Thank you for waiting
Or, is this the best way to start a reading?
I have seen the Poet Laureate, Simon Armitage, read twice. I remember the first time I did so; I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d read a fair amount of his work of course, but didn’t know how he was going to pitch it. The answer when it came was “Thank you for waiting”, a long comic poem about the experience of boarding a plane at an airport departure gate; a staple opening piece, it turns out.
I was unimpressed. I’d expected serious ‘proper’ poetry from the Poet Laureate and had been treated to this ‘skit’. The thing was though, by the end of the piece (and it was funny) he had the audience eating out of his hands. Of course, it subsequently occurred to me that he was there to entertain — so that’s what he was going to do. For the next hour there was a blend of light and not-so-light, and most people went away very happy (though I remained unconvinced).
Next week I have a solo in-person reading and, while I will be reading mainly (serious) prose, I have been wondering about how I should open and close my set. I’m thinking of taking a leaf from Armitage’s playbook: i.e. ease people in; give them something ‘accessible’ to begin with, something light enough to get the audience ‘on-side’. So I’ve settled on the following. It’s not great poetry, but, delivered with effect, if it strikes a chord…
The Gourmands on a Freetown city-centre market stall like undertakers waiting for business two vultures perch funereally and gaze on well-intentioned white flesh the birds sharpen their talons unfurling a wing in readiness for an hors d'œuvres at least one incants the names of entrées from its favourite recipe book thigh cutlet coated with mango jus soft and tender light on the mango says the other ribs with plantain roasted sweet on a brazier calves in groundnut stew or shoulder wrapped in banana leaves tendons braised in tarragon fricassee of fingers served with okra pan fried patella ground groin and even though it can be a little on the fatty side grilled steaks of gluteus maximus studded with cloves picking up on the theme the second vulture proposes a more simple menu liver raw kidney raw heart raw and only just stopped beating ears eyes spleen testicles au poivre? suggests the first raw your problem is that you’ve got no taste says the first vulture before it stretches away to offer its black silhouette to the sky
Either that, or…
Coast
Trace around its outline with great care,
there is danger as well as beauty there.
Go slowly, cautiously;
try to picture postcard scenes
of secluded coves, a deserted beach,
the caves where smugglers hid
and waited for the tide to reach.
Pause again where once upon a kid
you ate fish and chips with Gran,
or cream fruit scones with Auntie Fran;
or walking that neglected path,
held hands with Ruth’s sister, Cath.
Crab fishing from the pier!
Or chasing pollock with a plastic reel;
a Fair, a Carousel, the Dodgems’ cheer,
Candy-floss’s sickly smell,
screaming at the Waltzer’s spell;
a litany of buckets, spades,
vampires, Goths, Sunday parades,
yachts, hovercraft, Bank Holiday swathes
of tourists, row boats, crazy golf,
and over-flowing ice cream sundaes.
You touched the sea more than you knew.
Retracing steam to Dartmouth,
the winding roads to Lyme, St. Ives;
coach trips near and far,
Saltburn’s red funicular;
Blackpool’s lights, Brighton’s sights,
Bournemouth nights, and Whitby frights;
a multicoloured film of wooden huts,
of dunes and skimming stones,
castles of sand fighting incoming tides;
of grit in shoes when walking home
dodging dog shit, the ends of fags,
of wading in the freezing drink
which made your little willie shrink!
Trace your finger round the coast with care;
where land meets sea, your history is there.
both from: Selected Poems (1976-2022)
I think the vultures, don’t you?
The second part of the grand plan is to end the set with the theatrical; a bit of ‘wham-bam’ to wrap the event up and leave attendees with something to remember…and maybe wanting more. Who knows?!
Definitely the vultures. Memories of seaside visits will vary from person to person - some won't have any, some will be miserable. Vultures catch the attention, and might trigger ideas quite outside their actual taste or habits. Comparisons totally divorced from wildlife, birds, and nature - the acquisition and hoarding of possessions, say. Things that might drift into our thoughts in current times of financial hardship, or rising prices, or other unfortunate occurrences..........
I'd go with the Vultures first, it's funny, original and clever. I went to a poetry reading the other day and was treated to half an hour of a dirge like epic which had won numerous prizes. I confess to be the only person who found the monotone interminaly dull - while I like to be given something to chew on so to speak, I don't want to fight the urge to fall asleep. Agree about Henry Normal- a superb entertainer and further generous in that at a recent open mic he stayed to the end and complimented each person on their efforts.