Reflecting on Canberra is like reflecting on when you first met the love of your life.
This crew GOT IT. They understood.
After everything we'd been through. From misunderstandings about what exactly a night of spoken word would entail, to lack of contact from venues, and weeks where "there's just so much on, don't worry, people would have loved it if they had come..."
Canberra had our back from the beginning.
In most cases when organising a tour I would assume you would contact anyone you know and see what they can do and are willing to do to help. I mean, that makes sense to me.
And Canberra dived in headfirst. The arts community in Canberra is blood and bone deep with each other.
And I've heard people say, "Oh, they don't have much going on there anyway. So that's why they were so keen to help."
Well. First of all fuck you. Arrogant dicks.
And second of all fuck you, there is HEAPS going on in Canberra.
So when we had a full house at Smiths Alternative Bookshop. When they gave every being of themselves in listening. When Aus Poetry Slam Champ CJ Bowerbird not only performed the most stunning set, collaborated with me AND got us on radio twice...
I realised something.
There are excuses offered up daily, weekly, monthly by people in art. From Brisbane to Sydney and back we played some glorious gigs. But there were always excuses. Excuses for why and how and who and what. Excuses for not getting numbers because of such n such. Excuses for not getting back to me and such n such.
In Canberra, there were no excuses. The people who supported us gave no excuses or reasons, they just supported us from a deep love of art and people and the world. They communicated. They let us know what was good and what wouldn't work and gave it all to us from the sincere position of people wanting other people to succeed because when YOU succeed WE succeed and that is a beautiful thing. I've never experienced anything like it.
I will go back to Canberra at the drop of a hat. Because their reasons for supporting art are just... because...
I've never seen an Aus Poetry Slam champ bend over backwards to help me out like that. Or a community of artists put us up in a house to jam and eat and laugh like that. Or a crowd so willing to listen and laugh and heckle and cry like that. Canberra couldn't and didn't put a foot wrong. I don't think that crew know how to. There was something so pure and loving about that gig and that week that will stay with me for the rest of my life. We gave our all into those performances because there was no other option. Canberra gave their all in loving and supporting us.
Canberra, the love of my life.
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Roar Poets - Tour Diary 4 - Sydney
Coming in to Sydney was like a gift from the gods.
Candy Royalle met me at the train station fresh from the airport. I looked like a hobo, and she said as much as we hugged and I lumped all my stuff in her car.
She drove me to her place where I was going to stay until I took the bus to Canberra in a few days time.
Rounding the bend, I glimpsed the ocean, a deep emerald contrasting the vibrant blue of the sky.
What the...?
Ocean?
Oh I had missed her.
Sometimes you forget where your heart really lays until you see it.
The ocean...
It gets better.
Candy took me to her place, a little shack overlooking Tamarama (right next to Bondi) that I swear was built specifically for poets. She showed me my room - yep, I had a real room and a bed and everything! (I was crashing on Randall's couch for my two week stint in Melbourne, which was great, but damnnnnnn a REAL bed!!!)
Putting all my stuff away (poet talk for exploding my clothes in my room), I looked over the balcony at the view which was to greet me every morning and was soon to give me views of joggers, lovers walking, tourists scoping the sites, surfers waiting for the next break and whales migrating.
I was in heaven.
And Candy was the mentor I never knew I needed. She could relate to my journey and my frustrations and my excitement. She helped me put this tour in perspective - that, as a first time actual "tour, I had done marvellously and should be proud of myself. Once people catch on, she said, there'll be no turning back. You'll get your big crowds, people just don't know yet.
There was no need to justify WHY I wanted a great big audience, a loving vibe and to be able to show my art to the world. She knew that it didn't matter.
Candy Royalle gave me the permission to be an artist, struggling or successful, delighted or upset... just an artist trying to push through and make something of myself.
She got it.
And without her I think my Sydney experience wouldn't have taught me half as much.
I got to perform at the Outspoken finale on Wednesday night and when Ray asked me to finsih the night off, I was anxious, because these events tend to go for a long time and I was worried people might filter out after Luka and Omar had their stage time. Didn't happen. What DID happen is one of the coolest things I'll ever have in my experience bank.
I slayed em.
A packed house.
Most of them unaware of who I was and why I would be the final artist for the night.
You should have heard the roars, the laughter, and the pin-drop silence...
It was nice to be given that kind of status and to not only own it, but smash it right out of the park.
Luka asked me to peform with him the next night at his show on Broadway which I obliged. A great show, one which introduced me personally to The Tongue - an artist whose career I've followed for a while and have always admired. For him to tell me he was really impressed and hint at a future collaboration was awesome.
If the collaboration never happens I won't mind. It was cool to just connect.
The Roar Poets gig was great, if somewhat smaller than anticipated due to the heavy week of words it had been. Outspoken + Luka's surprise gig meant people were worded out and probably pretty broke. So we had an intimate night of words at 107 Projects - the BEST and most supportive crew of people I think I've ever met. They made the night so amazing with their professionalism and understanding of what the night could be. The sound, the lights, the seating... everything was perfect.
What was amazing was Candy Royalle proving that this was a night to be celebrated. Her introductory performance was inspired and incredible. She lifted us to the point where I knew that we were going to have a fantastic evening.
And the attendees agreed.
Every single one of the people who came were blown away by the craft they had witnessed.
Some even suggesting it was the best gig of the week.
Hey, I'll claim it!
That Monday we took the bus to Woollongong where some of Angela's relatives live and got spoilt with food and beer for a few days before our Canberra trip.
I could tell you about all the crazy gigs we went to in between Outspoken and our bus away.
But I feel like I've rambled long enough.
Let's just say that there was an art gallery opening with a packed crowd and we were the only slammers who entered.
Let's just say that jazz + poetry in a book shop isn't a new idea, but was a lot of awkward fun.
Let's just say that the Art Party crew, with their incessant hugging and weed and food have possibly restored my faith in what it means to be a beautiful person.
Sydney!
What a blast.
Canberra next...
Candy Royalle met me at the train station fresh from the airport. I looked like a hobo, and she said as much as we hugged and I lumped all my stuff in her car.
She drove me to her place where I was going to stay until I took the bus to Canberra in a few days time.
Rounding the bend, I glimpsed the ocean, a deep emerald contrasting the vibrant blue of the sky.
What the...?
Ocean?
Oh I had missed her.
Sometimes you forget where your heart really lays until you see it.
The ocean...
http://tamabeach.com//wp-content/uploads/2010/12/attraction-tamarama.jpg
It gets better.
Candy took me to her place, a little shack overlooking Tamarama (right next to Bondi) that I swear was built specifically for poets. She showed me my room - yep, I had a real room and a bed and everything! (I was crashing on Randall's couch for my two week stint in Melbourne, which was great, but damnnnnnn a REAL bed!!!)
Putting all my stuff away (poet talk for exploding my clothes in my room), I looked over the balcony at the view which was to greet me every morning and was soon to give me views of joggers, lovers walking, tourists scoping the sites, surfers waiting for the next break and whales migrating.
I was in heaven.
And Candy was the mentor I never knew I needed. She could relate to my journey and my frustrations and my excitement. She helped me put this tour in perspective - that, as a first time actual "tour, I had done marvellously and should be proud of myself. Once people catch on, she said, there'll be no turning back. You'll get your big crowds, people just don't know yet.
There was no need to justify WHY I wanted a great big audience, a loving vibe and to be able to show my art to the world. She knew that it didn't matter.
Candy Royalle gave me the permission to be an artist, struggling or successful, delighted or upset... just an artist trying to push through and make something of myself.
She got it.
And without her I think my Sydney experience wouldn't have taught me half as much.
I got to perform at the Outspoken finale on Wednesday night and when Ray asked me to finsih the night off, I was anxious, because these events tend to go for a long time and I was worried people might filter out after Luka and Omar had their stage time. Didn't happen. What DID happen is one of the coolest things I'll ever have in my experience bank.
I slayed em.
A packed house.
Most of them unaware of who I was and why I would be the final artist for the night.
You should have heard the roars, the laughter, and the pin-drop silence...
It was nice to be given that kind of status and to not only own it, but smash it right out of the park.
Luka asked me to peform with him the next night at his show on Broadway which I obliged. A great show, one which introduced me personally to The Tongue - an artist whose career I've followed for a while and have always admired. For him to tell me he was really impressed and hint at a future collaboration was awesome.
If the collaboration never happens I won't mind. It was cool to just connect.
The Roar Poets gig was great, if somewhat smaller than anticipated due to the heavy week of words it had been. Outspoken + Luka's surprise gig meant people were worded out and probably pretty broke. So we had an intimate night of words at 107 Projects - the BEST and most supportive crew of people I think I've ever met. They made the night so amazing with their professionalism and understanding of what the night could be. The sound, the lights, the seating... everything was perfect.
