I met John Hegley last week.

I’d been given a precaution from a mutual friend, who is also a poet who told me “Hegley is a great poet but a bit antisocial and up himself” I laughed and said “that’s what they say about almost anyone that's even slightly artistic” Still, I walked away from that conversation convinced but not put off by the idea of meeting him.

My mum has his poetry books on her shelf but when I was introduced to him I don’t know why that was one of the first things I thought to say... "Hello John Hegley, my mum has some of your poetry books on her shelf" good for her! right?

Anyway, the introduction went like this “hey John meet one of our poets in residence” I extend my hand to greet him politely, he shook it and took a second to size me up, then said “the vision will be the first to go” in reference to the fact I don’t wear glasses. I then conveyed myself as a developing artist, sharpening my pencil for an early battle in the killing fields of poetry.

John provided his sharp poetry tools on what was described by Free Word as “a leisurely stroll around the writing industry” which involved walking around Clerkenwell, learning about a well that belonged to a clerk and some inspired moments of Charles Dickens.

We then had a haiku writing and reading session under a tree after hearing more of Hegley’s quirky and engaging poems which were well received by the people on the tour, or the “street gang” as the police would call us. (see members of the gang reading deviant haiku's below)



It was even more entertaining than I expected... and I expected entertainment.

Well done to The Literary Consultancy and Arvon for pulling this off!

p.s Hegley rocks and so does this guy

Poem By Raymond Antrobus 'Keys To Life'

This sign is on one of the doors in the corridoor of Free Word. I had been warned

I've spent a lot of time in front of my computer over the last two weeks, especially at night, and the extent of time never occured to me until my girlfriend came over and literally unplugged it...

"PAY ME SOME ATTENTION!" she exploded ...

It sucked me right out of my virtual reality and I wrote a poem inspired by that moment.

'Keys To Life'

I’m never in my bed; I’m in front of my computer screen
Hitting backspace then enter, escape
And shift my heavy weight into a document page

I open myself

And stare into a blank window
Like holes in a looking glass,

I look past fore front
Typing something, while the caps are locked on
My eyes scream, but the voice is logged off

Crushing my frustration against each button
I can't express myself with emoticons

I wish people spoke in speech bubbles
Life could be easier if it were subtitled

As my world becomes more fantasized and inaudible
The more I plug into portable devises
The more likely I'll get a virus, and won't know how to fight it

I’ve tried to restart and forget what’s inside me,
The hard drive its having a hard time,
Like a car with a blocked exhaust pipe,

I’ve got so much to figure out and take into account,
But I don’t know how much is the right amount, or
Wheatear to type this up, or write this down, now

I’m a man with a mouse, like a man with a weakness,
But a man, with all the controls to delete them, although

I’ve reached this window, with nowhere to scroll,
Like a man with a map and nowhere to go,

Because I belong nowhere,
With no feeling of belonging,
Just a feeling of being unwanted,

Unwanted like memory on a forget me stick,

Unwanted like ‘memory’ on a forget me ‘stick’

As I’m pasted into another document
On another night I don’t sleep,

I reopen myself,
And stare out the window,
And into the street.

The Shop?

En route to Free Word I encountered this mysterious “shop”

A shop that’s forever closed without even a hint of its purpose... hmm...

Almost reminds me of a well stacked, out of reach bookshelf...

OK, we won’t go there again. :-)

Poem – The Book Shelf part 2 – Make sure you read part 1 first. (Below this post)

I’m against the wall, but
I never claimed to be a pedestal,
I get why you’re sceptical, and
I’m not mocking the fact you can’t reach me

That’s your own insecurity, see
I am within reach; ask for a little help,
No one becomes giants by themselves,

You’re right; I’m making a statement,
But you’re looking passed it
It’s easy to take low shelves for granted, so
You’d make a better hype man if you weren’t so lethargic,

I’m glad you noticed me and the books that rest up here
Yeah, even Dan Brown bought people to literature,
Selling 80 million copies of his books this year,

Sure most these titles had their time, but
They’re still good reads with a crease in their spine,
If you don’t like the titles up here, then fine,
I’d happily display your favourite comics, novels and rhymes,

So no beef please, I’m a peaceful shelf,
If you do want a book,
Find a way to help yourself,

And to quickly wrap this up, I want you to remember,
We’re taking writers off the ground at the free word centre.

