12 posts tagged “writers cafe”

Here's Ian's ;atest review. October saw brilliant performances from Martin Newell, Rob Halligan and Gareth Davies Jones but unfortunately we had the lowest turn out for artists that travelled a fair distance. Regulars who didn't attend missed a treat therefore!
Ian takes up the story......

REVIEW OF THE WRITERS CAFE 3rd Oct 2007 by Ian

The Writers Café this month had fewer performers than the usual format due to having 2 special guests doing 2 sets each. But it was well worth it as they were wonderful entertainment.

Trevor did his usual sterling job as compere and the first act was Voicebox who are Café regulars. Voicebox are a group of 2 (sometimes 3) poets who perform poetry and playlets and organize a poetry night of their own in Billingham (The Write Room). If you want more details I am sure there is a link on the Café Vox site to their site. Tonight they started with a small play about the current regeneration plans in central Middleborough.

Voicebox

Bitingly satirical in a humorous way it makes its political points with pinpoint precision. I am sure the council would not be as amused as the audience was. They followed this with some poems, taking it in turns to recite them. These were varied in subject matter including the Great North Run, A night out seeing John Cooper Clarke (inspirational and influential Manchester punk poet) and “The Exterminator” about Foxes. Also the wonderfully title “Prisoner of Glenda” about how mates can change after they get married.

Nighfall in Sorrento book

Next Trevor read some of his poems including old favorites” Down Our Street” and “Hey up what’s The Crack”. Trevor has a book out with many of these in and again there are links to get this site on the Café Vox site. Hey Trev how about a free copy for that plug? LOL .

Then was the first set by the first guest this month. Martin Newell is a poet and singer with a good rock pedigree. He used to be in the band Cleaners from Venus and worked with Captain Sensible. He was an energetic performer and very funny and satirical. Talking about proper vinyl records he pointed out that if you were born in 1945 you would have been 33 in 1978. One poem in particular, “House in France” hit home venomously attacking the smug attitudes of many of those who buy a second home abroad. In his introduction he pointed out that this trend increased prices making it difficult or impossible for some locals to live in their own region. A problem also encountered in similar regions in our own country.

After the break we saw the first set by Rob Halligan and Gareth Davies Jones which was part of their TradeCraft tour. Tradecraft is a Gateshead based company who empower people in third world countries to produce good quality marketable goods that they then sell for profit while not exploiting these workers. Gareth pointed out its based on the old adage of give a man some wheat and you feed him for a week, teach him to grow his own wheat and you allow him to feed himself forever. As well as promoting this excellent cause their music was a sheer joy full of harmony, passion and beauty. For some songs Rob provided percussion using a box he sat on which while being an effective technique is fairly new to me, having only seen it previously when Surianne played the Café in August. Their vocals complemented each other and they both played excellent guitar. The outstanding songs of the first set was Butterfly
using the image of a butterfly trapped on the underground as a powerful metaphor and the beautiful Elanor.

They were followed by Martin Newell whose second set was even better than his first. He continued to use humour to poke fun at various targets and make his point effectively. He performed a poem about the birth of Rock N

Roll in the style of linguist Stanley Unwin that he wrote as a tribute to him when he died. The video of this can be viewed on the excellent Vox site (see top post). He was also very poignant as shown in the touching poem “It was just the way She went on”. And anyone who has posed in front of the mirror with a cricket bat, tennis racket or the implement of their choice would have related to the wonderful “I Hank Marvined” which ended with a cleverly ambiguous line about hiding in the shadows. His songs were remarkable to.

Martin then made way for the final act which was the second set by Rob Halligan and Gareth Davies Jones. I found their personal sites using the links on the Writers Café Vox site and found that they are normally solo performers who have come together for the Tradecraft tour. And it was probably to reflect this that they performed many of their songs solo in the second set. Taking it in turns to perform it was an excellent set. Rob Halligan performed a cover of Kate Bush’s “Babushka” and made it his own while

maintaining the integrity of the original. Gareth Davies Jones performed some songs that reflected the tranquility of his Northumberland home.

