Tuesday, 1 July 2008

do as I did, not as I'll do

Sonnets are sometimes appearing on Sean Bonney’s blog. For instance,

poetry, once available
in several sizes
of flip discount menace
before the doors of the mighty
the hounds of capital, unleashed
sobriety, knives & clowns.
But politeness would dictate, now
a specific negation of history’s
lame dogs & veterans
the british anarchist movement
on a day-trip to the seaside:
ok, say that again,
flatten the official town,
the poem.

A new Readings is recently up, with some bits on Sean’s Poisons, Their Antidotes and Baudelaire in English, & other stuff that looks good.

Chris Goode’s probably-fantastic production of Chekhov’s … Sisters is on in London till the 5 July. And he’s got a, you know, courtly and effervescent big post about it which begins:

“Gordon’s alive!

... I don’t mean Gordon Brown, obviously, for whom the phrase ‘dead man walking’ could easily have been coined – or, perhaps not walking but smiling: that weird Malvolio rictus that his advisors idiotically trained him into a while back, and which gives him the ineffable air of a man at a royal garden party who doesn't want the Queen to know that a bee’s just crawled inside his bell-end.”

Harry Gilonis recently strewed a blessing memo re this play. & from Hairy’s Dairy:

“You’ve missed the Ledbury Poetry Festival: “the best in the country”, says Andrew Motion. Which means you’ve in fact missed Carol Ann Duffy, Vicki Feaver, Jackie Kay, Luke Kennard, Blake Morrison, Grace Nichols, Michael Rosen, Matthew Sweeney, a veteran of Britain's first poetry boy band [no, NOT M. Sweeney; that comma was separating, not copulative], a poetry slam, a collaboration between school pupils and a Hereford-based hip-hop group ... plus “your favourite poems read by distinguished actors”.

Missing THAT ought to put a spring in your step and a smile on your lips.

AND you’ve missed the chance to pay to have dinner with Simon Armitage at the Waterside Hotel, across the road from Dove Cottage, Grasmere.

AND you’ve missed Jake & Dinos Chapman making an exhibition of themselves somewhere in London.”

& Friday 11 June: Saint Barnabas Church, Cardigan Street, Oxford OX2 6BG, 7.30pm, Styles J. Kauphmann - acoustic improvisation - solo voice.

& Thursday 3 June: 15 Leathermarket Street, London Bridge, SE1 3HN, 7pm, CROSSING THE LINE reading: Sophie Robinson &Peter Philpott.

Facts about Ireland can be reduced to – that is, can be construed to be – facts about Soundeye 2008, Thursday to Sunday (‘the reduction base’).

Thursday 3 July
4 p.m. – Firkin Crane Theatre, Shandon
Trevor Joyce, Mark Weiss

8 p.m. – Black Mariah, Washington Street
Opening of Exhibition with reading by Maggie O'Sullivan

Friday 4 July
12 noon – The Guest House project space, 10 Chapel Street, Shandon
Poetry by Default (curated by Jimmy Cummins)
Susana Gardner, Jason Hirons, Keston Sutherland, David Toms

4 p.m. – Firkin Crane Theatre, Shandon
Peter Manson, Tom Pickard, Catherine Wagner

8 p.m. – The Other Place, Paradise Place
Alternative Cabaret (curated by Fergal Gaynor & Marja Tuhkanen)
With a viola da gamba consort, performances from Bonney / Kruk / Lindsay / Robinson, art-noise band KFDS, a twenty-minute opera, the Polskadots etc etc
Admission €8

Saturday 5 July
1 p.m. – Firkin Crane Theatre, Shandon
Mairéad Byrne, Jim Maughn, Andrew Zawacki

4 p.m. – Firkin Crane Theatre, Shandon
Alison Croggon, Kenneth Goldsmith, Maurice Scully

9 p.m. – Meades Wine Bar, 126 Oliver Plunkett Street
Open Mike Session with M.C. Mairéad Byrne

Sunday 6 July
12 noon – Firkin Crane Theatre, Shandon
Daniel Ereditario, Matthew Geden, Justin Katko

3 p.m. – Firkin Crane Theatre, Shandon
Randolph Healy, Fanny Howe

admission free to all events except the alternative cabaret


Tuesday, 8 July
7 p.m. – The River Room, The Glucksman Gallery, U.C.C., Cork
Presentation by Kenneth Goldsmith on Electronic Curation and his Website of the Avant-Garde, Ubuweb
Admission €5

1 comment:

wristsplints said...

Oh. I'm sorry to say I've actually DONE one of those aforementioned things, which one should have missed. His poetic output has only become worse and worse and more fitting for the mostly-pensioned audience which sat before him. But my three-seats-away hotspot was a good position from which to mock; I was stuck in the Lake District with my parents after all & naturally I coveted troublemaking w/ the poetic establishment. I like to think Wordsworth would have slapped my hand.