Poem: The BookShelf

Okay, so

If you'd ever come into the FreeWord Centre Cafe, you'd see they had bookshelves on their wall. Eight feet tall bookshelves.

Here's a picture:

No, there aren't many tall people lurking about the FreeWord Centre. We don't have Lanky parties, we're not scared of mice, our doors aren't all arches, we don't play basketball between dinner/reading Proust. Fair to say no one without a ladder/Broomsticks/Marty McFly style hoverboards will be reaching any of those books soon, which sort of gives the shelf a 'what is thouest point,' kind of vibe in my eyes.

I wrote a poem about it. See below.

It was a decent Thurday,

there's me in the FreeWord cafe

on my laptop

thinking crap up

for a write up

on my blogspot,

ginger beer in left hand,

in the other facebook.

I look over the hedge of my shoulder

My face goes grim, I furrow my brow deep

there's a book shelf on the wall opposite and me

and it have got beef

Yes, I got beef with a shelf

It's no ordinary shelf

It's a twelve foot something tall shelf

And I have a problem with it

NOT EVEN IF I STRETCH MY HAND CAN I REACH THAT PROMISED LAND

Can I reach it's summit I can';t even touch it's bum it's

like it's been designed by a lankiest of Gollums

to keeps it's preciouses from us thieving hobbitsizs Y

would they make a shelf that tall I'm

sure no malice was intended

in this literary palace might be wrong tho,

maybe it's intended for literary giants

sailing through london in SUV

walking on carpets made of WBYEATS

in their sabretooth fur

with slippers made of broken promises

downing lattes on first sip, and swallow rabbits whole

each shoulder a fresh new talent

sporting bunny ears.

Seriously, it's the literary equivalent of a cocktease

look as much as you want, honey but you are not getting these's

oh yeah, there are reachable books in the foyer

but that's like vanity publishing, SO not the point

I want them books in that cafe

them books I can't reach.

Even tho I kno them books don't look that good,

them books very second hand, properly read

like cheap hookers

and butter on bread

that shit's been properly spread

very shanky and hood like

I seen some Dan browns in there

Dan browns never is a good look

Maybe that's what the shelf is saying

we're decaying our standards by putting

shitty books on pedestals

Building shrines in shadow of a twelve foot something shelves

is bound to be shady, very shallow

but one time I became a beanstalk

and the cafe waiter became jack

and I hoisted him to the heaven and he found

Ronald Dahl and Kipling there

so what's that saying

Perhaps I'm being petty

just that I see irony when a shelf is out of

reach of many in the house named free word.

I saw a wheelchair brethren crack his neck back

to catch a glimpse of the rack

he wasn't smiling when he left

'That's nothing,' said an Article 19 lady

'I used to work for booksellers who sold

books in bulk by the yard, to rich folk, to smarten their

mansion shelves.'

Hip-Hop and Rap shakes sphere

Me and Joshua spent the day analysing Shakespeare with London based Hip Hop artist (and sibling of Ms.Dynamite) Akala.

Akala gave us pieces of laminated paper each with a quotation and we (as a group) had to decide whether the quotes were rap lyrics or Shakespeare's prose. An exercise Akala said no one has gotten completely right. We mistook two lines from Shakespeare for Jay-Z lyrics and another two for early Wu Tang Clan... we weren’t embarrassed, it was a surprisingly easy mistake to make.

Akala’s workshop was brilliant overall and it’s a great help in destigmatizing Hip-Hop and reminding us of one of the basic values rap and Hip-Hop offer – creative language. It’s a shame that this is one of the elements that’s lost itself in the commercial bracket of Hip-Hop’s subculture.

Me and Josh found the workshop rewarding when we were given a chance to apply a Shakespearian mentality to our own writing. As the workshop is aimed at 13-18 year olds we defiantly find these kinds of exercises helpful for developing writers and poets.

Akala, at Free Word we salute you sir.

On my way to work... Josh style.