October showed once again the breadth of entertainment that can be found at the Café. Poetry, music, comedy. Some making political points, some personal ones and some just funny or silly. In Martin Newell we had all of this in one performer. The music of Gareth Davies Jones and Rob Haligan also had many of these qualities and it would be great to see them again.

I know most of you are reading this on the Vox site (and can therefore easily follow the links mentioned). For those of you who are seeing it elsewhere the URL is Writers Cafe on Vox This has now been developed into an excellent site (despite the reviews on it) with lots of news and information about the Writers Café. There are links to many of the performer’s sites which are well worth a visit also. There are pictures and video and audio clips as well and links to all sorts of related sites. It is well worth a good look and regular revist.
Ian

PHOTOS BY ROCKING BRIAN (STUBLEY) (The Writers' Cafe Photographer). Early photos darker than usual owing to the lighting being subdued for the filming of Penny Rimbaud.

Thanks to Dawn and Andy for door duty and to Ann and the staff at the Georgian.

WRITERS' CAFE REVIEW WEDS SEPT 2007 - GEORGIAN THEATRE

September saw a powerhouse performance from singer songwriter ODI ably supported by guitarist Dave Redfearn and the full on poetic anarchy from rock legend (and CRASS member) Penny Rimbaud.

BY IAN (links to his My Space)

This month’s Writer’s Café marked it’s 3rd birthday and proved that it is still going strong with a mix of new talent, established performers and guest artists. Opening the evening was Jamie Sample an experienced performer with a growing reputation but making his debut at the Café. As previously noted this is not the easiest slot of the night warming up the audience while some are still arriving. But Jamie’s acoustic pop and warm style set the tone for a good evening.

He was followed by another Café debut; poet John

Glasper read a poem called “To have a wild time”. A thoughtful piece well read with confidence. A performer to watch in future.

Trevor then perforformed some of his poems, including a new one about e-mail spam that had a bite to it. In contrast to the previous performers laid back reading Trevor’s work is suited to his fast delivery that prompted ODi to call him “The 50 Cent of Stockton”. Trevor and John Glasper showed the range of diversity in style possible in poetry, both excellent performers although very different.

Trevor was followed by Paul Hanafin who is becoming a regular at the Café. He had recently returned from a period of playing mainly covers in Spain. The evidence of tonight is that this experience has been well used and Paul played a storming set. His acoustic pop songs bounced along with maturity and style. His whistling on 2 songs was wonderful; a rare feat as I find whistling is often gimmicky or weak. Some songs had mixed moods and tempo in the same song and provided a rousing end to the first half of the evening.

The second half was opened by ODi. ODi is a female singer songwriter from Wexford in Ireland but currently based in Leeds. She was accompanied on vocals and guitar by Dave, who also played harmonica on the first song. More a musical partner than a hired musician the pair were enchanting performers who sang songs of fragile beauty. These included the sublime “What You Deserve” and the more poppy single “Crawl”. One was performed by Claire solo though the rest were performed by both, Claire also playing guitar on most. This duo were a delight with wonderful songs and would have been an excellent top of the bill and I for one hope for a return performance.

(More pics of Odi in the image gallery)
Odi My Space

Odi on bebo

Odi on Vox

Top of the bill however was Penny Rimbaud a man rightly described by Trevor as a Rock n Roll legend. I must confess here that I was, and still am a huge fan of his work with Crass. They were a highly politicized anarchist punk band of the late 70’s and early 80’s who achieved a lot and not just in the field of music. Penny is now a performance poet and he really put the performance into performance poetry. However this also was truly a double act with Louise providing musical support on flute and saxophone. This was a jazz based form and quietly set the mood for the words

and soared between them. Yet another example of music working in partnership with poetry. Penny still has all the anger and outrage that were evident with Crass, and it would be easy to dismiss him as another angry idealist. Easy but wrong, his work is filled with humanity and hope for those who listen. One work “America” was an angry blast at the might and its misuse by the government of that country (and by association our own). Yet he uses the “Bring me your huddled masses” motto of this country not only to devastating effect in his condemnation of it but as the beacon of hope it was meant to represent. And in the same poem while condemning the nation he mentions outstanding individuals thereby making the point that it’s not all Americans he condemns. The opening poem was a more personal offering; based around an incident when he was knocked of his bike it explored that experience and some aspects of modern life. From the opening moments of pure noise generated by flute and voice this was a performance that had visual power as well as Aural and Penny used the whole stage prowling round and crouching to make a point, and waiting in the wings as Louise took the metaphorical limelight.

