spoken word

Wynyard

Wynyard Station Entrance. Photo: J Bar

Wynyard, Wynyard

your windy yard

the vent we sat at

after dark

what a lark

all dressed in black

our faces painted

our hair teased up

 

Wynyard, Wynyard

your 70s brownness

serried escalators arc

unconsciously modernist

a real-life Jeffrey Smart

Wynyard, Wynyard

Sanctuary in your depths

the handicapped toilet

full of thick brown tiles

count them and you might

have the number of miles

we danced

or pranced

with trails of gossamer and tulle

following us through

your pitched inclines

our tresses

our rounded arms

brushing carelessly past

your unspecial address

with Town Hall before

and Circular Quay after

(the queen of the harbour

with her Cahill crown)

 

Wynyard, Wynyard

our gateway to town

the Hunter Connect

(always made me think

of that Computer Cat pet)

we kids

let loose

and yet

in your wide brown history

merely

another set

of passers by

as your steep shoulders shrug

and shudder with the trains below

an ancient spot

dressed up, ignored

tired of our bored

congress

 

Wynyard, Wynyard

tho

it seems odd

to cherish a dusty park

a station! a bus stop!

just off the bridge

Wynyard Wynyard

I hope you know

I think of you

(it surprised me too)

if not as the place

where dreams come true

at least a spot

where dreams embark

even scruffy ones

after dark

or: gave up, headed home

waiting

for a taxi to the North Shore

it’s changover time again…

enough – I’ll say no more

about

Wynyard, Wynyard

 

Link: https://soundcloud.com/user-808707280/wynyard

I don’t know why I suddenly had a nostalgic pang for this central-Sydney station but there you go. I did spend a lot of time there I guess. One for the old Sydney goths out there – particularly the North Shore ones (a select group to be sure!) And, obviously, I had to record it because anyone unfamiliar with Sydney will not know how to pronounce “Wynyard”.   PS: Does Sydney do ‘Poems on the Underground’? 🙂

 

 

Vanish or “Deleting photos, killed time” – spoken word

Photo by Rayi Christian Wicaksono @Unsplash

 

How the time vanished

just wicked away

having its wicked way

with me

I clicketty, click, click clicked away

and killed that time stone dead

it seeped out at the edge

as I trimmed the hedge

I pruned and I snipped

thousands of photos

down to one

or none

or just five-hundred and four

of the best ones

gripping that platform

with my mouse-clicketty fingers

as the world

vanishes

telegraph-portalled into a right-click

for more options and

it’s never finished easily

so queasily and

dizzily I try

to walk away

hey

if we don’t pay

but we freely stay

and our time, our time, our TIME

has all gone away

oh, I think we have paid

we’ve laid

our offerings at the altar

of an online church

secular worship

our selfie flagellation

I don’t know what’s worse

the addiction

our willing cahoots

the news

filtered

through chamber upon echo chamber

as it hits our tired eyes

it could all be lies

made

by performing clowns

now I feel ill

I need to lie down

try not to panic

this too, will all vanish

 

 

Link: https://soundcloud.com/user-808707280/vanish

This recording is not as perfect as I would like because, ironically, I ran out of time. And I won’t have another chance until next week – so I figured you’d rather hear it now. The poem was inspired by the daily prompt – Vanish

Sirens – spoken word

 

The things we can’t say

but do

the way

I’m thinking about you

but I know

it’s not good

to be stood

on a precipice

or at the edge of a dark wood

and the sirens call me

longing

pining

to jump

into their entwining arms

“Fuck it all up”

they sing in whispery cries

How will you know

if you don’t try?

