’s likely these naughty nans really thought they were in the right – if a baby wasn’t Christened, and died (more of a possibility in those days of Suchandsuch Fevers and Smallpox), the its soul wouldn’t go to heaven, they believed. Information on this (mal)practice is largely anecdotal; the Butetown Museum can provide some documentation, however. My thanks to Soul Exchange director, Kully Thiarai, for suggesting the topic in the first place. I’m really glad my own nan only had enough power to give me a middle name (youwillneverknowwhatitis!), anyway!

You can read my poem here > > > > > >

(Note: this is a performance poem, so made for hearing rather than for reading. Also, it begins by talking about Welsh cakes, and finding a hair in one – this is a real event, that occured in the WMC cafe, when I asked the Fates for a bit of inspiration. Then result was long, dark hair embedded in the Welsh cake I had ordered. Thanks, Fates!!!)

I remember, long ago,
I found an hair in uh Welsh cake.
And I remember, even though
The hair was black as coal and as long
As from yur tuh the back of beyond and not
The sort uh thing you'd expect tuh be in
Uh cake uh that make
Like the shilling they puts in at Christmas, well -
Still, I ett it.
Said nil, because I bet it
Fell from the one who baked the cake.
I knew from who the hair escaped
Like the leaves that fall intuh Roath Park Lake
That she took us to when we were small.

It was my mother's hair, wan' it?
So I kept stumm, forgot it;
Ett and never spoke of it
'Til now.

Cos in those days if you found a thing
In food you knew exactly who
And when and where
And how it got in there
And didn't really care
For that reason.

But you never know what you'll find, these days.
Like when I go round my daughter's place...
There's other cakes made by other hands.
Her husband comes from other lands
You see.
Skin as dark as my mother's hair...
And he
Cooks, an' all! Little cakes but not cakes, really.
My mouf, it got all hot, and nearly
Burned! My stomach turned, and I have learned
Not to eat round there.

In my day, we had only three types of spices, for cakes:
Cinnamon, ginger, and cloves.
I’d never yurd uh CAR-duh-MON!
And when she said she was three munfs gone, well -
My mind was reeling.
Some things are wrong
And so is stealing –
But, I didn’t want no grandchild uh mine having no funny name,
Some strange word I could hardly say
Like car-duh-mon.
It isn’t wrong, is it?
To pop along on a visit
To the local church, taking the baby wiv me,
And at the same time incidentally
Having him Christened.
It isn’t a sin
To save a baby’s soul...

Of course, they didn’t know –
I didn’t ask!
Just took the baby and fast
As I could, got him named
As he shoulda been at the start.
Paul is what he’s called.

My daughter was appalled uh course
To have her baby named by force
By me, but see
Tuh name the baby any other way
Would uh been –
Like carduhmon in a Welsh cake,
Or an hair off an head of someone you ain’t met –
Just plain wrong.
He wouldn’t belong,
My grandson, with a name like Achmed
Or Mohammed.
Paul is what he’s called
And I’m glad, by God, that I done it.

Soul Exchange!

This week, I'm very busy rehearsing to be in National Theatre Wales's SOUL EXCHANGE, in which I play a 1930s nan from Butetown/Tiger Bay. It's a really interesting exsperience, meeting people from all walks (and runs, and sprints, and -in my case, stumbles - of life)! Specifically, I am working with an actress called Pauline who, a while back, co-wrote this pretty great film about the landing of The Windrush, the ship that brought the first immigrants from the West Indies to Britain. You can watch this here:

ME REACH (White Lantern Films)

The Soul Exchange itself is the culmination of 2 years' work, researching into the history of the once-Tiger Bay, interviewing residents, collecting stories, and so forth. I have written a spoken word piece based on true incidents: basically, about a white woman (as I am!) who doesn't want her mixed-race grandson to be given a Muslim name... Can you guess what she does to achieve this??? Well, you'll have to come along if you want to find out...!!



Hope to see you there!!!

FIND OUT MORE / BOOK TICKETS

After Snow White

And after Snow White went away
The dwarves decided not to stay
In the house that by her absence she'd left hollow

They sold up, separated, split
Found lines of work that seemed to fit
Them better than that one they used to follow

So, Grumpy works in a contact centre
Takes ten thousand calls a week

And Doc's a wannabe inventor
I saw him on Dragon's Den last week

And Sneezy works in a factory
Where I think they pack M&S food

And Bashful went into comedy
I heard that his stuff's really rude

And Dopey became a huge celeb
After he went on Big Brother

And Happy just sells fruit and veg
On a stall he runs with his gay lover

And Sleepy, well, Sleepy never
Seemed to find his happy ever
After, rather he just spends all his time asleep

Slumbering instead of waking
In a mine of his own making
'Cept unlike the others this one runs too dark and deep

In his dreams he reminisces
About the princess, and the kisses
That she lay like gold dust on his round and wrinkled head

Now that dust is lost and scattered
Hearts and mirrors, all have shattered
Snow white lies to broken ties and broken home have led

Better, then, to lie alone, a stone inside his bed

To close his eyes and fantasise, not weep, but sleep, instead.