God's Own Protypes are a Stockton band (hear one of their tracks below) and often play the Writers' Cafe in their acoustic incarnation as The Steve Marron Project
(pictured below)

Review Writers Café 4th August 2007

REVIEW OF THE WRITERS CAFE BY IAN

HEADLINED BY SURIANNE AND SUPPORTED BY KARL ELAND AND THE STEVE MARRON PROJECT AND BECKY CHERRIMAN.

The August Writers Café was part of the Stockton International Riverside Fringe Festival and was held on a Saturday afternoon for a change. Fringe policy is to subsidise these events and have free entrance. This resulted in a different audience to usual and a different atmosphere. It was nice also to see children watching and enjoying the show.

The Steve Marron Project (AKA God's Own Prototypes) started proceedings and although there was not a large

audience at the start (the Carnival was still on!) their enthusiasm and dedication was undimmed. Their melodic and haunting tunes made an inspiring start to the afternoon’s entertainment. They played their song “Lost” which inspired by the TV series of the same name seems to explore similar but wider areas.

Trev Teasdel (His My Space) (Here for his Songs and poems on Vox)  took up compere duty again but also performed some of his own poetry. These included “Down Our Street” and “Hey Up! What’s the Crack?” and a brand new one called "Nightfall in Sorrento". As usual Trevor’s performance poured life and rhythm into his work proving that performance poetry need not be dull.

Indeed this could have been a theme for the afternoon as performers with

Paul Wilde - Poet

different styles showed what large variation can be covered by the classification of poetry. A case in point is Paul Wild whose more reflective delivery reflected his style of writing. But still no less poignant or powerful. He performed a poem about cartoon empire Disney and one called “If We Lived in New York” which includes one of my favourite lines “The Fall is a band from Manchester, not a season”. As someone once said we and America are “two nations divided by a common language”. I think it was Oscar Wilde but if anyone cares to enlighten me answers on a postcard please e-mailed to my Ian's My Space site.

Dominic Windram - Poet

Paul was followed by Dominic Wyndram whose poems tackled more political and global subject matter. Some poets perform such material exhibiting their passion but Dominic’s calm deliver adds a chilling intensity to the anger he conveys at these atrocities and events.

Karl Eland followed making his debut at the Writers' Café. Having travelled from Preston he epitomized another two of the attributes of Trevor’s programming. His nurturing of new talent and his ability to bring in class acts from outside Teesside. Karl sang and played some excellent self penned tunes which while thoughtful were entertaining. One notable song was “Dust in the Wind” about a man who could best be described by the title.

Then another change of poetry style. Denise Moss not

Denise Moss - writer

only repeated her usual trick of performing works different to the other poets but on this occasion performed works that were also different to her usual macabre style. She delighted the audience with some Milliganesque nonsense verse that related to each other in a delightful way telling a weird yet wonderful tale.

Becky Cherriman - Flash Fiction Poems

Becky Cherriman (M/S Writer on My Space) from Leeds performed some of her Flash Fiction next. This is basically very short stories and she writes and performs works that make this art form look easy. However with an economical yet extremely effective use of words she tells descriptive, interesting and amusing stories. “Park Girls” is one favourite making even this old reviewer aware of the trauma’s and confused feelings of teenage years. “Pam’s House” told the ultimately horrifying story of a woman’s obsession with her home. And an amusing tale of a wedding party where the guests dressed in animal costumes and behaved accordingly.

Steve Marron Project

The Steve Marron Project played a second set and were rewarded with a larger audience. This set was more upbeat than the first and the songs where both play guitar allow the lead guitar to enhance the tunes with intricate melodies. Subject matter included being dumped and a road trip across America. But one favourite was a harmlessly innuendo laden tribute to 80’s heavy rock that was written with tongues firmly in cheek.

