Saturday, 14 March 2015

Write Out Loud, Stockport write up March 2015

A few of you may know I have been going to Write Out Loud's monthly
poetry open mike at Stockport Art Gallery for a few years ago and always
have a good laugh there.

Usually, it is ran by John Keane who always provides a great write up
/ report of what everybody reads as well as encouraging everybody
to write a collage poem in reaction to what gets wrote by everybody
writing a line and folding the piece of paper over and then the next person
carries on without been aware of what was wrote.

Sadly for the March meeting up, John was ill so I took over for the night 
and have wrote the following about the night as well as the collage poem for
the night.

Next meet up is 13th April 2015 from 7pm to 9pm. Admission is free.

Despite the absence of our normal organisater John (Get well soon John), I (Andy N)
Stood up to the front and lend everybody through another action packed night of Write Out Loud, Stockport on the theme of Exile.

Starting as seems to be norm sometimes was Nigel who read out for me at least a quite surprising change of topic a piece called ‘Totally and madly in love’ which
Tackled a 1st love at school and much to my surprise contained no references to the bike shed.

Dorinda followed up with a poem that she advised was inspired by Elizabeth Gaskell’s ‘Mary Barton’ which prompted a very stirring poem called ‘Exile to Partial Oblivion’ dealing with starvation back in those days where some parents who were so
Poor used to dose their children up on drugs so they didn’t have to feed them. Not a topic I knew much about, but really brought a shiver to all of our backs.

Chris then followed with a very sad but powerful piece which I think was called ‘Man in the Square’ which was about a lonely man meeting his daughter which for me had to be one of the best pieces I’ve heard of hers so far.

Dave Keyworth, a gentleman I’ve known since way before I came to Stockport read out a poem called ‘Bucket and Spade’ which was a piece which is typical Dave layered with double meanings and drew a slight debate among the group about the outsider in the piece was he was alive or not.

Mescench carried on by surprising me by reading out a very powerful poem which he did at the Contact Theatre a few weeks ‘3-2-1’ which covered by the sound of things a shooting and was powerful enough to make you think you were in the scene itself.

Martin changed gears with a historical piece which kinda set the scene for my piece after called ‘The Exile’ with a beautifully realised poem about a hero of mine growing ‘Napoleon’ which if the gent in question could read this from the next world would have been proud off it.

The first poem I myself offered as a interesting one as I explained I had moved addresses since I had last attended Stockport, and shortly after moving received a phone call from my father saying they had found a box of my very old writings in the loft, and the first piece I read out ‘Strike Action’ was a incomplete piece from around 2002 to 2003 talking about my father’s reaction to the miners strike in 1985 after been laid off himself in similar circumstances in 1982 at GEC, an old engineering firm in Trafford Park. John I feel would have been proud of the historical polictians leaning of this piece.

Dave tried following it up with a old children’s poem which started off Chutter, Chutter, chatter, chatter which alas he forgot the words off which he promised to try and remember better for the following time, which took back to Nigel who read out a really dramatic piece called ‘Weather’ I think about Winter being sent into Exile which considering how lovely a day it had been was perfect.

Dorinda like me, I found out when it was her time to read again next couldn’t make Februarys meeting and therefore was unable to read out her poem on the theme of Cages (which I did have a poem but alas forgot to bring it along) and read out her poem called Cages I believe which was about a life of some ladies of the night. Always think it’s a dangerous ground sometimes writing poems on this kind of topic without it becoming too political or preachy, but Dorinda carried it nicely, kinda reminding of a piece which I have forgotten the name of by the punk poet, Joolz. Good stuff.

Chris read out a new one straight after which I think she said she had wrote that afternoon during a trip to Gorton Monestry. I’ve not been there myself even though I don’t live that far away from it, but the memories it brought out of Belle Vue argeed with everybody.

Dave K came out with another very moving piece which if I am honest took as something a good deal more seedy than it was called ‘Load’ which talked about a driver delivering a load in a truck and wouldn’t give it up made me think of my mate, Andy from university who worked as a door to door salesman once and the way he couldn’t leave that very lonely lifestyle behind when it was time to move. Moving.

Mescah followed after that with a poem that had something to do with the Holy Ghail, which sadly upon typing up my notes I can’t make out when I wrote down, but I do remember it again like his previous poem again having a lot of weight in. Great Stuff again before Martin then followed through again with a epic poem called Lost I think which really was a masterpiece of clever writing and by my reckoning would go well at most open mikes.

I then read a very short poem called ‘Paradise of Strangers’ about a drunken woman who came to my last writing workshop and left in the second half when she was barely able to stand up anymore. I’ve ran my workshop for a few years now, and it never ceases to surprise me what kind of characters you get sometimes coming to it.

David read out a old favourite ‘From a Distance’ which if I am not honest was not sure if it was a poem but raised some interesting points about plastic football pitches before Nigel finished the first half with a cracker of a poem called ‘Scent of Fear’ which was very Cool Hand Luke (Paul Newman film) like and delivered with a venom.

Second Half

After the power of the first half, Dorinda very wisely and quite cleverly I felt started things off with a much lighter poem called ‘Mary’s burnt her toast’ which made me think of my brother burning some toast not too many years ago at my mum and dad’s and setting the smoke alarm at 4am and had my Dad running round like a greyhound. Great stuff again.

Chris carried on with a old favourite, a beautiful moving tribute to her grandson which I am sure we have heard before but who cares when it is as good as this before Dave K caught me out with a film poem ‘The Shosktakovich Twirl’ which I had to get him to write it down for me (perks of Dyspraxia for you) and what I always love about Dave’s writing in the sense of he’s been clever but not for the sake for it.

We had two journey poems after in very different ways from Mescah who wrote a poem that went totally off the point on purpose about something not listening to the other before tieing it up quite cleverly at the end again and Martin’s which really took you on a journey with another masterclass in language. Excellent pieces all round there guys.

I then read out the first piece of my Ghost Story II sequence which I will be writing 30 of them as part of Napwrimo in April and without going on too much about it can be read about here

David finished with a piece which I don’t think I had heard before about Cambridge and finished off with the lines ‘I am not a poet, I am a wordsmith’ which is a perfect way to finish off this report.

The next meeting will be on the 13 April 2015 at Stockport Art Gallery again as normal at 7pm and has a optional theme of ‘Easter’.

An poem was wrote to reflect the night by each one writing a line as normal not reading the previous persons lines and this was:


Numbers lost tutting in a happy mode
Lost for words but is nice to see you all
One, two, three bloody Mary
Has burnt that toast again
Seeing your face light up
When you see mine

A shining beam pierces the darkness
Stallions taking you on a chariot ride
Watching animals at Belle Vue

Three two one and the bullets are all gone.