What was amazing was Candy Royalle proving that this was a night to be celebrated. Her introductory performance was inspired and incredible. She lifted us to the point where I knew that we were going to have a fantastic evening.
And the attendees agreed.
Every single one of the people who came were blown away by the craft they had witnessed.
Some even suggesting it was the best gig of the week.
Hey, I'll claim it!
That Monday we took the bus to Woollongong where some of Angela's relatives live and got spoilt with food and beer for a few days before our Canberra trip.
I could tell you about all the crazy gigs we went to in between Outspoken and our bus away.
But I feel like I've rambled long enough.
Let's just say that there was an art gallery opening with a packed crowd and we were the only slammers who entered.
Let's just say that jazz + poetry in a book shop isn't a new idea, but was a lot of awkward fun.
Let's just say that the Art Party crew, with their incessant hugging and weed and food have possibly restored my faith in what it means to be a beautiful person.
Sydney!
What a blast.
Canberra next...
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Roar Poets - Tour Diary 3 - Melbourne
So we got to Melbourne with a blue sky waiting and bicycles dinging and the trams all a-bustle and I made my way to The Dan O'Connell for my first performance of the week.
It was great, fantastic, largely spectacular you know?
Well... It was The Dan, which means a casual open mic with a feature in a pub where the Guiness flows freely. Local poet John McKelvie shouted me a number of rounds so I had fun.
It was the first of a number of events I performed at in Melbourne where people were just... cool.
Those who know me know I was trepedatious about Melbourne.
I'd been burnt the year before by some toxic interactions and gig handling, only to be saved by the few people that attended my workshops.
So this year I was afraid to be honest.
See Melbourne is so big and so packed with events that there is no knowing what you should go to or not. It's too full. Too many chefs. Everyone screaming for attention.
And what is actually touted as a good event could just be people blowing their own horn.
And what is supposed to be just a chilled evening could be something amazing.
But that is true of art in general and not just limited to Melbourne of course. It's just very pronounced in Australia's art capital, especially when you're trying to organise and promote a gig yourself.
So I just tagged along to things that were happening and got invited to perform a lot and it was overall a great experience because the people were great. I met great people. I stayed with Randall Stephens and we talked geek, watched the new Superman (review below) and generally just hung out coz it was nice.
------------
One night we went to an event called "The O.D.D.ie awards" - a celebration and gathering of those people and poets in the community who have "Oppositional Defiant Disorder".
I'd heard there would be poetry and wrestling.
I was even invited to read my piece "Bennalong's Ghost" and present an award.
What a trip.
Randall was painted green like the hulk.
Benjamin Solah was dressed in tight tight tight wreslemania tights and the rest of the poets and crowd were like extras from One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. It was a mad house.
And there was wrestling. After all the poetry, nearly three hours of it, they wrestled. Yep. Benjamin Solah and James Jackson got their WWE on in a club in Victoria.
It was fucking excellent.
Well...
It was something anyway.
Later that night we caught the train home and decided Randall should chase us on to the train and we would scream "AHHH HE'S COMING FOR US!!"
We thought it was funny anyway
The train passengers? Not so much...
-----------------
The Roar Poets gig itself was great. We missed Angela's presence, but Jacky T more than made up for it with his beautiful words. And a kick ass zine that has since spread because I'm showing everyone how good it is... Bastard.
It was definitely the most confusing gig in organisational terms. The House Of Bricks crew were super supportive of The Roar Poets Tour, but it seemed a clash between whether it was a feature event or an open mic with guests. A natural hiccup on a first tour.
My favourite part of the night was Matt Hetherington, local poet and beautiful person grabbing me and giving me an inspirational speech courtesy of The Joker from Batman (the Jack Nicholson version)
(2:01 - And remember Bob, you... are my number one... guyyeeeee)
---------------
I'm really stoked that my Melbourne experience was a positive one.
People like Benjamin Solah from Melbourne Spoken Word, Matt Hetherington, John McKelvie, Steve Smart, Tim Train, Jacky T, Amy Bodossian, the HOB crew, Michael Reynolds and a great many more people showed me that the people you interact with effect your ideology around a space or place. By being involved with them and their adventures I was given a positive shot of beauty and art and love. So thanks.
But especially thanks to the man Randall Stephens. A great host and person I admire in poetry. He's a beast. He's a man who's always supported me and I cannot thank him enough for that. Every Melbourne experience has at least been blessed with his presence and DVD collection.
It was great, fantastic, largely spectacular you know?
Well... It was The Dan, which means a casual open mic with a feature in a pub where the Guiness flows freely. Local poet John McKelvie shouted me a number of rounds so I had fun.
It was the first of a number of events I performed at in Melbourne where people were just... cool.
Those who know me know I was trepedatious about Melbourne.
I'd been burnt the year before by some toxic interactions and gig handling, only to be saved by the few people that attended my workshops.
So this year I was afraid to be honest.
See Melbourne is so big and so packed with events that there is no knowing what you should go to or not. It's too full. Too many chefs. Everyone screaming for attention.
And what is actually touted as a good event could just be people blowing their own horn.
And what is supposed to be just a chilled evening could be something amazing.
But that is true of art in general and not just limited to Melbourne of course. It's just very pronounced in Australia's art capital, especially when you're trying to organise and promote a gig yourself.
So I just tagged along to things that were happening and got invited to perform a lot and it was overall a great experience because the people were great. I met great people. I stayed with Randall Stephens and we talked geek, watched the new Superman (review below) and generally just hung out coz it was nice.
------------
One night we went to an event called "The O.D.D.ie awards" - a celebration and gathering of those people and poets in the community who have "Oppositional Defiant Disorder".
I'd heard there would be poetry and wrestling.
I was even invited to read my piece "Bennalong's Ghost" and present an award.
What a trip.
Randall was painted green like the hulk.
Benjamin Solah was dressed in tight tight tight wreslemania tights and the rest of the poets and crowd were like extras from One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. It was a mad house.
And there was wrestling. After all the poetry, nearly three hours of it, they wrestled. Yep. Benjamin Solah and James Jackson got their WWE on in a club in Victoria.
It was fucking excellent.
Well...
It was something anyway.
Later that night we caught the train home and decided Randall should chase us on to the train and we would scream "AHHH HE'S COMING FOR US!!"
We thought it was funny anyway
The train passengers? Not so much...
-----------------
The Roar Poets gig itself was great. We missed Angela's presence, but Jacky T more than made up for it with his beautiful words. And a kick ass zine that has since spread because I'm showing everyone how good it is... Bastard.
It was definitely the most confusing gig in organisational terms. The House Of Bricks crew were super supportive of The Roar Poets Tour, but it seemed a clash between whether it was a feature event or an open mic with guests. A natural hiccup on a first tour.
My favourite part of the night was Matt Hetherington, local poet and beautiful person grabbing me and giving me an inspirational speech courtesy of The Joker from Batman (the Jack Nicholson version)
(2:01 - And remember Bob, you... are my number one... guyyeeeee)
---------------
I'm really stoked that my Melbourne experience was a positive one.
People like Benjamin Solah from Melbourne Spoken Word, Matt Hetherington, John McKelvie, Steve Smart, Tim Train, Jacky T, Amy Bodossian, the HOB crew, Michael Reynolds and a great many more people showed me that the people you interact with effect your ideology around a space or place. By being involved with them and their adventures I was given a positive shot of beauty and art and love. So thanks.
But especially thanks to the man Randall Stephens. A great host and person I admire in poetry. He's a beast. He's a man who's always supported me and I cannot thank him enough for that. Every Melbourne experience has at least been blessed with his presence and DVD collection.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Roar Poets - Tour Diary 2 - Nimbin
Nimbin.
Depending on your experience with this small town in the hills of northern NSW, the very name has made your decision for you based on what I'm going to say next. You will either be disbeilieving and write it off entirely, or you will nod your head and go "yep". I doubt anyone will be somewhere in between.
Nimbin is the spiritual home of performance poets.
There I said it.
Now, like I said before, many of you will go "huh?" and shake your head, smiling at the thought of a bunch of stoners having a base of strong performance poetry.
Well.
This is the place that began the Nimbin Performance Poetry World Cup 11 years ago. Nimbin is the original stomping ground for David Hallet and Robin Archbold. 2 poets who still stand strong as premiere performers in Australian poetics. In fact, Archie founded the cup, David won it in its first year. So there ya go.
But you will still probably shake your head and go "no, bloody stoners trippin out to words I bet..."
And you're right. Kinda.
We arrived in Nimbin on a chilly Thursday's eve to find Gail M. Clarke, co-founder and current bad-arse boss lady of NPPWC scurrying about collecting raffle money, organising sound, and generally chatting to people lounging at The Oasis Cafe, Nimbin's home of poetry nights. What this lady does is phenomenal. And yes, the joints were rolling thick and fast and the murmuring locals and silent backpackers all drank their coffees and teas with red-eyed abundance.
