Lyra Festival - first weekend

Yay! The Bristol Poetry Festival, Lyra, kicked off on Friday 17th April with a panel discussion on why poetry now and the Queer Cabaret. My take aways were on the importance of keeping on writing with hope even in the dark times, and the need to grow poetry audiences to lift us from being the Cinderella art form. Perhaps a change of name as Spoken Word did twenty years ago. I've been mulling this and have come up with Word Shorts. I'm going to start referring to my work like this and see what happens, so we have no more children screaming outside Michel Rosen's set on Saturday 18th that they hate poetry. At the Cabaret Keith Jarrett's performance was awesome and I'm glad I had the chance to tell him so.

Saturday 18th for me was all about the Braid Poetry Walk around Clifton. I had a lot of fun devising the route, researching the writers associated with Clifton and chosing what to read. And with my Braid colleagues we put together great poems from our oeuvres to share with the twenty plus folk who came to enjoy the architecture, history and literature of the part of Bristol I call home. It was enthusiastically received and we've been asked to do it again next year. Hurrah!

The rest of Saturday I admit to being absolutely shattered, but I did manage to enjoy John McCullough, Karen McCarthy-Woolf and Matthew Rice. Even if I did drift off for ten minutes, at least I didn't snore. The readings from Gaza poets were very moving indeed. The notion of going to the beach and looking at the sunset while holding on to the idea that the sea cannot be taken away will stay with me.

Sunday 19th and we missed the start of Inua Ellams' improv reading due to my inability to decipher the programme. We caught most of it and enjoyed his dexterity in finding pieces to read suggested by words from the audience. Interesting too were his comments on writing: how everything starts with a poem, even if it then becomes a play or essay or story. Bravo.

The highlight of Sunday, and probably the whole festival, was the stunning performance of her new book, Maryville, by doyen of Spoken Word and T.S. Eliot superstar, Joelle Taylor. Marvellous. I was moved to tears and the standing ovation she received was never more deserved. Do not miss the chance to see this show. Seriously. 

Tracey Emin - Second Life

A fabulously sunny day and I head indoors for the exhibition of the year, maybe. If you don't love Tracey, then you'll disagree I'm sure. I, however, find her painting, especially, incredibly moving as expression of women's pain. We all have it in various forms, and here it is writ and coloured large.

It was good to see the blankets, neons and iconic bed and the paintings again, and some new things - the bleeding stoma self-portrait photographs are very hard to look at. By this point in the exhibition I was overwhelmed and crying. I had to sit down and rest.

Although there is a lot to see, you don't need to read every piece of paper as it's all in the catalogue. Of course, you 'll have to acquire that. And you'll have seen the films before. Still they draw a crowd. 

I'd have liked much, much more to look at. More sculpture beyond the maquettes and one large one - there's one outside also, which small children were busy climbing all over as, Easter holidays and what else is it there for? I'd have appreciated her lockdown watercolours, more birds, neons and embroideries. The show could easily have been twice the size, and why not? I am greedy. More, more, more, please like the insomnia photos, the paintings of her Mum and, and.

One thing I can't quite understand is why you would bring children to this exhibition. Far too many awkward questions to be answered. I'm not sure I'd want to handle that until they were teenagers. But hithee and soon.

Cosmos at the RWA

The new group show at the RWA opened last weekend to explore the intersection between art and science in relation to all things spacey. There were some lovely pieces and, of course, some that didn't float my spacecraft. That is to be expected. 

I admired the slice of the moon's in glittering silver and the speculative planetary surfaces in textured paper. 

It was good to be reminded in a series of photographs about the Jaipur Observatory, which I visited almost forty years ago. And I was intrigued, as always, by Cornelia Parker's meteorite burnt maps, as much as looking at a large chunk of said rock.

Less exciting were renderings of Nasa photographs, whereas the closely observed 19th C pastel of the moon from the Royal Astronomical Society was an exemplar of both scientific measurement and artistry. 

Prints of nebulas too held my gaze for a long while. And, being a sucker for ceramics, I really wanted to tuck one the moon jars under my arm.

It's on for several months, so don't be phased, but do pop along. 

Helios redux

Swimming under the sun. 

It was too tempting to miss;  a special moment getting up close and under the heat of Luke Jerram's Helios, currently suspended over the Jubilee Pool in Knowle.

 Installed as a fund raiser for the desperately needed new roof, late night swimming sessions for limited numbers of the curious are a fantastic experience. 

It was on the one hand serene when folk were quiet enough to enable the accompanying music to be heard, and on the other an exuberance of joy. 

I enjoyed my half hour greatly, but could have done without the gale blowing on the hilltop as we made our way home at midnight. 

Christmas in France

Of course, the day we decide to do the Christmas food shopping it's pouring with rain. The water table needs topping up here in the Aude valley if the vines are to survive next summer, which if anything like this last year will be very hot and very dry. Vignerons around and about have lost many a vine to climate change in recent years, this and over-production for a lessening demand, especially from the young, does not bode well for one of the main parts of the rural French economy. 

But onwards, it's Noel and time to look for the light and eat far too much rich food. We've bought all kinds of things that we never normally consume like langoustines, oysters, foie gras and a capon, and have tired and failed to buy things we'd rather like, especially fresh cranberries. Oh well, when in the Languedoc...

Seasons Greetings all and more in the New Year, when I will be doing a huge number of readings all over the UK to promote my new book. Prepare to be thoroughly fed up with me until you give in and buy a copy. Details of where and when are on the Sublime Lungs page of this website. Do check back to see if I'm going to be near you as gigs are being added all the time.

What's in a Name

For years people have been asking me where the name for this website comes from, why the tree snake and so on. Here's the rationale:

Boomslang is indeed a rather deadly African snake that likes to hang out in trees - boom is the Dutch/Afrikaans for tree and slang for snake, but in English boom and slang seemed to me to be rather appropriate words for poetry, especially words read out loud and words played with. So there you have it, nothing too mysterious and the name does enable me to say something rather cheesy about poetry with a bite!

Here's an ancient preserved Boomslang from the museum in Swakopmund, Namibia for your delectation.

Luke Jerram - Helios

Just opened in Bristol Cathedral, the monumental Helios by Luke Jerram is a mesmerising work, with a tiny earth nearby to give you a sense of the scale of the sun.

 It's on for the whole of October and is well worth ducking indoors for if you are passing, or even if you have to take a special trip, as the Cathedral itself, and it's commendable and important work on the slave trade counter-narrative is time well spent. Sit and wonder. You'll be glad you did.