A Thought Occured

The lock-down has a lot to answer for. I have, as you will soon see, too much time on my hands. This is the latest scheme I dreamt up during the time spent doing little apart from reading and meditating.

A book of poems is purchased from a Charity/Thrift shop and then mailed to one of the team to review. The ideal team would include Roger Stevens, Michael Leigh, Sue Hardy Dawson, Terresa Martin and Charlotte Rogers. That list is by no means extensive and could be, might be, probably would be enlarged. The written review is then posted onto ‘Something for The Weekend, Sir?’  Sort of a poetry mail art. Poetry recycled. 

It's an idea.

The other idea, less new than the above, and one you all know about is the one this site is now based on - spoken word. I have contacted both The Poetry Book Society and The Poetry Society in the hope they may share my thoughts on having a spoken word blog. Here is the body of text I sent - 

I had a notion that spoken word, as Sara Kay so beautifully put it, had legs. Sara didn't mention legs or any other appendage but said this...

"Spoken word poetry is the art of performance poetry. I tell people it involves creating poetry that doesn't just want to sit on paper, that something about it demands it be heard out loud or witnessed in person."  

Up until 50, I was much like Winnie the Pooh, a bear of little brain. Since then I started to write. Sadly, I have little talent in composing poetry however, I am rapidly growing passionate about poetry. So how about a blog featuring oral poetry thought I? Why we have poetry recitals don't we?

Great an idea that I thought it was, I don't have enough contacts in the poetry world. I know, some published poets like Roger Stevens and some others who helped the blog by supplying their talents. It worked too, at least for a year. So, then I lifted spoken word pieces from YouTube. As good as that has been it is not what this site is all about. The original idea was simple, the rules few and easy.

1. The first poet records his words via YouTube then posts them on the site having been given access via my sending them an invite. They leave it a week then invite another poet to do the same. In effect a spoken word relay that will encompass the globe. The idea is to spread poetry in the spoken form. 

2. As this site is called "Something For the Weekend, Sir?" all posts have to be on a Friday. If the name is unsuitable for The Poetry Society it can be changed to whatever you feel suitable.

That's it. Simple. I get nothing for doing it and don’t want anything apart from (get the bucket ready as you may want to vomit here) the sheer pleasure of both hearing and being part of the process.

If this is of interest, then please let me know. I would act as curator. My only influence on the blog would be to ensure that a post is available for the Friday and if not, get another poet, from anywhere I can find them, to post something of theirs.

At the foot of each post is this caveat… All poems are copyright of the poet. Permission for this poet to post their work here has been granted by blog owner. All rights remain with the individual poet and their respective publisher.

If not too presumptuous of me, I would gladly share the site to promote The Poetry Society in an oral fashion. In fact effectively make Something For The Weekend, Sir?  The Poetry Society's blog.

So, what do you think?

This is the response I received from Alice Mullen of The Poetry Book Society - 

Hi Russell, 

Thanks for your emails to myself and Sophie. Apologies for the delayed reply but I thought this was intended for the Poetry Society. It's great to hear you're planning to celebrate spoken word with a new recording project. We'd be very happy to help to spread the word about it on social media. Best of luck with the project and do keep us posted!

All the best, 

Alice 

Poetry Book Society

The following is courtesy of The Poetry Book Society.  Written by Seán Hewitt a rising star of poetry

TA PROHM

A stifling  heat –  the air  heavy –
and all around the loud, wet forest
knotting the gaps in its own sound.

A peace long- earned, then broken;
and you, far off in the hospice bed.
Silk- cotton, strangler- fig

fastened here on the temple
as though it grew down from heaven,
was sent to hold in place

all this human work. And later,
through the house of fire, the fallen
galleries, I climbed in blue smoke

to where the god sat
ringed with incense. And yes,
I knelt to her. And yes, I prayed

through unbelief. Perhaps now,
father, only something old
and impossible can save us.

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All poems are copyright of the poet. Permission for this poet to post their work here has been granted by blog owner. All rights remain with the individual poet and their respective publisher.