Then Karl Eland played a second set, with more of his songs. Including

Karl Eland - Great Set

“Taking on the World” and “The Other Side”. He repeated “Dust in Wind” (about a restless heart) because it is a favourite of his Mother and Sister. It was a song worthy of hearing a second time as indeed is Karl Eland and I am sure he will be invited back to the Café soon.

WC-Aug-07 053

Then Becky Cherriman from Leeds performed some of her poetry. This was written and performed with the same economical yet descriptive skill as her flash fiction and was equally as entertaining. “Shadow Never Sleeps” and “Hair” were entertaining but for me the highlight was a poem called “My Paisley Quilt” about abuse within a marriage which included the chilling line “There are worse rapes than this”

Stuart Watson performed next; although he was from Canterbury he had

Stuart Watson - Protest songs

roots in the Teesside and Durham area. Another guitarist and singer he sang songs in a more traditional folk tradition. They were anti war and revolved around his grandfather’s experiences in the mines and First World War. Together they formed a damning indictment of the effects of that war in particular, and war in general, on those called to fight.

Surianne stunning the audience

The Café was headlined by Surianne and her band who headed the bill (Surianne on Vox). Another performer brought in from out of the area to entertain us. Born in Gibraltar and based in London Surianne performed songs in a unique style mixing conventional pop and flamenco with her beautiful voice that soared and filled the theatre without overpowering the ears of the audience. The band played acoustic instruments including percussion

Surianne and band

that was basically just a box. Her first song was “The

WC-Aug-07 136

Impossible” one Trevor had announced as one of his favorites in his introduction. Surianne was called out for a well deserved encore which she performed with just the guitarist enchanting further a delighted audience. A great act to close the show with.

As a showcase of the wide range of poetic and musical styles on display a

WC-Aug-07 142

t a typical Café this afternoon was a great success. As an example of entertainment it was a triumph. It often amazes me at how month after month Trevor puts together such a bill of mixed yet excellent talent, giving performance space to experienced artists and nurturing new talent. Yet the success of the Café lies not only in the list of those who performed in August but also in the list of people who regularly entertain at

Surianne - Latin Rhythms

the Café but were not performing this month.

Part 1 - Countryscapes
I'd taken a break from the literary and music scenes while the kids were young and was going to relaunch with a new poetry magazine for Teesside - Streetpoems (named after a 70's Birmingham Magazine I had an association with years back and still admired). I produced the first issue but lack of funds delayed it. However contacting people for material led to me being asked to help Paul Williams lauch the Writers Cafe. I done similar things before so he wanted my help and things really took off for the Writers Cafe and the mag idea was left behind. However there was some good stuff inthe first issue so I'll put it on her and hopefully it will enjoy a wider audience!

BLAKEY RIDGE

Through the canopy of cloud

Filter fine drizzle cools a warm cheek

And glistens the dull tarmac.

Sepulchre grey mists

Form into clinging shrouds

Hushing the rising wind which wails like

A quartet of haunted flutes.

Sheep meekly cluster

Like plump oatmeal dumplings

Whilst a canvas of Autumn shades

Seek to embellish

The hard nakedness of the horizon.

Scarred Ralph’s cross

Weeps forgiveness to the vandal.

Jean Cumbor

WINTER GRANDEUR

Peeks stand isolated and pristine

Against the skies of steel

Starched crystals

Form a dusting of icing sugar

On the mountains.

Slivery paths

Snake their way

Towards the horizon and beyond

Rushing icy water

Tumbles down into the gouged earth

Its spray coating

The overhanging trees

Turning the fringes of grass

Into organ pipes.

Landscapes cloaked

With a mantle of patience

Rough edges smoothed

By time and snows.

Jean Cumbor (Gt. Ayton)

A WOMAN WATCHES FROM A WOOD

Nor the dipper-bird in its diving

Beneath the viaduct, by the waterfall;

Nor the force of the river in its driving

Towards the sea and the sea’s call,

Nor the lilac that bends in the breeze

Farther down at Rushpool Hall;

Not the squirrel that skips in the trees

Or the hedgehog in its prickly ball

Knows the heart of the watchful girl

Dives, drives, bends, skips and also curls.

