My mother broke birth to me,
And there I was:
A silent lump of flesh and blood,
Entwined in afterbirth,
Wearing the placenta as a hat.
And immediately I started
Entertaining the doctors and nurses.
“Burble burble waaah!” I said,
(Which translated to the audience
As a scream)
“In the next thirty years,
I am here to entertain you!”
My mother lay quiet on the metal bed.
I had ripped her badly.
I shimmied a blood-red boa
And smiled. But then,
The doctor picked me upside down
And I hung mid-air like a joker
And I realised:
I’d left something backstage.
But I couldn’t remember what.
And then I screamed for real
As the doctor sewed and sealed the
Red curtains I’d rag-tagged through;
And the nurse measured me
With pincers;
And there was no happy father there.
And despite my initial confident
Entrance:
I was filled with stage-fright.
Tuesday, 29 September 2009
Thursday, 24 September 2009
Poem for Pentwyn
Pentwyn (pron: pen-twin) is an area of Cardiff. It is on the outskirts, physically and in other ways. It's not all bad, but being a misery guts I have zoomed in on the sadness and dilapidation of the area, rather than its more positive points. This be the result:
Poem for Pentwyn
This is where the houses look like weeping heads
This is where the children sleep in unmade beds
This is where the washing hangs itself on lines
This is where graffiti obliterates the signs
This is where you find discarded clothing in the park
This is where the daytime’s just as dangerous as dark
Pentwyn
Twined with no-one
Pentwyn
A place penned-in
Pentwyn
Pent up with sadness
Pentwyn
More lose than win
This is where the bluebottles breed inside the bins
This is where the beer bottles lead to other things
This is where the lampposts blink like frightened men
Then black out when young girls shout beneath their gaze again
This is where the ragged woods are all choked up with cans
This is where the boys in hoods steal from each others’ nans
Pentwyn
Twined with no-one
Pentwyn
A place penned-in
Pentwyn
Pent up with sadness
Pentwyn
More lose than win
This is where the gardens grow busted-up TVs
This is where the needles that you find don’t fall from trees
This is where the sun beats too hard upon bare backs
This is where the rain falls down broken pavement cracks
This is where the women have one too many kids
This is where the kids end up in those ‘most wanted’ vids
Pentwyn
Twined with no-one
Pentwyn
A place penned-in
Pentwyn
Pent up with sadness
Pentwyn
More lose than win
Poem for Pentwyn
This is where the houses look like weeping heads
This is where the children sleep in unmade beds
This is where the washing hangs itself on lines
This is where graffiti obliterates the signs
This is where you find discarded clothing in the park
This is where the daytime’s just as dangerous as dark
Pentwyn
Twined with no-one
Pentwyn
A place penned-in
Pentwyn
Pent up with sadness
Pentwyn
More lose than win
This is where the bluebottles breed inside the bins
This is where the beer bottles lead to other things
This is where the lampposts blink like frightened men
Then black out when young girls shout beneath their gaze again
This is where the ragged woods are all choked up with cans
This is where the boys in hoods steal from each others’ nans
Pentwyn
Twined with no-one
Pentwyn
A place penned-in
Pentwyn
Pent up with sadness
Pentwyn
More lose than win
This is where the gardens grow busted-up TVs
This is where the needles that you find don’t fall from trees
This is where the sun beats too hard upon bare backs
This is where the rain falls down broken pavement cracks
This is where the women have one too many kids
This is where the kids end up in those ‘most wanted’ vids
Pentwyn
Twined with no-one
Pentwyn
A place penned-in
Pentwyn
Pent up with sadness
Pentwyn
More lose than win
Friday, 18 September 2009
Top Tips for Travellers
(1) Starbucks, to the weary traveller, with its air con, Earl Grey (with soya milk), and washroom facilities, is a godsend. Starbucks RULES! There can never be enough of ‘em.
(2) If waiting in a queue, try to stand behind Indian people (they are used to lining up, and seem to get ahead quickly – you can follow in their wake) and in front of Japanese people (they never push – if they try, look them in the eye, and they will fill up with shame and stop).
(3) NEVER stand in front of Russian people!!! Pushy buggers.
