Dirtyfilthypoet?
GFest08 on Thursday November 20th at Rich Mix on Bethnal Green Road was very, very enjoyable and was an event which seems to have presented me with a choice. Do I carry on being a reader of my own poems to audiences, or do I become a performer of my own poems to audiences? Staying at home and hoping the poems will find their way into the world without me is not an option. I have to do one or the other - for my own fulfilment and also to further my 'career' as a poet. And yes, I suppose I'm ambitious in that I do want as many people as possible to know about what I do.
The former - being a reader - is easy. I can speak clearly to large groups. A touch monotone perhaps, but professional. I've been a college lecturer for 10 years, for god's sake! And, in fact, this is all that's expected of me. I need do no more than this. It's what most professional poets do. But for me this is somehow unsatisfactory. I feel as if I might as well just ask for a recording of me to be played on stage...
The latter choice - the one of performing - is one I've taunted myself with for years, because, closet exhibitionist that I am, deep down I WANT to do it. But, to be honest, I've not considered what performing actually means, until now.
At GFest08 I read/performed 8 poems. Didn't time myself but I was on stage, me and my portfolio of poems flat on a stool, for 10-15 minutes. I steeled myself against the harsh spotlight, trying not to squint, only vaguely aware of faces looking back at me. In the tech rehearsal I asked for any advice and was told I looked as if I was trying to hide. Why does one half of my brain want me to hide while the other want me to stalk around half naked?
In the actual show I attempted more body language, my arms, for the first time in a reading, being free. Though to use my body well I need to practise with a camcorder because I need to see how my movements look - at the moment I've no idea. What I think are dramatic or significant gestures are actually, I fear, just half-hearted spasms. So I certainly need to become BIGGER. Camcorder practice will take me part way there, but only a radical change in attitude will take me the rest of the way. I need to start believing that my poems deserve to inhabit that stage. It's not an ego-thing. Especially since many of my poems adopt various voices - Michelangelo, Satan, for example - and even those which seem 'personal' are not necessarily 'me', just a version of myself. So, in a sense, my poems are not about me at all. But I did write them and I do feel a responsibility to get them out there in a way which does them justice, in a way which approximates to how I imagine them best performed. And only I can do that. So my presence, my full presence, is required.
At GFest08 I often slipped into 'good reader' mode, merely relaying words. But there were a few moments when I felt that the words were alive and my body was alive with them - or, if not in my body, it was at least alive in my eyes. These were moments when I didn't feel like hiding. They were ego-less, moving and vulnerable.
That's never happened before. And that's why doing GFest08 has made this 'choice' more stark. I have to pursue those moments. I have to.
In a project which is about the male body, about seeing it, feeling it, connecting with it, allowing it to be vulnerable, accepting it, rejoicing in it and 'performing' it, it seems entirely appropriate that I should do my utmost to find those moments and perform the poems - with and through my body - on stage. Maybe 'appropriate' is too weak a word here. I'm beginning to believe that these poems' performance is not in any way arbitrary or disconnnected from their inception or evolution. They're certainly not 'performance poems' in that they're written for the page, not the stage. But their performance is becoming, I think, an integral late component in their 'life' or development. It's interesting that my latest title for the project 'The Word Queers The Flesh, The Flesh Queers The Word' seems to have foreseen the kind of circuitry I've got in mind here. Poems get written out of the experience of - or the imagining of - gay male embodiment. The poems attempt to explore/re-enact/allegorise that embodiment not only in their themes, but also in their actual forms. The poems, in turn, shape and determine MY body while they are being performed.
I need to return to that phrase 'performance poem'. Last night I read/performed at the Chameleon Gallery Bar in Nottingham (my second gig in 8 days!) I was first on at a venue I'd never been to before. So that was tough. The audience, mainly art students and scruffy bohemian types in their early 20's, were still drifting in as I began. I had nowhere to rest my poems, and the light was poor - I could barely see them. So, disappointingly, there were no magic 'moments', for me, or anyone. But I carried it off. As a reader - not, really, as a performer. But it was valuable because I was able to compare myself with Mr Jones, a performance poet on the same bill.
Mr Jones was a better performer than me because he had a rapport with the audience (the fact that he seemed familiar with the venue and with the promoters obviously helped him in this). He was likeable. He was funny. He'd also memorised his poems - something which would scare the shit out of me, to be honest. But I realised, on seeing him, that as a poet he was coming from a wholly different place.
'Performance poetry' seems always to have one foot in another camp. Sometimes it seems akin to Rap and steals Rap's use of a single rhyme - frequently, compulsively, often ingeniously - for an entire piece. (Associating oneself with Rap is a canny move for a performance poet, too, because Rap is cool and Poetry is, well... not!) Performance poetry often has Rap's fast, declamatory delivery. Sometimes, too, there are elements of political or religious sermonising and audience participation. Sometimes it seems to belong to the ancient storytelling traditions (Celtic, griot, etc.) Sometimes it seems to belong in the realm of cabaret, or, less commonly, in the realm of contemporary performance art - with props, music, sound and kinaesthetic elements. Very, very often it seems just a wordier version of stand-up comedy. But no matter what camp it's got its foot in, performance poetry is essentially a community art - a democratic, inclusive, crowd-pleasing art. It wants us to laugh, or nod in recognition, or be dumbfounded by the virtuosity of the delivery. And - and this is the controversial bit - I'd go as far as to say that the content of the poem isn't quite as important as the 'flow' - the virtuosity with which it's delivered and that virtuosity's impact on the audience.
So what am I saying? I suppose I'm saying I can learn a lot from 'performance poetry'. But I don't want to be part of its 'culture'. So I don't want to be labelled as a 'performance poet'. I think it's handy for me to have the moniker of 'dirtyfilthypoet' - it's memorable and googlable, but it's just a gimmick to bring the punters in. Once they're in they'll find themselves duped, because actually I'm not a 'performance poet' at all.
There was a moment in Mr Jones' set when he forgot his words (my nightmare!) just for a few tense seconds. But Robin commented that this seemed almost like an expected - possibly even rehearsed - part of the act. When he forgot his words the audience held its collective breath much as they would if they were watching a tight-rope walker have a bit of a wobble high above them.
Aren't these the moments we pay for?
Thanks for reading!
Richard