But, unlike Armidale, which had no idea what it was in for, they were ALL there for poetry. It's what Nimbin loves. Cultivated over the past 11 or more years this small town thrives on words. Big, small, political, humorous, love, hate and everything in between and outside the box, Nimbin is an underrated poetry Mecca.
Martin, Angela and I knew that, respected it, and gave the best performances we've possibly ever done. It was hot, frothing, loving, aching, potent poetics.
And the crowd loved it.
If you wanna get into the stoner thing, fine. But you're ignoring what Nimbin Poetry's really all about. The superficiality of Nimbin is that it's a place to get high. But anyone who's been to the NPPWC knows that Nimbin is a place to perform to a beautiful crowd. Roaring, cheering, laughing, crying. We took them there on Thursday night. But only because they were so willing to go with us.
Depending on your experience with this small town in the hills of northern NSW, the very name has made your decision for you based on what I'm going to say next. You will either be disbeilieving and write it off entirely, or you will nod your head and go "yep". I doubt anyone will be somewhere in between.
Nimbin is the spiritual home of performance poets.
There I said it.
Now, like I said before, many of you will go "huh?" and shake your head, smiling at the thought of a bunch of stoners having a base of strong performance poetry.
Well.
This is the place that began the Nimbin Performance Poetry World Cup 11 years ago. Nimbin is the original stomping ground for David Hallet and Robin Archbold. 2 poets who still stand strong as premiere performers in Australian poetics. In fact, Archie founded the cup, David won it in its first year. So there ya go.
But you will still probably shake your head and go "no, bloody stoners trippin out to words I bet..."
And you're right. Kinda.
We arrived in Nimbin on a chilly Thursday's eve to find Gail M. Clarke, co-founder and current bad-arse boss lady of NPPWC scurrying about collecting raffle money, organising sound, and generally chatting to people lounging at The Oasis Cafe, Nimbin's home of poetry nights. What this lady does is phenomenal. And yes, the joints were rolling thick and fast and the murmuring locals and silent backpackers all drank their coffees and teas with red-eyed abundance.
But, unlike Armidale, which had no idea what it was in for, they were ALL there for poetry. It's what Nimbin loves. Cultivated over the past 11 or more years this small town thrives on words. Big, small, political, humorous, love, hate and everything in between and outside the box, Nimbin is an underrated poetry Mecca.
And the crowd loved it.
If you wanna get into the stoner thing, fine. But you're ignoring what Nimbin Poetry's really all about. The superficiality of Nimbin is that it's a place to get high. But anyone who's been to the NPPWC knows that Nimbin is a place to perform to a beautiful crowd. Roaring, cheering, laughing, crying. We took them there on Thursday night. But only because they were so willing to go with us.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Roar Poets Tour - Diary 1 - Armidale
Armidale is cold. I forgot all about that. After living there for a few years I'd forgotten that the beautiful rolling hills and rocks sit beneath a layer of frost so sharp when you speak the air slices your tongue.
But we got there... with our multi-layered pants and jumpers and socks...
There's no-one in Armidale you know? Unless you count the uni. But I'm not even sure if the uni counts itself as part of Armidale. I know when I was a student there we could exist pretty well without any form of town contact... that's either good or bad depending on how hungry you are/n't or how stoned you are/n't.
But I programmed the tour to included Armidale for one reason: it's the beginning of things.
It was in Armidale I really learnt to rap, to write, to produce... and to make friends.
So here I was again, after all these years, showing my art to the people who had supported me from the beginning.
Sure, it wasn't ME they were supporting. It was their sons and friends who I happened to be in a band with. But I took what I could and still ran with it. It still mattered.
SO...
We arrived in Armidale to find that only a few of the flyers had been handed out, the radio station wouldn't get back to us, and the community group we'd been in contact with for months, desperately trying to get any form of workshops or community connections, were STILL not taking us seriously, or just not... I dunno...
what do you call it when people don't get back to you and then give you backhanded support at the last minute?...
On top of that we'd been told the place would've emptied out for school holidays...
It was fucking frustrating and a bit like being punched in the guts.
So when people showed up to the gig. When a room full of people watched and listened intently. When a table actually said they were here for poetry... Well suffice to say I was pretty happy. When the people who had been there to support their family and friends said "wow, it's great to see what you've been up to all these years, fantastic", I felt like I still mattered. Which is a nice feeling. And to be perfectly down and depressingly honest probably the first time I've felt that this year.
And BrokenWord were fantastic. It was them that most people were there to see, and they did not disappoint. What was amazing was that Martin Ingle and Angela Willock kept people in the room after the BrokenWord boys had done their thing. The strength and raw honesty of their performances kept people gripped. The 90% of the room who weren't there for poetry were all of a sudden deeply invested in the poetry. The bar... the fucking bar where everyone milled and talked and yelled drunkedly fell silent on more than one occasion in all of our sets.
And being the organiser and facilitator of the event I was worried we wouldn't be able to make any money to pay the venue hire or even ourselves... but we did. Yes we lost money still. Fuel and food dents finances dramatically but hey... whatever... we got at least one free meal out of it... and the venue hire. And we were all pretty clear from the beginning that this would not be a money making venture... it would be gypsy survival. It would be rolling with the punches and making the most of it. It would be: Happiness = people + fires + conversations.
Which we had plenty of on Saturday night after the "slab" gig...
So now on to Nimbin. The Oasis Cafe. 7pm Thursday night 20 June.
The Roar Poets Tour is alive. It's a thing now. Not just a few words online or a FB event.
And we're excited and enjoying the taste so far.
Sure Armidale was cold. But if the rest of the shows end up being half as warm-hearted as Armidale then I think we'll be pretty happy.
But we got there... with our multi-layered pants and jumpers and socks...
There's no-one in Armidale you know? Unless you count the uni. But I'm not even sure if the uni counts itself as part of Armidale. I know when I was a student there we could exist pretty well without any form of town contact... that's either good or bad depending on how hungry you are/n't or how stoned you are/n't.
But I programmed the tour to included Armidale for one reason: it's the beginning of things.
It was in Armidale I really learnt to rap, to write, to produce... and to make friends.
So here I was again, after all these years, showing my art to the people who had supported me from the beginning.
Sure, it wasn't ME they were supporting. It was their sons and friends who I happened to be in a band with. But I took what I could and still ran with it. It still mattered.
SO...
We arrived in Armidale to find that only a few of the flyers had been handed out, the radio station wouldn't get back to us, and the community group we'd been in contact with for months, desperately trying to get any form of workshops or community connections, were STILL not taking us seriously, or just not... I dunno...
what do you call it when people don't get back to you and then give you backhanded support at the last minute?...
On top of that we'd been told the place would've emptied out for school holidays...
It was fucking frustrating and a bit like being punched in the guts.
So when people showed up to the gig. When a room full of people watched and listened intently. When a table actually said they were here for poetry... Well suffice to say I was pretty happy. When the people who had been there to support their family and friends said "wow, it's great to see what you've been up to all these years, fantastic", I felt like I still mattered. Which is a nice feeling. And to be perfectly down and depressingly honest probably the first time I've felt that this year.
And BrokenWord were fantastic. It was them that most people were there to see, and they did not disappoint. What was amazing was that Martin Ingle and Angela Willock kept people in the room after the BrokenWord boys had done their thing. The strength and raw honesty of their performances kept people gripped. The 90% of the room who weren't there for poetry were all of a sudden deeply invested in the poetry. The bar... the fucking bar where everyone milled and talked and yelled drunkedly fell silent on more than one occasion in all of our sets.
And being the organiser and facilitator of the event I was worried we wouldn't be able to make any money to pay the venue hire or even ourselves... but we did. Yes we lost money still. Fuel and food dents finances dramatically but hey... whatever... we got at least one free meal out of it... and the venue hire. And we were all pretty clear from the beginning that this would not be a money making venture... it would be gypsy survival. It would be rolling with the punches and making the most of it. It would be: Happiness = people + fires + conversations.
Which we had plenty of on Saturday night after the "slab" gig...
So now on to Nimbin. The Oasis Cafe. 7pm Thursday night 20 June.
The Roar Poets Tour is alive. It's a thing now. Not just a few words online or a FB event.
And we're excited and enjoying the taste so far.
Sure Armidale was cold. But if the rest of the shows end up being half as warm-hearted as Armidale then I think we'll be pretty happy.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Shows n shows n shows
I've been very lucky to be so busy lately. With two shows at Anywhere Theatre Festival and a whirlwind romance with Canberra's Badslamnobiscuit, it has been a hectic few weeks. Mental and physical health has taken a dive to make room for rehearsals and technical rehearsals and dress rehearsals and flying away and flying home.
I am usually the first one to have a big cry about doing this stuff alone, how poetry can be a solo exhibition of the soul, and how it is very hard to collaborate, find helpers, get people enthusiastic about projects etc.
But these past few weeks have taught me how people can rise to an occasion.