(4) The best hostels are the ones with free breakfast and cheap laundry/internet facilities. These ‘extras’ usually mean that the essentials are AOK.
(5) If you are walking about in America (say, NYC), and see a lot of very attractive, beautiful people, do not be disheartened. The ‘real’ people are in work! This lot are merely failed/wannabe actors/models.
(6) Try not to speak when buying items that have no price marked. Once they hear your accent, the shopkeeper will double (or even triple) the price. Give a confident smile and you will be fine.
(7) ‘Salad bars’ are the best thing in the US. They are made up of self-serve salad/hot food/fruit. You can try lots of different food in a plastic bowl. There is no excuse for not getting your 5-a-day.
(8) Speaking of which: never declare fruit to customs officials. Unless you WANT to spend an hour in ‘agricultural inspection’ just so they can dispose of it (‘it’ being that apple you took off the plane, and were only given cos you couldn’t eat their wheat-filled cake dessert). Just put it at the bottom of your bag and you will (probably) get through.
(9) If the fruit is discovered, say (in your primmest, plumiest Queen’s English accent): “Oh dear! I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise! Oops!” And, flutter your eyelashes. Again, you’ll probably be alright.
(10) Remember, outside of Wales you are a Brit. Do not confuse matters with talk of “Wales”. Unless you like explaining yourself over and over again to looks of total incomprehension. Which I don’t.
(2) If waiting in a queue, try to stand behind Indian people (they are used to lining up, and seem to get ahead quickly – you can follow in their wake) and in front of Japanese people (they never push – if they try, look them in the eye, and they will fill up with shame and stop).
(3) NEVER stand in front of Russian people!!! Pushy buggers.
(4) The best hostels are the ones with free breakfast and cheap laundry/internet facilities. These ‘extras’ usually mean that the essentials are AOK.
(5) If you are walking about in America (say, NYC), and see a lot of very attractive, beautiful people, do not be disheartened. The ‘real’ people are in work! This lot are merely failed/wannabe actors/models.
(6) Try not to speak when buying items that have no price marked. Once they hear your accent, the shopkeeper will double (or even triple) the price. Give a confident smile and you will be fine.
(7) ‘Salad bars’ are the best thing in the US. They are made up of self-serve salad/hot food/fruit. You can try lots of different food in a plastic bowl. There is no excuse for not getting your 5-a-day.
(8) Speaking of which: never declare fruit to customs officials. Unless you WANT to spend an hour in ‘agricultural inspection’ just so they can dispose of it (‘it’ being that apple you took off the plane, and were only given cos you couldn’t eat their wheat-filled cake dessert). Just put it at the bottom of your bag and you will (probably) get through.
(9) If the fruit is discovered, say (in your primmest, plumiest Queen’s English accent): “Oh dear! I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise! Oops!” And, flutter your eyelashes. Again, you’ll probably be alright.
(10) Remember, outside of Wales you are a Brit. Do not confuse matters with talk of “Wales”. Unless you like explaining yourself over and over again to looks of total incomprehension. Which I don’t.
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
TUESDAY 14th July
Am in Toronto. Took the night bus here from NY but the bargain fare wasnt quite worth it in the end: I tried to sleep, but cos my neck kept getting bent/crooked, and the bus took some twists and turns, at 5.30am I woke up - and spontaneously vomited over myself.
Wednesday, 8 July 2009
Things I Have Done & Enjoyed Recently (In No Particular Order)
(1) Bicycle ride to Great Falls in Maryland state (yes, I cycled 14 miles! My thighs thanks me)
(2) July 4th fireworks in the capital (Big Bird & Obama onstage was a cheese-laden high!)
(3) Visited the Native American Museum in Washington
(4) Ate crab cakes at Dupont Circle, a cooooool place
(5) Saw fireflies!!!
(6) Went on twilight bus tour of DC
(7) Saw Obama!!! (Yes, I really did!)
(8) Saw lots of houses with bars on the windows (Washington outskirts)
(9) Saw some Amish people (at Reading Terminal Markey, Philadelphia)
(10) Visited East State Penitentiary (that's where Im off to now....)
Fun! :D
(2) July 4th fireworks in the capital (Big Bird & Obama onstage was a cheese-laden high!)
