Telltale reading in Lewes
Spent some of the day getting my poetical ducks aligned before the Telltale poets and friends reading in Lewes tonight, which was a success despite a derailment at Brighton station during the day which made travel really hard along the south coast. Robin and I swapping emails and I phoned Robin to tell her about the travel chaos. One of the readers dropped out at the last minute, but luckily Siegfried was coming, so we got him to do a reading.
Lorraine drove over. Beth came too having been working in Eastbourne. Beth enjoyed herself mingling with poets, and I was really touched that she came. She also took photos which was excellent. Found Robin already there and Lorraine Robin and I shuffled the room around for a bit, and I drank a pint of Harveys and ate some chips in preparation.
For me it was an opportunity to meet more poets such as Martin Malone editor of Interpreter's House, really likeable man and a really good reader. Helen Fletcher had come all the way from Carlisle, and Roy Marshall whose blog I read and admire. Along with the Robin who introduced the night, Charlotte Gann, Clare Best, Jeremy Page, editor of The Frogmore Papers, Stephen Bone, Catherine Smith, Sarah Barnsley, Antony Mair and many others.
I was on first and a bit nervy. I read a new and untried (and I had thought funny) poem about the Brontes and foxes, which was heard in pin drop silence. I read Someone-else's patch, a very old poem of mine which had been published in the now defunct Iron magazine. I delivered this long poem word perfect from memory and this fact alone went down well. After it was over I had a fleeting sense that it had all been dreaful, but this was just a histrionic interlude quelled by Lorraine. From then all that was left for me from then was to enjoy Siegfried, Helen and Martin's performances (which I did a great deal) and drink Harveys and talk afterwards to Robin and many poets. Before he left, Martin managed to set his folder of poems on fire, which led to claims (from him) of being an incendiary poet, and the Jimi Hendrix of poetry and so on. A great venue in the Lewes Arms, which is one of my favourite pubs anyway, and a perfect room upstairs for a bit of wordplay.
Lorraine drove us home, in the car, which is still heavily aromatic after Calliope's regrettable lapses being taken to the vet. A cheery night.
Here is a picture of me taken by Beth or Lorraine doing Someone-else's patch from memory.
Lorraine drove over. Beth came too having been working in Eastbourne. Beth enjoyed herself mingling with poets, and I was really touched that she came. She also took photos which was excellent. Found Robin already there and Lorraine Robin and I shuffled the room around for a bit, and I drank a pint of Harveys and ate some chips in preparation.
For me it was an opportunity to meet more poets such as Martin Malone editor of Interpreter's House, really likeable man and a really good reader. Helen Fletcher had come all the way from Carlisle, and Roy Marshall whose blog I read and admire. Along with the Robin who introduced the night, Charlotte Gann, Clare Best, Jeremy Page, editor of The Frogmore Papers, Stephen Bone, Catherine Smith, Sarah Barnsley, Antony Mair and many others.
I was on first and a bit nervy. I read a new and untried (and I had thought funny) poem about the Brontes and foxes, which was heard in pin drop silence. I read Someone-else's patch, a very old poem of mine which had been published in the now defunct Iron magazine. I delivered this long poem word perfect from memory and this fact alone went down well. After it was over I had a fleeting sense that it had all been dreaful, but this was just a histrionic interlude quelled by Lorraine. From then all that was left for me from then was to enjoy Siegfried, Helen and Martin's performances (which I did a great deal) and drink Harveys and talk afterwards to Robin and many poets. Before he left, Martin managed to set his folder of poems on fire, which led to claims (from him) of being an incendiary poet, and the Jimi Hendrix of poetry and so on. A great venue in the Lewes Arms, which is one of my favourite pubs anyway, and a perfect room upstairs for a bit of wordplay.
Lorraine drove us home, in the car, which is still heavily aromatic after Calliope's regrettable lapses being taken to the vet. A cheery night.
Here is a picture of me taken by Beth or Lorraine doing Someone-else's patch from memory.
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