London, town of many faces. Known for it's long shadows, tiny viens, untidy lanes and silly, silly attempts at looking united, because it's not really a show of people getting on, more like people getting on with it. Really.

Here's a collection of what's it's had to show me over the last two weeks.





We're beinig spied on by rainbow bedroom slips. They push their noses up on the window and glare at us, threaten us with slavery and slow death they eventually take over the world, but do we care? No. How could we, when they look so cuuuuuuuuuute (exaggerated 'cute' donated by random passing citypeeps.)




This is Rachel

To Get her to smile this nicely, at you, admit Titanic was made in Ammonia's armpit.




5pm. Holborn. Skanky panty on street.



There is a version of all Seven Wonders in the World in hackney. Case in point: Leaning Bus Stop of Mare Street.





And finally, Maria, the FreeWord Centre Receptionist. She went on holiday to Translyvania
and is now convinced all tall people with cameras are vampires.
something about 'tryingtosuckmysoulGETAWAYGETAWAY!' Strange people.

More to come. I think. Yay.

My Journey To Work On Friday 25th Sep

On my route to Free Word I passed a Mosque just as Muslim’s were leaving and something struck me. I was fresh from watching Ahmadinejad’s bizarrely hypocritical speech at the UN (It was hypocritical before he even opened his mouth, having a man who wasn’t elected as president preach “democracy” is a disgrace).

ANYWAY I took this.




And then this


Now coming back I tried a new route and ended up passing Brick Lane where something was definatly in the air...



Some people passing by thought I was being cruel taking this picture to which I replied "I'm giving meaning to his suffering!"



This is the bike and the shop with the bagals that made my day.



And this is the gay couple in a "Mexican" bar making some ironic statements.

60 Years of the Universal Declaration Of Human Rights

Yesterday in the Free Word centre we filled a room with people as the Universal Declaration of Human Rights was read out by heart by Monica Ross and individual people in the room - Some read out an article in their native languages, Russian, Japanese, Nigerian, Sign Language etc. By the end our hearts were heavy as we struggled to recognize almost any of them in global reality.

Very powerful!

Me and Josh were so engaged in discussion by the end we’d forgotten to take pictures

Oopps!

However, we were given pocket booklets of our human rights to carry around with us in preperation for our next encounter with INJUSTICE! :-)

Random Pictures Taken This Week.

Joshua has done one of the things he does best... Inspire the hell out of me

I've started taking random pictures to and fro the Free Word Centre and here they are as well as some taken in and around the building.

There’s a fine line drawn by pens and Viagra

I've carried this pen around the Free Word Centre all week and only once did I manage to provoke a response of "is that viagra in your pocket or are you happy to see me"

Well done to the delivery guy outside the reception area.

"There's poetry in business but no business in poetry"

Yesterday me and Josh got to meet ANOTHER poetry hero of ours, Mr. Lemn Sissay.

When I meet someone I admire I always approach them very formally, standing up straight, aligning my shirt and trousers and putting on a hat if I haven’t brushed my hair. I then extend my hand offering a firm handshake and a “love your work” compliment. On the inside I’m in deep reflection, thinking of the joy I’d experienced and the muses gathered from this particular persons work, I’ve ALWAYS got questions but I never ask them, besides, I was in Joshua’s presence, it’s hard not to be overshadowed. (Ray turns to Josh and screams “YOU OPPRESSOR!”)

Anyway, the event we’d attended yesterday was a very interesting open discussion about the economic vs sentimental value of literature hosted by the English Pen organisation.

The makeup of the panel speakers were poet in residence at the Southbank centre 'Lemm Sissay', director of literature for the Arts Council 'Antonia Byratt', Chief Executive of 'Poet In The City' 'Graham Henderson' (we salute you sir), CEO of penguin publishing 'John Makinson' and director of English pen, 'Jonathan Heawood'.

Much of the debate ran though the competition of funded and commercial arts, “We need to be as imaginative in our art as our economics” said Lemm as he went on to justify himself as a government funded artist “I buy time and create, it is the act of time and creation that I offer”

Graham Henderson is making some great moves for establishing poetry as a highly investable market, blaming only lack of publicity for poetry’s underground status. “If a good poet publishes a book and got commercial publicity it would sell just as well as any novel”

The recent banning of Ian Sinclair as an author also raised questions about the freedom a writer has when combining art with business but ironically Lemm said he felt he’d have more freedom as a government funded artist than a commercial one.