(3) Visited the Native American Museum in Washington
(4) Ate crab cakes at Dupont Circle, a cooooool place
(5) Saw fireflies!!!
(6) Went on twilight bus tour of DC
(7) Saw Obama!!! (Yes, I really did!)
(8) Saw lots of houses with bars on the windows (Washington outskirts)
(9) Saw some Amish people (at Reading Terminal Markey, Philadelphia)
(10) Visited East State Penitentiary (that's where Im off to now....)
Fun! :D
Friday, 3 July 2009
RADIO!
I will be appearing on BBC Radio Wales at 7pm on Sat 4th July (tomorrow!). Please listen in for a new poem about my experiences in America! :)
http://www.bbc.co.uk/wales/radiowales/sites/celticheartbeat/
http://www.bbc.co.uk/wales/radiowales/sites/celticheartbeat/
Sunday, 28 June 2009
SYD: Day 4
Yesterday (fourth of the festival, I think) was a weird/good un. I had a bad dream in which I was cutting off my own arm (my writing hand, as I later realised) and woke up with a really bad crick in the neck. Walking slowly sideways to breakfast, I discovered I also had (1) a blister, from new flip flops (2) sore legs, from gym OD and (3) general bodily stress, from not having my boy about to give me impromptu massage, and from the daily performance-ing, I guess.
So, I went to see a little Chinese man who massaged me to within an inch of my life (including arse area - Ive heard this is normal) then used the whirlpool, angling my body so that the jet stream hit my neck (as well as fatty bits - to help reduce em, like). To no avail, so I then took some medicine at the festival site. I told the audience at our afternoon poetry stomp that I was under the weather, and, perhaps because of this, won the stomp, and consequently the use of a rather un-fetching plastic fake-eisteddfod "chair". Joy.
After the meds had kicked in, I was feeling a lot better, so I decided to go to Artomatic (www.artomatic.org) - an unjuried art show covering 5 floors over by the river here in Washington. Wow! A brilliant standard of work on show, some really amazing artists. Since Lady Luck likes me, there was then a poetry slam on the 6th floor of the building by Busboys & Poets, the cafe/poetry group that us Welsh lot will be performing with next week! So, I met the MC ("Two Deep") and listened to their work... Wow again. A VERY high standard of stuff, kinda confession (to the point of discomfit - "my daddy dont come into my bedroom no more like he abused to") but, still, and maybe because of this, VERY powerful, captivating...
On the way home, then, I had discovered that my drink had slightly leaked in my bag, causing my name (nothing else) to be wiped off from the front of the notebook (writing book) I was carrying with me. Added to the dream of cutting my writing hand off, I wondered if my subconscious was trying to tell me something... (???)
I got home at 2am, anyway, and that was my day done. Am now to wash out some pants and then off to the festival site again. Tally ho!!!
So, I went to see a little Chinese man who massaged me to within an inch of my life (including arse area - Ive heard this is normal) then used the whirlpool, angling my body so that the jet stream hit my neck (as well as fatty bits - to help reduce em, like). To no avail, so I then took some medicine at the festival site. I told the audience at our afternoon poetry stomp that I was under the weather, and, perhaps because of this, won the stomp, and consequently the use of a rather un-fetching plastic fake-eisteddfod "chair". Joy.
After the meds had kicked in, I was feeling a lot better, so I decided to go to Artomatic (www.artomatic.org) - an unjuried art show covering 5 floors over by the river here in Washington. Wow! A brilliant standard of work on show, some really amazing artists. Since Lady Luck likes me, there was then a poetry slam on the 6th floor of the building by Busboys & Poets, the cafe/poetry group that us Welsh lot will be performing with next week! So, I met the MC ("Two Deep") and listened to their work... Wow again. A VERY high standard of stuff, kinda confession (to the point of discomfit - "my daddy dont come into my bedroom no more like he abused to") but, still, and maybe because of this, VERY powerful, captivating...
On the way home, then, I had discovered that my drink had slightly leaked in my bag, causing my name (nothing else) to be wiped off from the front of the notebook (writing book) I was carrying with me. Added to the dream of cutting my writing hand off, I wondered if my subconscious was trying to tell me something... (???)