Mark Beevers (Saltburn)

 

THE NEW GHOSTS

By field, forest, seacliff, scarp and moor,

Many a small track and bridal path

Tied together like any old bits of string.

We walk the thread of the Cleveland Way,

In a wild weather company of monks,

Drovers, merchants, pilgrims, panniermen,

And now, since sections are newly flagged

With floorstones fetched from old Bradford Mills

The children who trod them call to each other

Through the clattering storm of the looms.

John Brelstaff (Guisborough)

Light Our Darkness

Black skeletons of trees and roofs,

A single early eastern beam:

Sun slits the mist to slice downpouring rain -

A shaft that breaks the block of black-walled sky,

Received, restores a summer blaze to autumn’s faded leaves,

Enlivens old stone houses’ golden lichen crusts;

A jet of light imprisoned—escaped, -

Rekindles burnt out cinders’ glow;

A force from curtains emergent, power transmits

Transmuting threat to hope in the ambient black;

Light burst from darkness there,

Here darkness yields to light;

A moment’s promise of ultimate evergreen

In the eternal grey of the ephemeral;

And I at the centre, between good and evil,

Conscious of this unforgettable, perhaps repeatable instant,

See, in a flash of disclosure, a revelation

Of truth, of options before us.

Margaret Mawston

November Calm

I walked where autumn’s rarity held sway -

That bliss emerged from gale, fog, frost and rain:

Soft sunshine still soaking passive fields.

The calm that filled the place passed into me.

 

Long simple lines of moorland ‘gainst the sky

Quelled inner turbulence like oil on heavy sea:

A lakeside image roused itself in mind -

Smooth surface spreading stress-reliving balm.

Margaret Mawston (Gt. Ayton)

A Harder Harvest - Poem and Photo by Terry Lawson - Staithes

An open palmed autumn, fruit late on the bough, 

Snaps shut with a freezing North Wester;

Tight fisted winter’s hammering now,

Any wind barriers are uselessly down.

 

‘Bad weather birds’ shriek red legged in the beck,

Black backed ‘gulls scrap the others for gut;

People look bulky and hurried again,

Chimneys belch smoke and black soot.

 

The once many hued leaves are a blackened mat now

Thickening the forest floor,

The evergreen Ivy’s still throttling dead trunks

And the brambles just a tangle under foot

But baited lines are on fishermen’s heads again,

Mussel shell again carpets the beck,

For winter cod’s grazing close again,

And the cobles steam out with the hook.

Poem & Photo by Terry Lawson (Staithes)

Co-editor with Trevor of OUTLET MAGAZINE

JUNKMAIL

There’s a rainforest in my front porch

Not the kind you’d expect at all

Not trees endowed with greenery

And spiralled branches standing tall.

 

Not misty, swirling clouds of rain

Shedding dew on the highest trees.

Not mating calls from exotic birds

Oh no! it’s none of these.

 

Just an accumulation of coloured trash

Lying on my carpeted floor

A mass of unnecessary junk

Comes clattering through my front door.

 

Plethoric words on paper and card

Superfluous to my daily needs

Jump out in letters big and bold

Demands I do not wish to read.

 

I’d rather see the tall trees growing

Not strewn upon my front door mat

Chewed and torn by the dog

Ending in litter used by the cat.

Sara Newby (Darlington)

LIFE IS A RIVER

Life is a river

The font of spring its birth.

Bubbling forth, tumbling,

Murmuring, falling, bobbling,

Finding its own level.

 

The strong youthful stream

Gathers strength, cutting

Forcefully in its youth.

The river cuts ravines

Against the contours of conformity.

 

Racing to the martial

Falls of war, thundering

As in war, it falls

To the peaceful pool

Of love and peace

 

From where it gathers grace and width,

Now fertile, strong, wide,

It graces the great plain

Now crossed by bridges wide.

 

On towards the Solent

Of the Seven the Seven Seas,

Veiled in mysterious mists

The river now is not but one with the sea.

 

Returns in rain again

To fertile mountains green.

Again in life the river

Springs continuously.