Leonard Cohen (with grateful thanks to CollenBoye)

This from the unforgettable Leonard Cohen. Words from his "Death of a Lady's Man" video courtesy of YouTube




Take the word butterfly. To use this word it is not necessary to make the voice weigh less than an ounce or equip it with small dusty wings. It is not necessary to invent a sunny day or a field of daffodils. It is not necessary to be in love, or to be in love with butterflies. The word butterfly is not a real butterfly. There is the word and there is the butterfly. If you confuse these two items people have the right to laugh at you. Do not make so much of the word. Are you trying to suggest that you love butterflies more perfectly than anyone else, or really understand their nature? The word butterfly is merely data. It is not an opportunity for you to hover, soar, befriend flowers, symbolize beauty and frailty, or in any way impersonate a butterfly. Do not act out words. Never act out words. Never try to leave the floor when you talk about flying. Never close your eyes and jerk your head to one side when you talk about death. Do not fix your burning eyes on me when you speak about love. If you want to impress me when you speak about love put your hand in your pocket or under your dress and play with yourself. If ambition and the hunger for applause have driven you to speak about love you should learn how to do it without disgracing yourself or the material.
Speak the words with the exact precision with which you would check out a laundry list. Do not become emotional about the lace blouse. Do not get a hard-on when you say panties. Do not get all shivery just because of the towel. The sheets should not provoke a dreamy expression about the eyes. There is no need to weep into the handkerchief. The socks are not there to remind you of strange and distant voyages. It is just your laundry. It is just your clothes. Don't peep through them. Just wear them.

Avoid the flourish. Do not be afraid to be weak. Do not be ashamed to be tired. You look good when you're tired. You look like you could go on forever. Now come into my arms. You are the image of my beauty.

The poem is nothing but information. It is the Constitution of the inner country. If you declaim it and blow it up with noble intentions then you are no better than the politicians whom you despise. You are just someone waving a flag and making the cheapest kind of appeal to a kind of emotional patriotism. Think of the words as science, not as art. They are a report. You are speaking before a meeting of the Explorers' Club of the National Geographic Society. These people know all the risks of mountain climbing. They honour you by taking this for granted. If you rub their faces in it that is an insult to their hospitality. Tell them about the height of the mountain, the equipment you used, be specific about the surfaces and the time it took to scale it. Do not work the audience for gasps and sighs. If you are worthy of gasps and sighs it will not be from your appreciation of the event but from theirs. It will be in the statistics and not the trembling of the voice or the cutting of the air with your hands. It will be in the data and the quiet organization of your presence. .
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All poems are copyright of the poet. Permission for this poet to post their work here has been granted by blog owner. All rights remain with the individual poet and their respective publisher.

Signs by Lorna Wood

This from November 2014. A spoken word poem by Lorna Wood. The original can be viewed here...https://fishypoets.blogspot.com/2014/11/signs-by-lorna-wood.html


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 All poems are copyright of the poet. Permission for this poet to post their work here has been granted by blog owner. All rights remain with the individual poet and their respective publisher.

The Return of Spoken Word Poetry on Something For The Weekend, Sir?

Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Frustrated at my lack of success in gathering poets to record their work then post it here each Friday saw me 'lifting' spoken word poetry off YouTube. I couldn't arouse the interest of poets to join what I saw as a spoken word relay so I turned instead to YouTube. That worked well enough for a while but still left me feeling dissatisfied. Then, with the third mutation this site has seen, I started posting YouTube videos of the music I liked which I thought might be interesting to others. However, once a passion has been kindled then doused time takes its time but eventually, time rekindles the flame. The flame is again burning bright. Poetry is a thing I love. Spoken Word Poetry is a passion of mine. I stopped posting the spoken word a little over a year ago. I hope it will return here as soon as possible. There is a glimmer of a possibility it might. 

I would also like to continue with this site's 'Poetry Book of the Year' award. It seems a little pretentious somehow yet feels right. 'Something For The Weekend, Sir?" is hardly cutting edge and certainly not a universally accepted voice on poetry. I would like it to be but to that end, we would have to work hard. I feel unable to do full justice to such a concept. I find it easy to write about art, novels and music but not so poetry. I know I love it, increasingly so, yet still, those words dazzle me. With Roger Stevens and Michael Leigh my co-administrators of this site I thought perhaps we could field a team of adjudicators who could judge what they thought to be the best poetry book of the year but I think we require another, a female I think to add balance. That still seems insufficient numbers to form a judging panel. I am also unsure as to how to make the judging function. For example, I may read a book by Barry Hill which I think is brilliant. Do I then send my copy to one of the adjudicators to read? That would be a long process if the book has to be forwarded 4 or 5 times.

I am hoping that when Janet comes on board, no pressure intended, she will kick-start the relay so that it runs for a good while on the fuel she may supply with the contacts she knows. When that surge runs its natural course I again hope that what has been started will have gained notice so that others will join to continue the process. I am hoping.

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All poems are copyright of the poet. Permission for this poet to post their work here has been granted by blog owner. All rights remain with the individual poet and their respective publisher.