I got home at 2am, anyway, and that was my day done. Am now to wash out some pants and then off to the festival site again. Tally ho!!!
Saturday, 27 June 2009
THE KING IS DEAD
I wrote this poem yesterday after hearing about Michael Jackson's sudden death. I then read it to an American audience a few hours later - it went down well. This is very definitely a spoken piece, as the rhythm changes several times (I have tried to indicate change by keeping space between sections). I hope you like it.
THE KING IS DEAD
Michael Jackson's dead
What a taxing life he lead
All that moving and shaking
But now the pigs will have his bacon
All that dancing and singing
But now his false friends will be grinning
All of those world tours
But now those lawyers are licking their jaws
All that money he made
But now there are vultures who need to be paid
Blood hounds lying in wait
To pounce and devour Michael Jackson's estate
Leeches waiting to suck
The death of a star to them's a stroke of luck
Wild dogs sniffing about
To get what they can from this, while I don't doubt
That Michael Jackson was strange
He never acted his true age
He had a very squeaky voice
He liked to hang around with boys
He had a monkey for a friend
Called Bubbles
Still now in the end
His troubles
Were no more or less than ours
He did not have super powers
Like us, he felt pain and stress
Like us, yearned for love's caress
Like us, he was full of feeling
Like us, just a human being
Son of a mother and brother to others
He had some children and he had some lovers
In bed at night he would pull up the covers
And dream.....
.....like us
Of what might have been.....
.....like us
Of what is, and what will be, and what was
"Wacko Jacko"'s just too easy
Like a pack o' wolves the sleazy
Media will take his life
In his death and with a knife
Like a chef cut it up finely
To sell papers speak unkindly
Of his capers, what a thriller
Now that Jackson's in the chiller
And they'll beat it, just beat it
Now Mike's not here he cant delete it
They'll take his odd personality
And add to his inhumanity
By pointing out his impiety
And giving him notoriety
Immortality, maybe even
But whatever you read, dont believe em
The press will impress just to sell
If there IS a heaven or hell
Then its not up to us to make judgement or say
If Michael Jackson went this or that way
All human beings get confused
All human beings make mistakes
We never walked in his shoes
We never knew his heartaches
In Neverland this Peter Pan
Who never quite became a man
Mightve been happy, mightve been sad
But we'll never know all the feelings he had
Except that he had em
And we have em too
He was a child of Adam like you
So although the papers will run his heart through -
I wish his troubled spirit well
I hope his heart's now free
That Michael Jackson is up there relaxing
With angels and our deity
Because life CAN be too taxing
So I hope that he WILL R.I.P.
THE KING IS DEAD
Michael Jackson's dead
What a taxing life he lead
All that moving and shaking
But now the pigs will have his bacon
All that dancing and singing
But now his false friends will be grinning
All of those world tours
But now those lawyers are licking their jaws
All that money he made
But now there are vultures who need to be paid
Blood hounds lying in wait
To pounce and devour Michael Jackson's estate
Leeches waiting to suck
The death of a star to them's a stroke of luck
Wild dogs sniffing about
To get what they can from this, while I don't doubt
That Michael Jackson was strange
He never acted his true age
He had a very squeaky voice
He liked to hang around with boys
He had a monkey for a friend
Called Bubbles
Still now in the end
His troubles
Were no more or less than ours
He did not have super powers
Like us, he felt pain and stress
Like us, yearned for love's caress
Like us, he was full of feeling
Like us, just a human being
Son of a mother and brother to others
He had some children and he had some lovers
In bed at night he would pull up the covers
And dream.....
.....like us
Of what might have been.....