Personally my show MaXimal was an incredible success. It showed me that I can do an hour show, something which will (hopefully) lead to festival shows, touring and international spotlights (?). I got my first ever review (as being in performance poetry world does not lend itself to reviews very much, other than your friends posting something positive on fb).
Not only that, but my friends from BrokenWord supplied me with lights, mics and sound. Angela Willock and Eleanor Jackson helped me with the door as well as gave me a lot of love and support, and Doubting Thomas funded the project, as well as leant mental support for my withering nerves and frayed brain. Bonus points go to Olivia Pushong who somehow conjured chairs when the venue couldn't supply me with theirs as they would be closed when the show went on.
So I had a moment in time where people gathered, supported and said "dude, what do ya want? Coz we can help".
I was humbled and amazed to have the energy of those people to draw from when I thought I would be lost.
I guess now the questions of comedy circuits and different avenues of marketing remain in that there is only so many people in the poetry community, and only so many ways a show that was actually comedy, but billed as poetry, can pull an audience. So if you see me starting to put "comedy" as my main thing, it's because I'm figuring out how to get audiences, build crowds, and generally build my rep as an entertainer, more than a poet. Which I think is fair considering I'm always at the least trying to be entertaining.
Then I got to work collaboratively with the wonderful poet, and also my gf, Angela for Mixtape. It may be relationship suicide to do such a thing, and not something that always works - no matter how much you care for someone collaborating on a project does not always translate the same as collaborating in hearts. However this project has been a great amount of fun and also taught me a lot about how poets work, the courage to scrap ideas and go for the bits that really shine, and also the ability to communicate and give support. Not stuff I'm good at at the best of times.
We performed for the first time together last night, and I gotta say, it was fucking excellent. Another review. And once again, it was shiny and great. Proving that working hard on a show and knowing what REALLY WORKS is vital to editing and devising a performance. It's a different show than MaXimal, quieter and less of a showcase of word-skills, more of a personal inspection and introspective view of what happens in love, music and relationships. It's a project, a concept album, a connecting point for us both to explore and work.
If you came to my shows, thanks, if you saw me in Canberra, thanks, if you're coming to Mixtape tonight, thanks, if you're coming to Jam Jar on Sunday, thanks.
I am usually the first one to have a big cry about doing this stuff alone, how poetry can be a solo exhibition of the soul, and how it is very hard to collaborate, find helpers, get people enthusiastic about projects etc.
But these past few weeks have taught me how people can rise to an occasion.
Personally my show MaXimal was an incredible success. It showed me that I can do an hour show, something which will (hopefully) lead to festival shows, touring and international spotlights (?). I got my first ever review (as being in performance poetry world does not lend itself to reviews very much, other than your friends posting something positive on fb).
Not only that, but my friends from BrokenWord supplied me with lights, mics and sound. Angela Willock and Eleanor Jackson helped me with the door as well as gave me a lot of love and support, and Doubting Thomas funded the project, as well as leant mental support for my withering nerves and frayed brain. Bonus points go to Olivia Pushong who somehow conjured chairs when the venue couldn't supply me with theirs as they would be closed when the show went on.
So I had a moment in time where people gathered, supported and said "dude, what do ya want? Coz we can help".
I was humbled and amazed to have the energy of those people to draw from when I thought I would be lost.
I guess now the questions of comedy circuits and different avenues of marketing remain in that there is only so many people in the poetry community, and only so many ways a show that was actually comedy, but billed as poetry, can pull an audience. So if you see me starting to put "comedy" as my main thing, it's because I'm figuring out how to get audiences, build crowds, and generally build my rep as an entertainer, more than a poet. Which I think is fair considering I'm always at the least trying to be entertaining.
Then I got to work collaboratively with the wonderful poet, and also my gf, Angela for Mixtape. It may be relationship suicide to do such a thing, and not something that always works - no matter how much you care for someone collaborating on a project does not always translate the same as collaborating in hearts. However this project has been a great amount of fun and also taught me a lot about how poets work, the courage to scrap ideas and go for the bits that really shine, and also the ability to communicate and give support. Not stuff I'm good at at the best of times.
We performed for the first time together last night, and I gotta say, it was fucking excellent. Another review. And once again, it was shiny and great. Proving that working hard on a show and knowing what REALLY WORKS is vital to editing and devising a performance. It's a different show than MaXimal, quieter and less of a showcase of word-skills, more of a personal inspection and introspective view of what happens in love, music and relationships. It's a project, a concept album, a connecting point for us both to explore and work.
We have one more show tonight, and then Jam Jar Poetry Slam kicks into fundraiser mode for the Nimbin Performance Poetry World Cup on Sunday at 3pm.
I would say I have some time off after this, but I don't, I'm doing workshops for Ipswich Poetry Feast all next week with primary school students.
My cousin is a workaholic, something I never thought I would be, and he always used to say "I'll sleep when I'm dead..."
Probably not the most healthy way of doing things, but fuckit.
I'll sleep when I'm dead.
If you came to my shows, thanks, if you saw me in Canberra, thanks, if you're coming to Mixtape tonight, thanks, if you're coming to Jam Jar on Sunday, thanks.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Bak?
I don't know why I spelled the title differently. Maybe some unconscious need to question whether I really am back or whether I'm still stuck in my head. Maybe I'm trying to be really really really clever. Maybe I wish I was Baraka from Mortal Kombat and I'm pretty sure his nickname would be Bak. If I was Baraka I would want people to call me Bak like, "Hey, my friends call me Bak..."
That is if Bara- sorry... Bak has friends anyway...
I've been fucking depressed lately. The previous posts have eluded to it without me wanting to admit it to myself I think.
"Fuck this shit" was the main theme.
I guess it's important to remember that all this juggling has been for something, and I finally remembered that, at the Bellingen Poetry Slam last Saturday night in the Northern(ish) NSW hinterland.
Sometimes you need a win. In fact, being so unsure as to my purpose in all this mess of performing to (on average) 20 people and getting paid maybe a hundred bucks a month for poetry had left me a bit in-my-own-head.
So I finally realised why I do this shit.
Not for the win.
For the audience you fools.
The simple joy of performing to a great audience.
Do you know how beautiful it is to rock a crowd of 200+ people in a small town?
It's bliss.
To not have to deal with intense questions as to your purpose in this community? Why your ideals are wrong? How you could dare enter a slam, don't you have any ethics?
Gee it was nice to just perform for the joy of it.
Something I shouldn't forget.
And to be honest, something YOU shouldn't forget either.
Love your community of artists for what they bring.
The way we all play with creativity.
There is a lot to gain from everyone.
And hey, some people drive me nuts, of course they do I'm only human, but when I think about it, it's always been because of their conduct outside of the poems. Basically people being arse-holes are just... y'know, arse-holes...
Yet the poetry matters most.
I can't say I'm gonna support Ultimate Douchebag McDoodleDick.
But good on 'im for persevering.
There are a few great events coming up for Brisbane's Anywhere Theatre Festival in the Poetry section.
Like MaXimal!
Check em out. Support performers giving it their all in spaces not usually associated with performing.
Give em a great audience.
I've been lucky enough to be invited to Fringe India at the end of the year, so I will be getting my jets on and going back to the land of the sacred hindu cow to perform.
And mid-year I will be taking a small crew of Brisbane poets with me to Sydney, Canberra, Armidale, and possibly even Melbourne to showcase what Brisbane poets can do. Hopefully we'll get a great audience.
It's all just for the love of performing.
Honestly you cynical fucks.
Yeah we push shit up hill most of the time because poets are FUCKING CRAZY people with a lot of issues to sort out. Mental health central!!!! So you may not get a run some places, because in some places the poetry is less important than the egos and self-conscious personalities within.
But hey, we'll keep trying, and maybe we can remind others what it's all about:
The joy of being on stage with a great audience. That's all.
That is if Bara- sorry... Bak has friends anyway...
I've been fucking depressed lately. The previous posts have eluded to it without me wanting to admit it to myself I think.
"Fuck this shit" was the main theme.
I guess it's important to remember that all this juggling has been for something, and I finally remembered that, at the Bellingen Poetry Slam last Saturday night in the Northern(ish) NSW hinterland.
Sometimes you need a win. In fact, being so unsure as to my purpose in all this mess of performing to (on average) 20 people and getting paid maybe a hundred bucks a month for poetry had left me a bit in-my-own-head.
So I finally realised why I do this shit.
Not for the win.
For the audience you fools.
The simple joy of performing to a great audience.
Do you know how beautiful it is to rock a crowd of 200+ people in a small town?
It's bliss.
To not have to deal with intense questions as to your purpose in this community? Why your ideals are wrong? How you could dare enter a slam, don't you have any ethics?
Gee it was nice to just perform for the joy of it.
Something I shouldn't forget.
And to be honest, something YOU shouldn't forget either.
Love your community of artists for what they bring.
The way we all play with creativity.