The current economic climate is obviously affecting the rate of authors getting published but England still manages to publish more writers than any other in the world.

The predicted future for literature involves a booming market for self publishers and e-books.

I’d like to include my own prediction of a definate larger interest in poetry.

To wrap this up, this was the first of two debates on this topic; do attend the second debate on Tuesday 6th October in the freeword centre.

FUN!

FRIDAY. 18TH SEPTEMBER. 2009

I haven't even sniffed1pm. And this is what I walk into on my way to work:



It's a protest-looking gathering in V for Vendetta masks and Jesus garb. Yes, I know, Jesus the Vigilante, MAKES ALL THE SENSE IN THE WORLD.

Y are they there? I didn't know/care/bother, I was going to a workshop under JEAN BINTA BREEZE!!!!

Who is she? Think Nina Simone. Think poetry. Tada! AMAZING!



That's her with Ray. Look at how tight he's hugging her, it's almost like he's trying to siphon talent.

It was a three hour, heavy duty poetry masterclass where we wrote a bunch of concrete nouns and sat in a very uncreative beigey room that looked like this:





FUN!!!

And makes Ray look like this:



not fun raymond.

But at least the workshop was nice. Jean is warm, easy to follow and explains things the way I'd explain them, except I'm patronising and she's not . If I was of her stature, I'd be like, 'ooooh, oooh, you're all stupid, so we'll start with the alphabet.' I would. Blatantly.

One Five o' clock later and we move into the Lecture Theatre for an Open Mic event put up by the Apples and Snakie people.
I dare say, I didn't stay for all of it, but I do believe the audience was probably 99.9% poets here to perform. There's some dude who's bouncing around standing spasm style while delivering a ode to 'JAAAAAAAAAZZZ!' I thought it was the best thying since Jazzman John Clarke. The young poets I had brought in, Jodi


Who'd come all the way from Birminham, and Belinda Zhawi


Who came from that place most closest to hell, i.e West London, both thought he was weird.

tt They were brilliant tho. Check out Jodi right here

On my way home, what did I see?




THEY'VE BEEN THERE ALL DAY!

I just had to ask what the deal-i-o. Turns out they were protesting against The Scientology Centre.

Picture of SCIENTOLOGY CENTRE



That they spent all day, with goofy masks, protesting a religion that TECHNICALLY JUST AS GOOFY AND MANIPULATING AS ANY OTHER RELIGION, REALLY, HONESTLY, must be awarded, even though scientology is an easy target.

Thursday 17th Sept 2009

THURDAY 17TH SEPT 2009

Hi, I'm Josh, and my Thursdays are more amazing than yours, because I spend them at the FREEWORD Centre, sourge of trees and coffee beans everywhere!

You can be almost as awesome if you came down to their festival and check their free events



Almost, I said. But not quite as amazing. Here's Y.

PROOF NUMBER 1!!
I wake up at eleven pm.

PROOF NUMBER 2!!!

I walked past this on road to work.





PROOF NUMBER THREE

This used to be a school Playground.



I DON'T CARE WHAT THEY'RE MAKING. FOR SHAME.

PROOF NUMBER 4

I took a picture of this on my way to work.




PROOF NUMBER FIVE!

I meet Carol Dixon.

This is Carol Dixon

.

Carol Dixon should change her surname to Awesome, because she works for BookTrust. It's an organistation that gives books away to kids and families.

That's it.

She gets books, she gives them to kids in primary, pre-school, kids in foster homes, and their respective households; so long as Johnny/Janet Justbeenborn is on the national register, he/she's getting free door stops. Books designed for them, 'course. No point sending 120 Days of Sodom to a toddler, is there? No there isn't. No there isn't. No, No, No.