.....like us
Of what is, and what will be, and what was
"Wacko Jacko"'s just too easy
Like a pack o' wolves the sleazy
Media will take his life
In his death and with a knife
Like a chef cut it up finely
To sell papers speak unkindly
Of his capers, what a thriller
Now that Jackson's in the chiller
And they'll beat it, just beat it
Now Mike's not here he cant delete it
They'll take his odd personality
And add to his inhumanity
By pointing out his impiety
And giving him notoriety
Immortality, maybe even
But whatever you read, dont believe em
The press will impress just to sell
If there IS a heaven or hell
Then its not up to us to make judgement or say
If Michael Jackson went this or that way
All human beings get confused
All human beings make mistakes
We never walked in his shoes
We never knew his heartaches
In Neverland this Peter Pan
Who never quite became a man
Mightve been happy, mightve been sad
But we'll never know all the feelings he had
Except that he had em
And we have em too
He was a child of Adam like you
So although the papers will run his heart through -
I wish his troubled spirit well
I hope his heart's now free
That Michael Jackson is up there relaxing
With angels and our deity
Because life CAN be too taxing
So I hope that he WILL R.I.P.
Thursday, 25 June 2009
SYD: Day 2
There are lots of differences and similarities between Wales and the US, and I am making new discoveries daily. Here are some things I have noted so far:
(1) American toilets have bigger seats, and the water level is much higher up (so, more danger of "splash-back"), than our own. Logically, I guess this means (a) that Yanks have larger bottoms than ourselves, and (b) that their detritus is - a different density (!?)
(I am sorry to put this first, but it IS the first difference I discovered when I got off the plane!)
(2) When you enter a store, staff will say "hello, how are you?" - but, you are not expected to answer.
(3) Americans are more curious, and more friendly, than I would have supposed :)
(4) If you say something funny, Americans will say "you're so funny" - every time.
(5) Americans are very fond of wearing 3/4 length trousers, a little bit like combat trousers, made with quite thick material, and ofter khaki coloured. Its like a sort of summer uniform.
(6) Americans DO understand irony!!!
(7) They have bigger everything here, and more variety - people, plants, animals, etc. I have eaten yellow watermelon and chicken thigh as big as my own, so far.
(8) They are very polite here, and even young people will move out your way saying "I'm sorry", without any trace of resentment/sarcasm. (wow!)
(9) If you express even a slightly negative opinion, then you are "cranky". Positivity rules aok.
(10) People tend to follow the rules. They dont break them for the sake of breaking them (unlike me). However, the rules in many instances are more relaxed than our own eg in art galleries, where there are less "watchers" (staff) and you can go closer to the exhibits. Everyone assumes the art work will not be touched. But, they assumed wrong...
Im off to the National Gallery now, frends. See ya!!! x
(1) American toilets have bigger seats, and the water level is much higher up (so, more danger of "splash-back"), than our own. Logically, I guess this means (a) that Yanks have larger bottoms than ourselves, and (b) that their detritus is - a different density (!?)
(I am sorry to put this first, but it IS the first difference I discovered when I got off the plane!)
(2) When you enter a store, staff will say "hello, how are you?" - but, you are not expected to answer.
(3) Americans are more curious, and more friendly, than I would have supposed :)
(4) If you say something funny, Americans will say "you're so funny" - every time.
(5) Americans are very fond of wearing 3/4 length trousers, a little bit like combat trousers, made with quite thick material, and ofter khaki coloured. Its like a sort of summer uniform.
(6) Americans DO understand irony!!!
(7) They have bigger everything here, and more variety - people, plants, animals, etc. I have eaten yellow watermelon and chicken thigh as big as my own, so far.
(8) They are very polite here, and even young people will move out your way saying "I'm sorry", without any trace of resentment/sarcasm. (wow!)
(9) If you express even a slightly negative opinion, then you are "cranky". Positivity rules aok.
(10) People tend to follow the rules. They dont break them for the sake of breaking them (unlike me). However, the rules in many instances are more relaxed than our own eg in art galleries, where there are less "watchers" (staff) and you can go closer to the exhibits. Everyone assumes the art work will not be touched. But, they assumed wrong...
Im off to the National Gallery now, frends. See ya!!! x
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
Sporadic Yank Diary: Festival Day 1
Since internet time is limited here, I will be writing about each day after it has taken place, the following morning. Today is the first day of the festival proper, but I will be writing about the "prep-day" we had yesterday.