Life is not your but a river

 

Tim  Lofthouse (Redcar)

(Reprinted from In Our Write Minds -  booklet produced by  Trev Teasdel from his Leed University  Special Needs Creative Writing Class 1993.

 

 

 

 

VISIT BECKY'S NEW WEBSITE - Here
I met Becky (Ms Writer on her My Space) at Shandy Hall in North Yorkshire at a Creative Writing / Literature

workshop at Lawrence Sterne's vicarage (author of Tristram Shandy). We had Becky up to the Writers cafe in May and she went down well. Becky has sent some of her stories for the site but first a bit about here (in her own words) -

Posted by Trevor -

I met Dominic Windram at the ARC (Stockton's Arts Centre) in 2004 when we started the Writers's Cafe (now based

at the Georgian Theatre). Dominic was a creative writing student in Carmen Thompson's class (one of our original organisers), a home tutor and poet. He began performing his work at the Writers cafe and got involved with our performance group with Sarah and June and Dionne. Dominic is a serious poet with a deep intellectual strain to his work that bites at hyprocisy and exploitations, is often radical or spirtiually inclined but in an unsual way. I helped publish and design some of his books under Glass Orange imprint. They sell for about £2 each. If anybody wants copies send a message to the Writers Cafe and I will pass it on to Dominic.

Two Poems from Artificial Eden by Dominic Windram (Here is the cover of Dom's 2nd Book The Season Cycle as well - Covers designed by Trev Teasdel)

A Counterfeit kind of love

 

Quick fix culture:

Terrified to face itself;

Terrified to discover

An empty shell.

 

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust

Love is reduced to animal lust.

Love is now just an exchange of fluids;

Love is now just a fashion accessory.

It's about what's compatible, (seriously)

Between well matched sets of personality packages

 

Where is the love that is real in space and time?

And yet which transcends space and time.

Which is fully conscious of itself,

And longs to embrace the divine.

 

We can only regret our failure to achieve.

That which the mystics claim is both real and transcendent;

That which is within our reach; within our grasp.

Some cannot regret as they know no other;

They eat, and sleep and go to work and fall in love or lust;

And engage in a range of leisure pursuits.

And live their lives within a narrow frame of reference

Because they know no other.

 

Quick fix culture;

 Cold and numb,

Born of frustration,

Built for fun.

The Pleasure Principle -(Addiction Theme)

 

Quick fix culture - born of sensation.

We're perched headlong on the fast lane

To burn out leading to boredom.

The desolate spaces within each of us,

Will not be filled, refreshed or healed by

The relentless pursuit of one night stands.

 

Prozac prescribed to millions of persons;

To numb the pain of existence,

But it never heals the inner kingdom.

Just scratches the outer surface

Of the ravaged ego's deadly

Hydra like symptoms.

 

All our lives we seem to move.

Back and forth from dark to light;

From light to darkness;

From the cradle to the grave,

We are the eternal seekers;

Expectant and self serving,

But the search for new sensation

Leads to the threshold of despair

 

Invasion of the pure, pools of silence

By the endless noise of desire.

Addictions that sidetrack and eclipse

The hallowed energy of our higher selves.

Addictions that deaden our truest desires:

From tranquilisers to 'angel dust' and heroin.

 

If its ecstasy that you crave

Desire creates more desire

If its escape that you crave

Desire feeds off desire

 

 

Celebrating 40 years of creative writing.

This groups is indeed one of the longest standing Writers' Groups in the Tees Valley area - evolving and changing along the way.

We USUALLY meet the first Monday of everymonth at 7.00pm in the Town Hall Darlington. new Members very welcome. £1.50 subs. Please see website. Darlington Writers' Circle Website for date of next meeting and more information, including profiles of some of our members

Darlington Writers' Circle website

Telephone Albert Hill on 01325 462487
Email: info@darlington-writers-circle.org.uk

All welcome - published, ambitious, just for fun.
NEXT MEETING: JUNE 11TH 2007 7.00PM DARLINGTON TOWN HALL
Website being developed with more information.

