7x7 also happened to be my first foray into blogging for the Manchester Literature Festival Blog. For that reason I'll have to keep to the bare minimum for that one so you can read about the event in all its glory once it's posted on http://manchesterliterature.blogspot.com/. Needless to say it was an intriguing blend of writer, illustrator and animator that provided a dip into the creative process that isn't usually witnessed by readers and viewers alike. Check it out!
So, onto the next one...
When Black Is Red was held at the Green Room on Wednesday 20th October, and marked the release of Red, an anthology of Black British Poetry celebrating local authors and established figures in poetry. Introduced spectacularly by Peter Kalu who is a genius of story-telling and verse, the evening encompassed readings from the likes of Seni Seneviratne, John Lyons and Grace Nichols.
Peter Kalu opened the evening with an intense poem about a gambling Pastor who risks everything for the fate of his church, that really warmed the night up. His words were like a kettle, with every letter getting closer and closer to boiling, with lines such as, "Like the Lions roar he commands instant respect..." also reflecting his own performance style, though it were less commanding and more intriguing.
Seni Seneviratne treated the audience to some vocal poetry that I definitely was not expecting, though once I got used to it (Like Johnny Depp singing in Sweeney Todd) I did start to enjoy it. Her material mostly all concerned war, either past or present, such as 'Waltzing Matilda' that haunted the audience with very real tales of of battle and how it not only affects soldiers but uproots families.
John Lyons was such an entertaining, one could say eccentric character, that even if he had talked casually with the audience for an hour he still would have got a warm reception. It must have been the combination of good verse and his unique English infused Trinidadian accent (if thats how you say it!). Listening to his expressive words really brought you into the mindset of growing up in Trinidad, what was important; the food, the women, and even his old grandma shouting "Slavery ain dun yet!"
Grace Nichols was a completely different kettle of fish to her previous poets, and brought to the evening a sense of humble origins and different perspectives that threatened to overthrow prior eccentricities and storytelling. I have to be honest and say I preferred the previous poets to Nichols, but you still can't help admiring her verse and way around the language that was like staring through a peep hole into another world, illuminating quite clearly what is important to her, such as identity, her diet, her pets and even where she calls home, to which she exclaimed, "wherever I hang my knickers".
The night was one of the most entertaining as well as inspiring events of my Literature Festival calender, so much so I couldn't help writing a small verse on the way home:
Guided swiftly through Manchester by time's addled hands,
Numbers forming directions as the helpful arrows spin,
Amswer's dripping down like raindrops between watchtowers,
The spyglass reflecting a light unseen by nomads looking down at the street
Their heads bowed in silent prayer from the pressure hanging invisible above
Snapping their necks forward causing permanent damage.
Ascent would prove too painful
Since the descent was far too easy
Try following hands sometime
The timing isn't always that simple.
More event scribbles coming soon...
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