Most people here are very busy. All craftspeople/demonstrators have to be in their tents for the whole day (11-5.30) - so, thats like a REAL job. Next, musicians have several performances each day. Then, there's the poets/storytellers - we have maybe one or two (sometimes 3) slots per day, of 20 mins up to an hour. So, either we are the least busy - or, we are the most relaxed - both I think, and of course this means we will get to see all of the festival for ourselves, unlike the poor cooks/Welsh teacher/clog-maker etc etc
Yesterday there was an orientation in The Dragon Tent for all participants. This took about half an hour. The rest of the day was our own! I spent some time talking to this really interesting guy, Pat McGee, who is a veritable knowledge of offbeat, quirky knowledge. I now know about Manchester comic poet Les Barker and understand the Scottish drinking phrase "a wee drop of the creature". Awesome stuff. :)
Later on I DID sample said creature - a reception/party took place on the top floor of our lovely hotel (s'posh, like) and first minister Rhodri Morgan flew over to join us. Apparently, there is a "trade mission" riding on the coat tails of this here Folklife Festival - 80 Welsh companies are over here right now, making presentations/contacts/sales/propositions... Not sure where they are exactly, but they are here. Apparently.
Speaking of propositions - it was free booze at the reception, and I spied more than a few participants participating in some improprietous behaviour... Naming no names (though I COULD if I wanted to; or even start up a profitable blackmail sideline) but, due to the fact that they dont seem to understand the concept of "spirit measures" here, quite a few people took a tiny tot too much of the demon drink. As I did myself, in fact - I then ended up drunkenly chatting with some near-7 ft tall submarine engineer who was wearing enough gold and designer linen to suggest he was bloody LOADED (plus the fact that this IS a swanky hotel). I - think I scared him off with my quantum physics rant, however - "everything is made out of ENer-geeeee". I then made some new "friends" amongst the other participants, and they were deadly impressed with my psychic abilities, the greatest of which is the power to tell people how old they are, "spiritually" - "you are 11"; "youre 12, you are"...
Oh dear. :(
Needless to say, this morning I was a bit Nevada-mouthed (desert - geddit) and a lil cactus-bloom-cheeked. But! Live and let live. And, I intend to.
More to follow!
Most people here are very busy. All craftspeople/demonstrators have to be in their tents for the whole day (11-5.30) - so, thats like a REAL job. Next, musicians have several performances each day. Then, there's the poets/storytellers - we have maybe one or two (sometimes 3) slots per day, of 20 mins up to an hour. So, either we are the least busy - or, we are the most relaxed - both I think, and of course this means we will get to see all of the festival for ourselves, unlike the poor cooks/Welsh teacher/clog-maker etc etc
Yesterday there was an orientation in The Dragon Tent for all participants. This took about half an hour. The rest of the day was our own! I spent some time talking to this really interesting guy, Pat McGee, who is a veritable knowledge of offbeat, quirky knowledge. I now know about Manchester comic poet Les Barker and understand the Scottish drinking phrase "a wee drop of the creature". Awesome stuff. :)
Later on I DID sample said creature - a reception/party took place on the top floor of our lovely hotel (s'posh, like) and first minister Rhodri Morgan flew over to join us. Apparently, there is a "trade mission" riding on the coat tails of this here Folklife Festival - 80 Welsh companies are over here right now, making presentations/contacts/sales/propositions... Not sure where they are exactly, but they are here. Apparently.
Speaking of propositions - it was free booze at the reception, and I spied more than a few participants participating in some improprietous behaviour... Naming no names (though I COULD if I wanted to; or even start up a profitable blackmail sideline) but, due to the fact that they dont seem to understand the concept of "spirit measures" here, quite a few people took a tiny tot too much of the demon drink. As I did myself, in fact - I then ended up drunkenly chatting with some near-7 ft tall submarine engineer who was wearing enough gold and designer linen to suggest he was bloody LOADED (plus the fact that this IS a swanky hotel). I - think I scared him off with my quantum physics rant, however - "everything is made out of ENer-geeeee". I then made some new "friends" amongst the other participants, and they were deadly impressed with my psychic abilities, the greatest of which is the power to tell people how old they are, "spiritually" - "you are 11"; "youre 12, you are"...
Oh dear. :(
Needless to say, this morning I was a bit Nevada-mouthed (desert - geddit) and a lil cactus-bloom-cheeked. But! Live and let live. And, I intend to.
More to follow!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)