Yesterday I lost another virginity. Since I started going to London I lost quite a few, but the act of losing my live poetry readings virginity was one of the best so far.
Having promised Brett (one of the many lovely acquaintances I have made since moving here) I would come, not being entirely sure about the whole thing (live poetry reading and me has been on the "scenarios that surely won't play out" list for a long time), I packed my stuff and left office at about 19:30. I work just down the road from The Plough at Museum Street, where Poetry Shack made camp last night, so a few minutes later I was there.
UPDATE: Please note, as of late Poetry Shack has taken residence at The Old Crown, 33 New Oxford Street. Yes. It is the place without a sign outside, opposite the burger bar. No. It is not the place called The Crown located confusingly few doors down the street.
Having received the invite via an Internet forum where me and some friends hang out, I wasn't really sure who Brett was, or what he looked like. He did send me a photo which rendered in me a curious feeling of recognition, but he still didn't look really like the Brett in "Brett and Silvia" who I have met a few times while out clubbing. The lack of neon clothing and sweat must have been what put me off track, 'cause as I met and shook hands with him I realized that it was that Brett (also, Silvia standing right next to him was a helpful clue as to Brett's true identity). Sneaky, sending me such a normal photo...
Very randomly I also met friend Bex, who had decided to lose her Poetry Shack virginity as well. She, I learned, has however grown up on the live poetry stuff and is quite experienced in the field. Hippie parents (not really).
We went upstairs and took our seats, beer and wine securely planted in our hands, chatted for a while and then the show started. And it was a show.
You who weren't there missed out on a really great night. I so recommend that you go there next time, and if I don't remember wrongly Poetry Shack is on every second Tuesday of the month.
Now, I feel I must provide a little background, just for you to understand why I was so happily surprised by this event. I definitely had a lot of prejudice with me to this thing. Surely I would encounter dark clad, thin, malnourished people, looking like they always lost their loves in terrible ways and never had a pet that didn't run away or got run over by an 18 wheel lorry, whichever happened first. And the poets most likely would be wearing ill fitting black turtle necks and steel rimmed glasses fixed with tape and speak with low, dark voices fixing their deep and thoughtful gaze on the girls sitting in the front row swooning over their great intellectual abilities.
How I love to see my prejudices crumble to dust and be swiftly swept away by reality.
Seldom have I had such a great time as I had yesterday. Sure, part of it being so great is simply due to the fact that I didn't know what to expect, so I expected nothing. But the fact remains, that the laughter and feeling of seeing and hearing totally unique and surreal performances made me want to frequent this event again. Not only was there some great poems, there was great comedy as well.
What made the night really good was the mix of different styles and performers. Different personalities, different pacing, none of the performers were in any way, shape or form similar to the others. Also, the informality, intimacy (we basically sat in the lap of the poets) and total lack of pretentiousness created a wonderful and honest feeling of anticipation and atmosphere.
Brett, being the MC, opened the night with a poem he wrote years ago while listening to a guy doing soundchecks at a festival. Building from the simple phrase *tap tap on the mic* "one, one, one, two, one, two, three, testing, testing" he read what to me was a brilliant little thoughtful thing with a great beat and rhythm. Good stuff Brett! You must mail me that thing, I want to learn it by heart so I can use it if I ever have to do a microphone test...
First to perform was Nathan something or other (Brett didn't make a program, shame on him, so unfortunately I don't remember any of the last names of the poets and comedians...) who just flew in from a tour in the US. Chicago, I believe. Looking like an over grown, under fed version of Harry Potter (hmm... malnourished, steel rimmed glasses... at least he doesn't wear black I optimistically thought) he put on a show which was a mix of personal memories, comedy and poetry that had us shaking of laughter in our seats.
He even did magic!
Next up was Susan IwillNeverBeAbleToRememberHerLastName, who looked more like your typical poet kind of person. Black steel capped boots, tight, black dress and a black bob flawlessly surrounding her beautiful pale face. You could tell that this performance would not be a comic one. Her poems; read with suitable accessories such as a painting of pigs with spinning heads, a fake snow cone, an umbrella and moody music; were more touching on the surreal. I am unable to describe the feeling I had while listening to her read (and she read very well, I fell in love with the way she pronounced "cat flap"...), but with her poems she painted very vivid pictures in your mind of people in very strange situations... For those of you who know who Squee is, picture Squee in a poem (or buy the book at Amazon and get the full on experience...). There you go. "Todd is afraid of birds. He is particularly afraid of owls." Made me immediately think of poor Squee, shaking under the covers in his bed.
The night continued in the same vein, with good readings from Jack (I believe his name is) who is partner in crime with Brett, and I can now say that I know a bit more about Jack's father's penis than I am quite comfortable with, followed by a Simon SomethingOrOther who initially came across as a complete mad hatter and crap poet to boot, but after a while got me really impressed with his words, energy and brilliant performance (again, lots of accessories...). Still think he is slightly mad though.
Closing the night was a comedian, a Ken with insanely big eye brows. Ken said he didn't like poetry all that much, and especially not poets, but he did read a piece called "The Cremation of Sam McGee" which his father made him learn by heart when he was a kid. Perfect end of the evening, Ken engaged members of the audience and delivered a very energetic performance making sure we were all totally exhausted from laughing as we left.
All in all, a truly marvellous night, with lots of laughter, mysteries and emotions. And all this for a measly five quid!
Me and Bex stayed for a drink with Brett, after the show, and then we left for the train at about eleven (yes, quite a long poetry night...) and on our way we encountered some very random conversations with a very rude Italian guy actually named Tony, using phrases like "fowged abaod it" (!) and an art student just having been made sheriff of this town. I guess all that poetry just put us in the right kind of mood.
Brett, again, I am so glad I came.
Update! Brett kindly sent me the real names of the performers. They were:
- Nathan Penlington - MC at a weekly night called Short Fuse in Islington
- Suzanne Andrade - very surreal poet well worth watching
- Jack Shamash - co-runs the Poetry Shack - slightly eccentric
- Simon Miles - mad genius?
- Ken Campbell - beyond classification - brilliant and very funny - not poetry but who cared!
Links to interesting stuff I picked up during the show:
URL: The Cremation of Sam McGee, hilarious
URL: Lo! A book that seems worth checking up on
URL: Monkey Dust, TV series
Damn. This thing took me almost an hour to write. Lunch is well over. Better get on with work...