There is a lot to gain from everyone.
And hey, some people drive me nuts, of course they do I'm only human, but when I think about it, it's always been because of their conduct outside of the poems. Basically people being arse-holes are just... y'know, arse-holes...
Yet the poetry matters most.
I can't say I'm gonna support Ultimate Douchebag McDoodleDick.
But good on 'im for persevering.
There are a few great events coming up for Brisbane's Anywhere Theatre Festival in the Poetry section.
Like MaXimal!
Check em out. Support performers giving it their all in spaces not usually associated with performing.
Give em a great audience.
I've been lucky enough to be invited to Fringe India at the end of the year, so I will be getting my jets on and going back to the land of the sacred hindu cow to perform.
And mid-year I will be taking a small crew of Brisbane poets with me to Sydney, Canberra, Armidale, and possibly even Melbourne to showcase what Brisbane poets can do. Hopefully we'll get a great audience.
It's all just for the love of performing.
Honestly you cynical fucks.
Yeah we push shit up hill most of the time because poets are FUCKING CRAZY people with a lot of issues to sort out. Mental health central!!!! So you may not get a run some places, because in some places the poetry is less important than the egos and self-conscious personalities within.
But hey, we'll keep trying, and maybe we can remind others what it's all about:
The joy of being on stage with a great audience. That's all.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Back to normal (?)
ultimate cool picture
I've been in India for the past month with a little stop over in Kuala Lumpur either side. There's been a bit of a reframing of the mind in light of massive adventures. I've been looking forward to coming back though, mainly because I'm excited about the next couple of months' worth of performances.One of the most interesting developments in India, as far as my writing goes, was my incessant diary keeping in poetry form. I managed to write every day about everything possible. It's not something I usually do but was a great incentive to just keep writing. There's something that happens to your writing when you're not doing it for any reason other than yourself. The difference between writing for performance and just writing is huge. To not have that stress or pressure of needing it to be something to showcase is liberating and I think paved the way for some really nice, different work.
Ironically I am now planning on showcasing this collection within the next few weeks, I'll keep you posted on where this might be.
It's exciting to know that, while I've been away, the Queensland Poetry Festival committee has been deliberating over the applications for this year's festival. I can safely say it's looking to be a hugely diverse line-up for the weekend. QPF has really shown itself to be one of the most engaging and diverse festivals in Australia, showcasing poets from a variety of styles and really shining a light on the amazing poets in QLD, nationally and internationally.
I've also had the pleasure of getting two shows into the Anywhere Theatre Festival happening in mid May. MaXimal will be a solo venture and Mixtape is a collaboration between myself and my partner Angela. Both shows will be different and exciting. Crazy. Better get working huh?
For now, expect a funtimes JamJar Poetry Slam on March 17.
Here's a poem from my trip. Keep writing.
-------------------------
We bob up and down amidst
the crowd as if
buoys at sea.
Moving with the current of
silhouettes and limbs.
We find the stall with
the most people.
Bob up and down again,
waiting for food like
hungry seals.
I think I've got food poisoning.
The chicken was suspiciously
cool.
We analyse every movement
of our stomach.
Feel it
bob up and down.
A little message in a bottle.
---------------------------
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Shooting At Shadows... for real this time...
Today, my last performance before jetting to India, is set to be something insane...
I'm looking forward to it so much.
Last time (also the first time) I performed Shooting At Shadows was at the Laura St Festival last year.
Since then I've completed a year of Zen Zen Zo training, and if you've read my previous blogs, know that I've also just completed Stomping Ground 2013.
Butoh training has given me a whole different way to interpret this piece physically.
Entering the "shadow space" is a new ball game today.
5pm at Lost Movements - Coniston Lane, The Valley.
How darkness
has its own
spark its
own ebbing glow of black.
I’ve seen you play in the light.
I’m not blind.
You avoid the dark like it was cursed,
too distracted by the stars,
yet we exist in the spaces in between,
the enormous spaces between suns.
Even planets cast a shadow.
Before jesus was split open even he was dark inside
or does your jesus glow in the dark?
The folds of the world
are where I’m going.
Stuck within the creases of nothingness.
I'm looking forward to it so much.
Last time (also the first time) I performed Shooting At Shadows was at the Laura St Festival last year.
Since then I've completed a year of Zen Zen Zo training, and if you've read my previous blogs, know that I've also just completed Stomping Ground 2013.
Butoh training has given me a whole different way to interpret this piece physically.
Entering the "shadow space" is a new ball game today.
5pm at Lost Movements - Coniston Lane, The Valley.
You should see
the depths of black.How darkness
has its own
spark its
own ebbing glow of black.
I’ve seen you play in the light.
I’m not blind.
You avoid the dark like it was cursed,
too distracted by the stars,
yet we exist in the spaces in between,
the enormous spaces between suns.
Even planets cast a shadow.
Before jesus was split open even he was dark inside
or does your jesus glow in the dark?
The folds of the world
are where I’m going.
Stuck within the creases of nothingness.
You should see
the depths of black.
How darkness
has its own
spark its
own ebbing glow of black.
-----------------
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
'Sall Good Baby Bayybeh!
I’m in the maternity ward of Logan hospital. My best friend has just had a baby.
I don’t know if you could see me,
little fish,
swimming in air for the first time.
Little squashed face
breathing heavy gulps of
world.
Mountains and rivers and clouds,
giants and ants.
Breathe.
Fire and earth and colour and sound,
words and words and words,
Tagalog, English.
Breathe.
Wiggles and Play School and Yo Gabba Gabba,
Disney and Ghibli and X-men,
rom-coms and thrillers and
Tarantino.
Breathe.
You’re going to paint
with fingers,
with butterflies,
colour code your
shoes,
_________________
Apparently I’ll make a great godfather.
I have no idea how to fix a lawn mower.
I have no idea how to fix a lawn mower.
I’m not sure the criteria for being the best godfather ever, but I’m pretty sure some sort of maintenance qualification is part of it.
Godfather’s are supposed to be the ones where, if everything goes to shit - like EVERYTHING, EVER - I’m taking care of that bebeh.
But it’s the godparents that made James board a giant peach in Roald Dahl’s book. Or was it Aunties? I dunno. Either way I don’t want this bebeh to board a giant peach to escape from me.
So I need to learn how to fix lawn mowers.
Godfather’s are supposed to be the ones where, if everything goes to shit - like EVERYTHING, EVER - I’m taking care of that bebeh.
But it’s the godparents that made James board a giant peach in Roald Dahl’s book. Or was it Aunties? I dunno. Either way I don’t want this bebeh to board a giant peach to escape from me.
And dolls.
An old friend of mine told me once how awesome he thought his dad was because he fixed his transformer. He screwed a new, metal arm, on to one that had been torn off and lost. He said that, at that moment, he new his dad was the coolest ever. He had the best transformer with a slick REAL metal arm. Not the plastic ish that other transformers had.
Now I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be that cool. I’m pretty sure I’ll leave that kind of dad cool up to the dad to be, y’know, cool. But it would help, wouldn’t it?
Anyway, babies are pretty precious. So I’ll just sit here and contemplate all the things I could teach this baby. Like cards? Or how to rhyme? Or beatbox? Fishing?... I dunno… I usually find kids teach you more than you’ll ever teach them…
Welcome to the world Cleo Kowitz. You’ve got a lot to look forward to. Your family and I like to cook so I hope you enjoy coriander, chilli, sinigang, pork… your Grandma and Auntie’s spring rolls are the bomb.
An old friend of mine told me once how awesome he thought his dad was because he fixed his transformer. He screwed a new, metal arm, on to one that had been torn off and lost. He said that, at that moment, he new his dad was the coolest ever. He had the best transformer with a slick REAL metal arm. Not the plastic ish that other transformers had.
Now I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be that cool. I’m pretty sure I’ll leave that kind of dad cool up to the dad to be, y’know, cool. But it would help, wouldn’t it?
Anyway, babies are pretty precious. So I’ll just sit here and contemplate all the things I could teach this baby. Like cards? Or how to rhyme? Or beatbox? Fishing?... I dunno… I usually find kids teach you more than you’ll ever teach them…
Welcome to the world Cleo Kowitz. You’ve got a lot to look forward to. Your family and I like to cook so I hope you enjoy coriander, chilli, sinigang, pork… your Grandma and Auntie’s spring rolls are the bomb.
______________
I don’t know if you could see me,
little fish,
swimming in air for the first time.
Little squashed face
breathing heavy gulps of
world.
Mountains and rivers and clouds,
giants and ants.
Breathe.
Fire and earth and colour and sound,
words and words and words,
Tagalog, English.
Breathe.
Wiggles and Play School and Yo Gabba Gabba,
Disney and Ghibli and X-men,
rom-coms and thrillers and
Tarantino.
Breathe.
You’re going to paint
with fingers,
with butterflies,
colour code your
shoes,
colour code your
summers,
colour code your
dreams.
dreams.