Posted by Trevor
Here is a selection of poetry from the main Writers Cafe site to be found HERE. The poetry on the site includes material from performers at the Writers Cafe and International contacts. A link back to more of each poets work will be found by their names. I will add some audio versions soon to some of these posts where available.

Belinda Subraman is from the USA and has lived in various countries as her poetry reflects. She is the dynamic editor of the poetry magazine Gypsy, which began in the 80's and is still gong in a Podcast from on her My Space. Belinda has several cosmic and inspirational My Spaces and more links to her sites can be found on her post on the Cafe's main site HERE. I came across Belinda in the 80's when she published one of my poems in Gypsy and found here again on My Space. Here is one of her poems - more to be found on our main site...

Another Holocaust

Every night in Sudan ,

children walk miles

to be locked in,

eagerly jailed

against a greater harm:

torture, rape, murder.

Every morning

they walk back

to semi safety,

no respect

and little love

in their small lives.

Some run

toward their cold friend, Death,

protector from further harm.

This is not broadcast.

We watch sitcoms, soaps

and staged reality shows

about American egos.

We moan the price of gas for our SUVs

while children walk in fear, without hope.

........................

June Dixon (along with Sarah Henderson) were the Writers Cafe

reviewers in the days we were based at the Arc. Their contributions to the cafe were numerous and I witnessed their development from new poets to confident performers, reviewers, guitar players, to songwriters, playwrights and a band in the short space of two years. They formed a group called Knitware and when had a performance group that played the Studio in Hartlepool and the Spa in Saltburn and elsewhere with actress Dionne and poet Dominic. They were fun days! Sarah's poetry will appear here when I find some (or she sends some more), meanwhile here is one of June's poems with more the be found HERE

Habitual Liar

Temptation, like honey, drips
Its shiny film – sweet and pungent –
onto your mesh of fresh resolve
squelching through the vents

Your voice – squeaky like plastic –
affects overwhelming sweetness.
Yet your breath’s sour stench
betrays your eyes’ watery promise.

Your nails’ polished exterior
is tarnished and I am smote;
juicy red, stained yellow:
you are denounced by tobacco’s ghost

The headless stalk of your sin
lies without on a tablet of stone
where your crunching boot’s unyielding
underbelly thudded the roan.

But the poison lives on inside you
and poisons the atmosphere between us.

...............

Carmen Thompson - I met Carmen when we started the Writers Cafe, she was the Education officer for the ARC (Stockton's plush Arts Centre) and although she was responsible to the ARC for overseeing the project from their angle, Carmen was a poet herself and threw herself into the project with a zest unusual for an arts administrator! She must have felt role conflict at times as we regarded her as part of our team as well as the our link with the managment of the ARC but Carmen was dynamic and so in tune with all our our ideas and aspirations. Her contribution the development of the Writers Cafe and its success was outstanding. I have a lot of respect for her both as a friend and as an arts administrator (if only all arts adminstrators had the skill to straddle both roles without being at all patronising!). A joy to work with. Carmen also ran a Creative Writing group from which many of the students developed in to first time performers at the Writers Cafe. Here is a poem by Carmen - with more  to be found HERE

Glastonbury 98

Open your mind
To the blind – drug hunger
Hit hawkers cry
Acid e’s and whiz
Hash cake, hash cookies
Sweetmeats for the semiconscious
The hunger of dealers and users
The mute hunger of the curious
Joining in the subterranean chorus of need
The need
To be off it
Out of it
Cold scum
Filthy sky
Any where but planet I
Where mary jane waits with her arms open wide
And i
Sink with the rain
Beneath the pulse of the caustic bass
I stare past sockets where eyes have been
My eyes struck still by the slow moving grace of a smile.

by Carmen Thompson

Katie Metcalf - Katie was young and new writer not long out of hospital

after suffering from Anorxia. She performed her poetry for the first time at the Writers' Cafe and we encouraged her and helped to build her confidence so that soon she graduated from doing  a five minute Open Mic spot to being booked to do a longer set. She joined in some of the Creative Writing classes in the area and began performing her poems further afield and then she wrote a book full of insights into her experience of Anorexia with useful insights that are helpfully to families whose off spring suffer from this. The book took off and next thing we know Katie is being reviewed by the Guardian and the Independant and her book is being hailed. It was a joy to watch Katie transform her life and problems from a negative into such a postive in such a short space of time. Here is a poem or two in which she began to translate her awful experience into the written and spoken word - with more to be HERE