Might get

your heart’s desire…

It’s all fake

a sham

I can’t make

any argument stand

and yet

that tickle

of breath

of possible

mischief

is the flicker I need

to continue

this speed

fuel

for my self-stoked flame

burning through my days

when my heart’s on the wane

it’s lame

but I need something to blame

or just

keep me sane

 

This is my latest spoken-word experiment – thanks to everyone who has offered support, advice, feedback and coaching. Especially those of you who have gone above and beyond – you know who you are! 🙂

 

Soundcloud link if you can’t see it above: https://soundcloud.com/user-808707280/sirens

 

 

 

Adventures into Spoken Word

 

It seems the universe has converged to tell me that NOW is the time to step into the sphere of spoken-word. I’ve been talking about doing this for a while. I was blown away by seeing Kate Tempest perform recently, several kind people have suggested my stuff would work well as performance poetry and now I’ve actually been asked to produce a spoken-word piece for a local publication (exciting! terrifying!)

So I’ve been messing about with Soundcloud… and here’s a little experiment and a taster. (This is not THE poem – just a little off-the-cuff-poem to test the waters).

What do you think?

If you can’t see the Soundcloud embedded thingy, click here https://soundcloud.com/user-808707280/cleaning-house

 

Language as performance

Does Aussie anti-elitism stifle language learning? Discuss... Photo: Iain Scott

Does Aussie anti-elitism stifle language learning? Discuss… Photo: Iain Scott

Autumn has arrived in a shower of rain, the kids are starting a new year of school and krippe in Swiss-German and I’m thinking about language again this week. Himself and I have had the privilege of a private German tutor since the start of the year but she’s due to go on maternity leave so we’re winding that up. Plus Himself is on the job-hunt in earnest now. It feels like a new phase for many things.

Two wise women gave me some interesting insights about language recently. One friend in Australia pointed out the peculiar strain of Aussie anti-elitism that regards the ‘correct’ pronounciation of foreign words as wankery.  Her example was that, to the average Aussie, people who call a croissant a “Cwausson” are wankers. And it’s true. And there’s a part of me that feels that way too. And I didn’t quite realise it. And it’s a block. Not an insurmountable one, but a block nonetheless to mastering and using a foreign language properly. In fact, even when my own dear mother was here earlier in the year, she pointed out that she could hear me labouring away in German in my Aussie accent and she understood why I did it (because it somehow feels more ‘honest’) but she also insisted I needed to “go for it” a lot more with the Deutsch intonation if I want people to, say, understand what I’m saying. She is also right and a part of me feels that way too. (When I tried to explain this to Himself, he looked at me like I was crazy — is it any wonder he’s powering ahead in German so much more confidently than me!)

And just today, I was talking to a local friend about how I often get stupidly nervous speaking to groups — not even “public speaking”, which is a common enough fear — but just introducing myself in a group situation, even. Heart pounding, voice shaking, the works. Even in a small group. Even if we’re speaking English. It’s so embarrassing. (Does this happen to most people?) And my friend said that it was similar to how she often feels having to use German. “Because every time I speak in German in front of people, I’m on stage”. Gosh, how true that is! (It may be worth noting the friend is a professional stage manager). But again, it’s something I’d never articulated in that way. And it’s another mental block in my language-learning journey. (I should also note that I don’t get “stage-fright” every time I speak German anymore, thank goodness — my son’s krippe introduction session today went off almost without a hitch and almost entirely in Deutsch).

Anyway, as well as being one of the standard How’s-your-German-how-are-you-feeling-about-it conversations I have regularly with other expats, my friend and I were also talking about this stuff because I’m increasingly feeling as though I should do some spoken word / poetry slam type performance with my poems. And, while I’m pretty OK with the idea of this — I’m confident in my poems and I feel they’d work well in this environment — I’m deeply worried that my stage fright will fuck it up. What do I need to do? I’ve thought of singing lessons, which might help. But, ultimately, I don’t think there are any quick fixes beyond: practice, practice, practice. And ditto for the Deutsche sprechen, I guess.

Oh well, I hope at least in some small part, being able to recognise and articulate these stumbling blocks is a small step towards overcoming them.

What do you think? Do you need to thesp it up a bit with a new language? When, if ever, does it start to feel normal and not like you’re a putting on a show?

addendum: I  feel like a bit of a dork for posting this stuff about getting nervous/anxious when speaking to people. I’m not a complete social retard and I’m not even that shy in many situations, particularly one-to-one… really, usually, I swear… whatever.