Breathe.
Sit on your mums heart,
sit on your first bike,
sit on the horizon.
Breathe.
Sometimes, little fish,
you might ask me a question,
and I won’t know the answer.
It’s okay,
we’ll find out somehow:
read a book,
make an experiment to test.
We’ll save google until last.
It’s more fun that way.
Breathe.
Little fish need to learn how to dance,
laugh, cry, crack, slide, slip, ask,
and little fish need to learn how to
choose.
Breathe, little fish,
Sit on your mums heart,
sit on your first bike,
sit on the horizon.
Breathe.
Sometimes, little fish,
you might ask me a question,
and I won’t know the answer.
It’s okay,
we’ll find out somehow:
read a book,
make an experiment to test.
We’ll save google until last.
It’s more fun that way.
Breathe.
Little fish need to learn how to dance,
laugh, cry, crack, slide, slip, ask,
and little fish need to learn how to
choose.
Breathe, little fish,
that's your first lesson.
Little fish, for now, just
breathe.
_________________
Monday, January 28, 2013
Zen Zen Zo Stomping Ground - Final Thoughts...
And so it all comes to an end. Stomping Ground 2013 has been a surreal and phenomenal experience. In terms of pushing the limits of my capabilities both physically and mentally, in terms of my emotional capabilities, and in terms of the bottle that is my body and what I fill it with when performing.
I don't know what to say.
Some people can brush it off. Some people can say it was just training. Some people can put it down to something else. But I dove in, headfirst. My girlfriend was pissed because I barely thought about anything else. I hardly saw anyone. I got consumed in the training. I wrote everyday. I journalised my experience. I philosophised about it all. My addictive personality grabbed hold of Zen Zen Zo and didn't let go.
I'm not saying this is at all healthy.
Or detrimental.
I'm just saying this was my experience.
I loved it.
Combined with the trip I'm about to take to India in less than two weeks, I think 2013 is going to be a year I don't forget. And you, my audience, I hope you don't forget it either.
I've had a chance to solidify my goals. I've had a chance to see what I can do in this world. A tester, you might say. I've had a chance to test-write for the stage in Zen Zen Zo's future production of Medea. I've written a piece that will be used by Zen Zen Zo's events team (Here There Be Dragons). I got to be a ghost. I got to do a mating dance. Not some ballerina ish. More like the carnage of a praying mantis.
So in saying goodbye to training, and hello to the world of performance for another year, it's probably a good idea to let it be however it, um, be.
Although I feel like I just met a beautiful woman, we had a 3 week love affair, and now she's telling me she's leaving me for a guy called Brandon, who has a 6 pack. But Brandon's an ass-hole. You'll miss me! You'll missss meeeeeeee!
:)
Thanks to Lynne Bradley and the whole teaching team at Zen Zen Zo for being great and inspiring. And a big thanks to my fellow participants who broke skin with me and let tears fall. It's okay to treasure the enigma of light that this was. It didn't last. But that's what made it so special.
Scotty
------------------
I wonder if Mr. Suzuki ever got
drunk
and stomped in the rain
like we did
that last night?
Whether he knew the satisfaction
of greasing joints
with tears and
blood.
Our thundercloud training room,
leaking,
so we moved with
the rain.
I may never know what Mr. Suzuki
does or doesn't do.
But I do know
my skin
will never be as transparent
as it was
that last night.
-------------------
I don't know what to say.
Some people can brush it off. Some people can say it was just training. Some people can put it down to something else. But I dove in, headfirst. My girlfriend was pissed because I barely thought about anything else. I hardly saw anyone. I got consumed in the training. I wrote everyday. I journalised my experience. I philosophised about it all. My addictive personality grabbed hold of Zen Zen Zo and didn't let go.
I'm not saying this is at all healthy.
Or detrimental.
I'm just saying this was my experience.
I loved it.
Combined with the trip I'm about to take to India in less than two weeks, I think 2013 is going to be a year I don't forget. And you, my audience, I hope you don't forget it either.
I've had a chance to solidify my goals. I've had a chance to see what I can do in this world. A tester, you might say. I've had a chance to test-write for the stage in Zen Zen Zo's future production of Medea. I've written a piece that will be used by Zen Zen Zo's events team (Here There Be Dragons). I got to be a ghost. I got to do a mating dance. Not some ballerina ish. More like the carnage of a praying mantis.
So in saying goodbye to training, and hello to the world of performance for another year, it's probably a good idea to let it be however it, um, be.
Although I feel like I just met a beautiful woman, we had a 3 week love affair, and now she's telling me she's leaving me for a guy called Brandon, who has a 6 pack. But Brandon's an ass-hole. You'll miss me! You'll missss meeeeeeee!
:)
Thanks to Lynne Bradley and the whole teaching team at Zen Zen Zo for being great and inspiring. And a big thanks to my fellow participants who broke skin with me and let tears fall. It's okay to treasure the enigma of light that this was. It didn't last. But that's what made it so special.
Scotty
------------------
I wonder if Mr. Suzuki ever got
drunk
and stomped in the rain
like we did
that last night?
Whether he knew the satisfaction
of greasing joints
with tears and
blood.
Our thundercloud training room,
leaking,
so we moved with
the rain.
I may never know what Mr. Suzuki
does or doesn't do.
But I do know
my skin
will never be as transparent
as it was
that last night.
-------------------
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Zen Zen Zo Stomping Ground - Week 3 - Part 2
"Our way is not soft grass, it's a mountain path with lots of rocks. But it goes upwards, forwards,
towards the sun".
Ruth Westheimer
I'm not sure if we're on the brink of ourselves today. We've got one day left on this beautiful chaos of a planet we spin with our feet. Zen Zen Zo has gifted me with a learning I can never forget.
I don't know whether I broke this week. If you can call it breaking. Or whether I finally accepted what I'm here for. Or maybe something else I can never entirely fathom.
Some of you may read this and have no idea what I'm talking about. And not in the way that only people who've been to Stomping Ground would know. I just mean that, sometimes you go through some crazy shit. It could be anything. A 3 week theatre course, a trek through the himalayas, a bad taco... anything.
But you learn. And you come away with more questions than answers. And you maybe, just maybe, if you're really lucky, understand yourself that little bit more.
We got to be Geishas today.
Fuckin badass Geishas.
I also used a prop today.
And it was a shit idea.
So there you go.
---------------------
I don't know if Medea
needs another red cordial.
That bitch is crazy.
I'm just putting it out there.
Her great-grandfather is the
sun,
she's got magic to spare.
Killing kids
is no feminist ideology
I ever heard of.
Unless someone knows something
I don't?
Jason left the toilet seat up.
Cunt.
Stab him
in the dick-hole or something.
Cast a spell on his new wife:
the clap.
But leave the kids alone.
------------------------
towards the sun".
Ruth Westheimer
I'm not sure if we're on the brink of ourselves today. We've got one day left on this beautiful chaos of a planet we spin with our feet. Zen Zen Zo has gifted me with a learning I can never forget.
I don't know whether I broke this week. If you can call it breaking. Or whether I finally accepted what I'm here for. Or maybe something else I can never entirely fathom.
Some of you may read this and have no idea what I'm talking about. And not in the way that only people who've been to Stomping Ground would know. I just mean that, sometimes you go through some crazy shit. It could be anything. A 3 week theatre course, a trek through the himalayas, a bad taco... anything.
But you learn. And you come away with more questions than answers. And you maybe, just maybe, if you're really lucky, understand yourself that little bit more.
We got to be Geishas today.
Fuckin badass Geishas.
I also used a prop today.
And it was a shit idea.
So there you go.
---------------------
I don't know if Medea
needs another red cordial.
That bitch is crazy.
I'm just putting it out there.
Her great-grandfather is the
sun,
she's got magic to spare.
Killing kids
is no feminist ideology
I ever heard of.
Unless someone knows something
I don't?
Jason left the toilet seat up.
Cunt.
Stab him
in the dick-hole or something.
Cast a spell on his new wife:
the clap.
But leave the kids alone.
------------------------
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Zen Zen Zo Stomping Ground - Week 3 - Part 1
"Perseverance is not a long race; it is many short races one after the other."
- Walter Elliot
"When you've gone so far that you can't manage one more step, then you've gone just half the distance that you're capable of."
- Greenland proverb
We flew through viewpoints this morning. Listening to each other and responding so quickly it was like we were one beast.
It was a great day. When everything seems to just come together and you train train train. And it's not like you can DO everything. This type of physical actor training necessitates staying at your edge so you have to go to the point where you are off-balance faster, quicker, through a more round-about way. Fumble more gloriously than before, tumble so you're uglier this time. Make a better mess because you've gotten so clean.
It would be a waste of my time here at Zen Zen Zo if I didn't re-evaluate myself and why I'm here. Hey, I like charging through space and making beautiful shapes, but there's gotta be a reason for it. Right? Otherwise you're like that guy who's real good a push-ups. Yay... um... push-ups.