Hi Annie

Hi Annie
How are you today?
I am great, fine and dandy
I ate less than Mandy
At lunchtime today.
The sandwich Mum made went straight in the bin
Except for the tomato slice, but that was wafer thin.
Gym today was fantabidosy
I showed Mandy my thighs as she was being nosy.
She said I was thin, she said I was grim,
But what is she between us?
Hi Annie
How are you today?
I’m scared,
Feel alone,
I’m no longer at home,
I’m in a room where there are bars at the window
And I’m ordered to stay on my bed
Annie why don’t you come and help me
Come and step out of my head
And hold my hand like a real true friend
Annie please come and help me
I’ve been asked to eat
But I can’t
I’ve been asked to drink something too
And the people here are blaming my actions on you…

Katie Metcalfe. 2005

Ann Wainwright - I met Ann at Teesside Poly in 1980 shortly after my move from Coventry to Teesside. For 27 years Ann has been a close friend and co-conspirator on the poetry scene on Teesside. In 1982 she began Cleveland's first Poetry magazine Poetic Licence and I started the Multi-Media Workshops / gigs at the Poly encouraging drama, poetry and music. Soon we put the two together and established the Castalians (later the New Poetry Scene) from 1982 to 1984 at the Dovecot Arts Centre in Stockton (a forerunner of the Writers Cafe). On the Writers Cafe 's move to  the Georgian Theatre Ann once again helped us re-establish the Cafe after the former team broke up, despite living miles from Teesside now. Her more prolific period of poetry writing was in the early 80's and I loved the quirkyness of her poetry (meaning that to be a positive comment as in not at all common place!). Here is a poem by Ann with more to be found HERE

THE ART OF DEFEATING YOUR FOE

i kiss these kissed lips no more

now spring has shown the way to go.

infirm, undone i feel i

am indeed a noble victory

that has been won-

i praise my men

(they fought so hard and well)

as oaken trees

(while i was sapless)

as is my won't.

acting no more, the day has come

for kissing a farewell

to your silken lipsofanger

hanging onto my tongue

(never let it go).

when kissing was a game

it came more easily

(such a lark it was)

no more.

Ann Wainwright 1981

Margaret Weir was my partner during the 90's - she became

chair of Middlesbrough Writers Group (where we met) and I helped her form the Phoenix Poetry Group with students from my many Creative Writing courses at the time. She soon became involved with Outlet - the Cleveland Poetry / literary develpment magazine I ran) as an editor and with Write Arite ( the Literary festival that was formed from Outlet). Margaret networked  with all the writers groups I set up in the Cleveland area and few that wer already running and soon had them interacting with each other. Things slowed down when we had kids but a lot of ground work had been done in establishing a dynamic community based writing culture in the Tees Valeey area which has been been built on considerably. Here is one of Margaret's poems about those who come to the area as careeist - establish some great things to put on their CV before moving on to higher things having done little or nothing for the area and its indigenous people. This is especially true in the arts. The great thing about it is that when she read it out at Write Around Everybody was paranoid it was about them - even the visiting poet who Margaret had no previous knowledge of! It was certainly remember for a while.

WHITE LILIES (A Poem for Cleveland) 1990 by Margaret Weir

You who arrive like white lilies against the sun

Your hand clutching your blood red heart

Or is it a sword?

To build ivory cities in the future and the past

The future which you can own and the past which you do not

Take it and bend and mould the pliable steel until

It fits you’re perfect dream

As sweet, as true, every bit the picture postcard

As her rose clad garden, the sparkling hills and sea

His ballad of the fireside cat.

 

What shall I say of you?

That you were merely a lily

Trying to create an oasis

Out of the desert of the past

Which, from the safe, safe haven

Of your land of milk and honey

You can neither understand nor see.

Margaret Weir

 

MORE FROM THE POETRY GALLERY LATER IN ANOTHER POST....