All this just to get people reading. It's free, and legal. Pretty much a govt funded PirateBay, or a Socialist Santa. Plus! She's a totally pleasant person to hang about to boot. Why isn't anyone mentioning outfits like this in the news? or for adults? Maybe I'm just a little touched by the whole Turn-School-Playground-Into-Grey-#-555-!-!-!; I think this is wicked.They've got some events going on this year, and some Andrew Motion Shenanegans happening next, and I think -the grand thinker that I am- that they are worth checking out. Click Here.

PROOF NUMBER FINALE!

I end my work day,

!!!

MY WORK DAY!

watching two five minute plays and a discussion panel, all organised by INDEX ON CENSORSHIP.

The first play's done in big hall room. Someone stuck a bed-bunk in the centre of the room and we all had to gather round it, whilst the actors pretended we weren't there watching like kids making a circle round a playground fight.




And yes, it ended with a fight.

from the way the actors dressed I could happily pretend it was some kind of prison, tho I wouldn't be surprised if I was wrong. I'm always wrong. It's a good place to be. I think it was written by Vaclav Havel, czech playwright. DO NOT LOOK AT ME, I JUST RECENTLY GOOGLED HIM. I think it was about bullying/racism/dehumanisation, but I might be wrong. It seemed a little forced. Alright acted, a little forced.

Would some one hate me if I said a couple of actors slept through it?

We retreated into the main theatre space. Next up was a short play by Beckett.



No, that's not a camera trick, it was a lot more interesting than the first play. And I'm not going to explain it to you. Yes I am. The guy in the suit was The Director. The girl his Assistant, and the spooky fella in the background The Subject. Director would make Assistant reconfigure Subject, who was standing on a box, Abu Gharib Style: raise hands, take off hat, stand on one foot, recite Obama's inaugural speech backwards. It seemed to be for some 'show' Obviously, both Director and Assistant could not give a hooters about Subject. Assistant did care a little, but she didn't go all hollywood and try to 'save him/her soul.' She stayed British and thought about her job. GO BECKETT!

I would guess the theme of this play was also dehumanisation, which, considering my mind is a 2+2=4 kinda vehicle, wouldve led me to believe the discussion panel that came afterward would be discussing the themes germinating from the play.

No, three men talked about eastern europe a lot.

I dunno, they did exactly what was advertised in the program, but I guess having seen two plays dealing the treatment of people/racism/humiliation I found a chat about the political fortunes of eastern europe a little anti-climatic. Especially since everyone on the panel seemed to be agreeing with each other,

But then, maybe I'm just wrong. Feel Free to Disagree.

Yay

How To Get Involved In The Free Word Festival

The Free Word festival has begun!

If you’re interested in theatre, literature, politics, history, walk-in lectures, spoken word poetry etc you must check out what’s going on at the ‘Free Word Centre’

Myself and Joshua Idehen are the poets in residents for two weeks and we’ve both found the events being put on brilliant.

We’ve sat through a piece of provocative forum theatre, we’ve heard humorous, intense and quirky book readings, we’ve taken part in political debates and discussions and an Apples and Snakes open mic featuring dub poet legend Jean ‘Binta’ Breeze.

Not bad eh? Also, all the events are free and open to the public.
Check what’s on and Download the program here.

http://www.freewordonline.com/events/

The address is

60 Farringdon Road
London
EC1A 1BB

The festival is running until 9th October 2009.

Hope to see you in there!

Josh: The Past two days and a poem about a shelf.

WEDNESDAY

So we started on a wednesday...

Me and Ray, we're poets in residence at the free word festival. Freewha? Click here...course you haven't heard of it, you're not important enough. I wish I could say it any clearer. That isn't true. Actually it was meant as a joke. I'll move on now.

Me and Ray, we're going to be blogging and twittering about this event and going to as many gigs at it we get can to, and all the lovely people in it, but you already know this, because I said so in my first post. Go read it, see if I'm lying. We'll also be writing poetry. That's what we're here for! (Jazz hands!)

FreeWord isn't a field festival, it's brick and mortar, as in it's happening inside a building. The Freeword Centre, right opposite Betsy Trotwood up in soulless grey Farringdon (it's not as soulless or as grey as Bank, mind, but it ain't Brick Lane). You'd never find if you were not looking for it in the first place. Sometimes even if you were. It took me forever to find it. Forever and its mother. My iPhone GPS told me FreeWord was in a post office up on Chancery Lane. I believed my GPS. Why would my GPS lie? I mean, poetry in residence Post Office... IT KIND OF MADE SENSE. Considering the places I gigged this year. I'll move on now.