So today I took stock, thought about how I want this training to improve the way I move throughout the spaces on stage, in my performances, how to breathe in the grotesque and the beautiful within it.
---------------
Up there,
was what I could never have again.
Plunging my fist into the frosty sky.
Angels at my back and death at my front.
I pulled down mist and water, rain and snow,
but never him.
He was never in my hands.
It didn't feel like a choice,
between heaven or hell,
it's not like I wanted to go down there.
But when I saw her waiting for me,
I knew that I would sink
into her back and
hold her in my hands.
--------------------
Friday, January 18, 2013
Zen Zen Zo Stomping Ground - Week 2 - Part 2 - Final
One more week to go!
Now it gets to the point where you know that you're gonna miss it.
And what else is my body going to do? My body that loves to stomp, the face that's slowly adjusting to the grotesquely beautiful Butoh masks, the muscles that stop and start in kinaesthetic response to anything and everything.
And where do we go, personally, from here?
Is it another drift of bodies and minds departing?
Or will we keep in contact and support each other's art for a long time yet to come?
The experience of any intensive training with a group of people can be both beautiful and horrible all in one. There's the ones that always want to take control, the ones that never want to, the ones who you immediately connect with and the ones that seem a world away even when you're breathing each other in.
More questions than answers and more pondering than ever. The end of week 2's Stomping Ground left me exhausted and hungry. Angry and elated. I just couldn't do some stuff. And I just couldn't reign in my frustration. And I finally understood some other stuff. I really enjoyed Butoh. And yeah, Butoh's been a struggle. The dots finally connected. Yet viewpoints, which are one of my favourites, widened to the point where it was messy and I felt like I was constantly trying to clean. OCD hand washing for theatre exercises...
We did (literally, not figuratively or metaphorically) clean the floors to Benny Hill music (cleaning the floors is a tradition in which you 'bow down to the work' in order to stay humble, via hands and cloths). That was Thursday. We needed that. Thursday was a hard day.
----------
If Benny Hill could have
seen us,
he would've been disappointed at the
lack of sexual innuendo.
We pretended
to fall over enough
it produced it's own sound effect.
We had floors to clean and
Benny Hill music.
Bowing down to the work,
kissing the earth with
our fingernails.
Splinters were never
Benny Hill fodder.
You can't put splinters in breasts.
That's just weird.
And dust never
got a pie in the face.
No-one would get the joke.
We just kept cleaning.
Zooming along the floors
to the old comedy tune.
Whatever,
if Benny Hill could have seen us,
at least he would have seen us
laughing.
-----------------------
Now it gets to the point where you know that you're gonna miss it.
And what else is my body going to do? My body that loves to stomp, the face that's slowly adjusting to the grotesquely beautiful Butoh masks, the muscles that stop and start in kinaesthetic response to anything and everything.
(examples of some of the methods we've been using at Zen Zen Zo Stomping Ground)
And where do we go, personally, from here?
Is it another drift of bodies and minds departing?
Or will we keep in contact and support each other's art for a long time yet to come?
The experience of any intensive training with a group of people can be both beautiful and horrible all in one. There's the ones that always want to take control, the ones that never want to, the ones who you immediately connect with and the ones that seem a world away even when you're breathing each other in.
More questions than answers and more pondering than ever. The end of week 2's Stomping Ground left me exhausted and hungry. Angry and elated. I just couldn't do some stuff. And I just couldn't reign in my frustration. And I finally understood some other stuff. I really enjoyed Butoh. And yeah, Butoh's been a struggle. The dots finally connected. Yet viewpoints, which are one of my favourites, widened to the point where it was messy and I felt like I was constantly trying to clean. OCD hand washing for theatre exercises...
(Open Viewpoints demonstration)
----------
If Benny Hill could have
seen us,
he would've been disappointed at the
lack of sexual innuendo.
We pretended
to fall over enough
it produced it's own sound effect.
We had floors to clean and
Benny Hill music.
Bowing down to the work,
kissing the earth with
our fingernails.
Splinters were never
Benny Hill fodder.
You can't put splinters in breasts.
That's just weird.
And dust never
got a pie in the face.
No-one would get the joke.
We just kept cleaning.
Zooming along the floors
to the old comedy tune.
Whatever,
if Benny Hill could have seen us,
at least he would have seen us
laughing.
-----------------------
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Maximumalism
Huzza! It seems the term Maximalism in poetry has caught on. What a strangely awesome thing.
History:
In the winter of 2011, Fern Thompsett and myself, were joking about how self-indulgent poetry can be. Like "did you get my profound metaphor?" "I can use words with LOTS OF SYLLABLES!" and basically taking the piss.
From that we thought how funny it would be if we wrote some poems, MAXIMALIST POEMS, that were basically us standing there going "hey I'm a very intelligent person please validate me for being so intelligent! Yeee!"
I performed my first "Maximalist" poem at the 2011 QLD State Poetry Slam..
From there it really got some weight behind it.
Cameron Logan jumped on board and has written a number of Maximalist poems, the most famous being his "Ipswich!" piece. Stef Petrik accused all the men in the room of being murderers. K-Dawg down in Melbourne wrote about being a maximalist coz she lives life to the max. Archie has written a carnivorous feast upon the literary elite. Michael Cohen did one at the Brisbane Slam heats this year and it was a highlight of the night: "This is my sad poem, I am sad, this is my happy poem, I am happy..."
Fern wrote me one for my birthday, it had ninjas in it and is therefore the best poem ever.
The wikipedia explanation of maximalist art is a wank. sooooo wanky.
Maximalist Poetry is the most direct path to your point. It doesn't cover it with anything other than an explanation... or something... It takes the piss out of anything that could be intelligent.
And while I have struggled to keep from "owning" the term or the art form at all (it is something anyone can and should do), I'd like to let you know what I think a maximalist poem is:
1- It is usually read. Mess it up, make mistakes, read it. It's not a polished performance.
2- It is usually done in a monotone voice. Very little inflection or pausing. You're not reading a 'poem'. You're being a maximalist. What the hell is a comma?
3- It is usually done with a shouty-ish volume. You are a maximalist, not a haiku poet or a rising slam star. Just be loud all the time so it annoys soft-voiced poets and thumbs its nose at the poetry slam "mountain" (the rise and rise and rise and then sharp fall in volume of every slam poem ever).
4- be unafraid and unapologetic in your writing. Self-involved, politically motivated and "important" poets, whether performance based, blog based, page based, avant-garde based blah blah are there to be ridiculed. But most of all, ridicule yourself. Don't be prejudiced you arse, but don't be soft and PC like everyone else. Fuck with em.
5- have fun. It's meant to be fun. And a good maximalist poem is really really fun. Funny. Funnimungus.
That's my first one ever. I like it.
History:
In the winter of 2011, Fern Thompsett and myself, were joking about how self-indulgent poetry can be. Like "did you get my profound metaphor?" "I can use words with LOTS OF SYLLABLES!" and basically taking the piss.
From that we thought how funny it would be if we wrote some poems, MAXIMALIST POEMS, that were basically us standing there going "hey I'm a very intelligent person please validate me for being so intelligent! Yeee!"
I performed my first "Maximalist" poem at the 2011 QLD State Poetry Slam..
From there it really got some weight behind it.
Cameron Logan jumped on board and has written a number of Maximalist poems, the most famous being his "Ipswich!" piece. Stef Petrik accused all the men in the room of being murderers. K-Dawg down in Melbourne wrote about being a maximalist coz she lives life to the max. Archie has written a carnivorous feast upon the literary elite. Michael Cohen did one at the Brisbane Slam heats this year and it was a highlight of the night: "This is my sad poem, I am sad, this is my happy poem, I am happy..."
Fern wrote me one for my birthday, it had ninjas in it and is therefore the best poem ever.
The wikipedia explanation of maximalist art is a wank. sooooo wanky.
Maximalist Poetry is the most direct path to your point. It doesn't cover it with anything other than an explanation... or something... It takes the piss out of anything that could be intelligent.
And while I have struggled to keep from "owning" the term or the art form at all (it is something anyone can and should do), I'd like to let you know what I think a maximalist poem is:
1- It is usually read. Mess it up, make mistakes, read it. It's not a polished performance.
2- It is usually done in a monotone voice. Very little inflection or pausing. You're not reading a 'poem'. You're being a maximalist. What the hell is a comma?
3- It is usually done with a shouty-ish volume. You are a maximalist, not a haiku poet or a rising slam star. Just be loud all the time so it annoys soft-voiced poets and thumbs its nose at the poetry slam "mountain" (the rise and rise and rise and then sharp fall in volume of every slam poem ever).
4- be unafraid and unapologetic in your writing. Self-involved, politically motivated and "important" poets, whether performance based, blog based, page based, avant-garde based blah blah are there to be ridiculed. But most of all, ridicule yourself. Don't be prejudiced you arse, but don't be soft and PC like everyone else. Fuck with em.
