Poet's Cafe
Saturday, 19 May 2007
So, last night, I went to the Poet's Cafe in Reading, a monthly thing where poets...poeticise. I didn't really know what to expect; it was my first time there, and with more than a little feeling of 'you're going to regret this' I walked in, bought my ticket and a pint and sat down.
The room, which was probably set to hold about 50 people was centred around individual tables; it did feel very much like the layout of a comedy club or something, with the obvious exception that the walls were painted in a kind of horrid multi-purpose green befitting an arts centre. When I first arrived, there were about 20 people there already, and they were all clustered around tables as groups. I took a table in the corner, put on my most angst-ridden artist face, and hoped everyone would think I was some kind of Bosnian performance artists refugee.
5 minutes later, everyone had arrived, seemed about 35 people there. Although it seemed I was pretty alone, physically and emotionally (the majority of people were roughly 40-60) it wasn't to intimidating, which was nice. The MC, a rather smashing chap asked if I was going to perform anything, and I said no, instantly smashing my elaborately crafted facade that I was a Bosnian performance artist refugee, my Queen's english betrayed by pale-faced British heritage.
So, the open mic started, and it was a mixed bag. Some of it was dreadful, some of it excellent. The majority feel into a kind of grudgingly good category. Then the main speaker, Gill Learner, came on. Her poetry was good, although not hugely inventive technically, and she wasn't the most dynamic speaker ever, but it was easy to see her stuff was worth listening to (is that a contradiction in terms?)
The second half after the interval (obviously) was much better though. There were some genuine classic poems, and a rather flippantly grand poem to kick things off. I was very impressed. I think I may go alone next time (my sister came this time, but kind of hated me for it) and cultivate my image of a kind of poetic anti-hero.
Finally, I have to pick out the compere, a mister AF Harrold, ---> who was hilarious, extravagant, talented, and was more than accomodating to the two newcomers sat in the corner (e.g. us!)
Labels: poetry
posted by danny @ 13:05,
1 Comments:
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At 19 May 2007 at 15:04,
Unknown said...
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I'd quite like to go to one and recite my Byron-esque poetry, whilst wearing huge cuffs, and all sorts of lace.
That'd be great. And I salute your joi de vivre1!