On my way there I passed this



I'm an eighties child. This looks like an omen, feels like an omen (it was a chilly wednesday), probably is an omen. A superstitous fella would turn a-one-eighter and run hella.

Good thing I'm not superstitous, then, eh? (Plus I need the money)

I get to the FreeWord Centre. It's a new place. The walls have no graffitti. The ground directly underneath the glass doors haven't even gathered grime yet. Give it time, yeh.

This is the poster heralding my welcome.



You can sort of make out my name if you squint really hard and imagine limejuice squirting in the eye of Tim Westwood.

I'm greeted by the lovely Sarah Ellis and the unbelievably helpful Geraldine Collinge, both of Apples And Snakes. They explained everything: Someone had the bright idea of placing a branch of as many literary organisations in a single nest. A nest of words. A wordnest. A wordynest. A nest made of (I'llstopnow). Avron to BookTrust to Index to Literary Consultancy To The Reading Agency To The English Pen To Darlkey Archive Press To Article 19. No I don't really know who they are, I only found out about them yesterday, but a brief summary: People who create/manage writing/writers (Apples and Snakes, Avron) People who promote reading (Book Trust, Dalkey,The Reading Agency), People who think reading/writing is a right (write?) worth protecting (English Pen, Article 19, Index on Censorship), and the Literary Consultancy, who will tell you when your writing is rubbish. And then take your money.

And to commemorate the whole shebag, they're doing a festival.

How they gonna get people into these gigs, I wonder? Where are the front page ads? There's no viral campaign. Not that I saw. How's Arvon (the company hosting the inaugural event, a performance of writers and poets) going to get people down if they told no one. That's not very good business!

The inaugural event is sold out.

That'll tell me.

They take us on a quick tour of the place. We say hello to a lot of people, many whose names I do not remember. This is the way of the big hello days. Of all the agencies, Article 19 had the biggest room. What does that mean? more to me than you, clearly. I had asked if they had killed Articles 1-18. They didn't laugh. We walked out, quickly.

Apples and Snakes don't have a room, which makes sense in a kind of we're spectres who tour the areassss way

We go to the cafe. i miss out on the Last Lemon Cake. Pity me. :-(

And then there was this bookshelf.




Yes, bloody high, innit? Talk about later.


Me and Ray, we are 'managed' into the sold out wednesday event, 'Arvon showcase,' is much, much better than I expected. Julia Bell reads an extract from her novel, some blah about writer's block/stalking some woman. Whatever; it was really an excuse to talk about west Central London. I know it, she won't admit it. We'll leave it at that. It's the most mesmerising discussion of a section of London I have worked/travelled in/hated for the best part of seven years. Example line? 'London is never clean, all the technological advances can't stop us living in our own filth.' See? Godlike Goodness.

I like Rick Gekoski's biblo-memoirs (or something to that effect) Somewhere in his extract he lists some of his faults and it sounded like he was describing me, or at least my ego. It was a piece about overcoming writer's block, and discovering your inner child, and Matilda by Ronald Dahl. I think, man who love the Dahl, issa good, good man.. During the break me and Ray decided to go over to the fellow and say hello/hi/who are you? And he turned out to be really cool, and friendly and easy to talk to about writerly issues like HOW THE HELL DO YOU KEEP ON WRITING EVEN THOUGH YOU KNOW IT'S SHIT, EH???. He didn't have no one-size-fits-all that I always imagine published writers to have, which made him all the more cooler. Later on we took this pic. I asked him to smile like he just won the Booker Prize. He laughed. When I googled him it turned out we'd been a judge on the Booker Prize in 2005.

Most Definitely my 'Tool' moment of 09.

This is Rick, and Ray, who is definintely not looking like a tool.

Kate Pullinger's did a multimedia event made up of flash enabled fragments of the same tale. It's amazing. www.flightpaths.net go check out I insist. It's interactive. I won't ruin it for you. Okay, just a little bit: It's about a man falling out of the sky...