5- have fun. It's meant to be fun. And a good maximalist poem is really really fun. Funny. Funnimungus.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
New Ish
(c) http://katykelley.tumblr.com/post/5670949379/comfort-zone
I've been thinking about the way we write and what we write and how we challenge ourselves recently. After a conversation this morning, I realised there's been this unwritten rule at Jam Jar Poetry Slam (this Sunday 11th Nov 3pm y'all!), where you bring new shit.
Of course, no-one's gonna string you up if you perform or read the same piece from a previous month, but at the last slam in October, there were a few folks who did the same piece again.
I'd rather you got up and performed than didn't at all, however when it's a monthly event, and a regular crowd forms, is it artistically okay to perform the same 2 minute poem as last time? I don't know, and I'm only riffing here, so please don't take my word as bond...
Personally as host, I'll always try to bring something the crowd hasn't seen before. On occasion I've done the same piece from a few months back at the Jam Jar slams, but as a general rule, I'll usually have new material. Sometimes it's great and goes down a treat, it ALWAYS shows me if a certain piece needs a bit more tinkering. Thanks to following that ethos, over the past 12 months or so I have over 20 different performance poems up my sleeve. Some suit certain audiences better, of course, but overall I've built up a pretty strong repertoire of pieces which I can pull out almost any time.
In this context I think of performance poetry as something in between stand up comedy and a band. I'd be pissed if I went to see Billy Connelly and he gave me the same jokes and stories as on his dvd's. However it would piss me off as much if I saw Radiohead and they didn't play something from OK Computer or Kid A.
So there's an element of "play it again Sam" because you enjoy the delivery and the art of the piece, like a song, yet in the up-close-and-personal world of performance poetry, there is a need for the conversation between audience and poet to be fresh and new like a stand-up's jokes.
But I'd hate it if performers, especially those who are only just getting their feet wet, felt some sort of pressure to give new material all the time. I work on my art constantly. I have both the time and the energy to commit to writing new material. A lot of other people don't. The slam at Jam Jar can be a confronting enough space as it is - no mic, a round space, very close vocal crowd - without having to always write new material.
But remember that it's a small community, this poetry thing. The same folks come to most of these events.
Eleanor Jackson and Betsy Turcot are endlessly inspiring because they not only work full time, but also write whole new sets of poetry for specific gigs. When Betsy came to Jam Jar in October, she had a fresh 12 minute set prepared. I've barely seen Eleanor Jackson repeat a thing.
I'm not saying be prolific every single month. And your challenges may be different: this month you might read your piece, next month you might have it memorised. You might skip a month, so you can get a new piece ready for the next one. There's a lot of valid choices to make. But playing it safe may just be the easiest way to distance yourself from your audience.
I was incredibly impressed that Martin Ingle, who has begun to acquire a nice little collection of poems, read something new at the recent QLD Poetry Slam heats. He could have pulled anything from this year's Jam Jar performances out, yet he didn't. And he didn't make it through to the finals either.
Yet through the poetry community there were whispers of pride and encouragement for a guy pushing himself constantly. Which is why I recommended him to the State Library to be sacrificial poet at the state final, he did a great job, got paid too, and it could almost be argued that - more so than the runner-up or the winner - Martin is the go-to guy for a fresh new voice in poetry.
Because he's starting to push himself in new directions with his art. Therefore making an exciting experience to watch.
Try to enter the challenge of constantly writing.
Create feasible, realistic goals and go for them.
Try something new.
Make your art on the knife's edge.
At Graham Nunn's recent workshop he commented that, if you are a writer, you write.
So write.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Raw Poet, ROOOAAAARRRRR
It’s the end
of the year (derrr), Speedpoets has finished up, we are coming up to our last
Jam Jar Poetry Slam of the year too, Words or Whatever is having a November
sign-off on the 16th and basically we say bye for another poetry
year and let the words sift through till January…Not that it’s
all over, of course, Woodford’s WordFood is going to be a hell of a new year’s
event and there’s a few nice little open mics still kickin around.
But sometimes it’s nice to honour the year and go out with a bang.
So please come, if you’re in Brisbane, to
Raw Poet Roar!
Dec 1st, 6:30-10pm. $15 entry. The Box. West End.
It’s gonna be huge.
And it’s been a huge year for me, my first year doing art as my actual career (eek!), the 1st anniversary of Jam Jar Poetry Slam, my first year touring Melbourne, Sydney, Lismore, Byron etc etc… So I want to celebrate and honour that, if nothing else…And really, I’ve NEVER done a big set in front of my home audience before. It’s been my personal challenge to hold the space for a big, big feature. Not like poetry “big feature” of 15minutes.
I mean like... double that, if not more.
It brings into play my role as not only poet, but entertainer as well. Someone who can hold a crowd. Can I do it? I don’t really know. But you can come and see that’s for sure. And if I fail, then there’s entertainment in the cringe worthiness of it all…
The other thing about this event is, well, I thought about who else to get to feature. I thought of some of the big names and my friends in Brisbane spoken word at the moment… Doubting Thomas, Eleanor Jackson, Betsy Turcot, Ghostboy, Graham Nunn, Adam Hadley… the list goes on…
But then I thought, there are a fair few poets whose work I really like, whose ethos and attitude I really like, and who seem to come to almost everything, read a poem or two, basically making the Brisbane Poetry community the warm and diverse place it is.
So fuck it, let’s make a place for the raw talent to shine. An event featuring sets by some of Brisbane’s hidden (and not-so-hidden) poetry talent. From beautifully realised car rides with Trudie Murrel through to haiku heavyweight Vuong Pham, faerie love poet Rachael Dean and slam maker of lurrvve to words Martin Ingle, this is going to be raw, different, crazy, real...
So let’s roar together eh? With host Fern Thompsett at the helm, we are guaranteed a night of bad puns, fun smiles, and a down-to-earth way to celebrate success in all its forms AND future success in all its hope and glory.
Raw Poet Roar has come together beautifully.
I can’t wait to see what this crew of 10 poets has to offer.
And what the hell am I gonna do?
Blow the roof off the mother.
Roar.
----------------------------------
The official line-up for Raw Poet Roar is as follows:
and kooky songstress Lucy Fox!
-------------------------
6:30pm, Saturday 1st December, The Box, 29 Vulture St, West End. $15 entry.
But sometimes it’s nice to honour the year and go out with a bang.
So please come, if you’re in Brisbane, to
Raw Poet Roar!
Dec 1st, 6:30-10pm. $15 entry. The Box. West End.
It’s gonna be huge.
And it’s been a huge year for me, my first year doing art as my actual career (eek!), the 1st anniversary of Jam Jar Poetry Slam, my first year touring Melbourne, Sydney, Lismore, Byron etc etc… So I want to celebrate and honour that, if nothing else…And really, I’ve NEVER done a big set in front of my home audience before. It’s been my personal challenge to hold the space for a big, big feature. Not like poetry “big feature” of 15minutes.
I mean like... double that, if not more.
It brings into play my role as not only poet, but entertainer as well. Someone who can hold a crowd. Can I do it? I don’t really know. But you can come and see that’s for sure. And if I fail, then there’s entertainment in the cringe worthiness of it all…
The other thing about this event is, well, I thought about who else to get to feature. I thought of some of the big names and my friends in Brisbane spoken word at the moment… Doubting Thomas, Eleanor Jackson, Betsy Turcot, Ghostboy, Graham Nunn, Adam Hadley… the list goes on…
But then I thought, there are a fair few poets whose work I really like, whose ethos and attitude I really like, and who seem to come to almost everything, read a poem or two, basically making the Brisbane Poetry community the warm and diverse place it is.
So fuck it, let’s make a place for the raw talent to shine. An event featuring sets by some of Brisbane’s hidden (and not-so-hidden) poetry talent. From beautifully realised car rides with Trudie Murrel through to haiku heavyweight Vuong Pham, faerie love poet Rachael Dean and slam maker of lurrvve to words Martin Ingle, this is going to be raw, different, crazy, real...
So let’s roar together eh? With host Fern Thompsett at the helm, we are guaranteed a night of bad puns, fun smiles, and a down-to-earth way to celebrate success in all its forms AND future success in all its hope and glory.
Raw Poet Roar has come together beautifully.
I can’t wait to see what this crew of 10 poets has to offer.
And what the hell am I gonna do?
Blow the roof off the mother.
Roar.
----------------------------------
The official line-up for Raw Poet Roar is as follows:
- JD
- Rachael Dean
- Vuong Pham
- Ahliya Kite
- Michael Cohen
- Zenobia Frost
- Trudie Murrel
- JK
- Angela Willock
- Martin Ingle
and kooky songstress Lucy Fox!
-------------------------
6:30pm, Saturday 1st December, The Box, 29 Vulture St, West End. $15 entry.
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