It’s Mental Health Art and Film Festival time in Scotland. The whole idea of course, is to get this condition out in the open, to de-stygmatise it and to give the ignoramuses out there a big kick up the backside. The shoe delivering the kick has the words There But For the Grace of God...printed on the sole.
As part of this festival the Makar Press Poets (for those of you who are new to this blog and to those of you who have been sleeping up the back, there are three of us: Sheila Templeton, Rowena M Love and my good self) have been invited to perform our work at a couple of events.
The first one was on Sunday past and was in the Harbour Arts Centre in Irvine, Ayrshire. We were in the bar (which was nice) and we were accompanied by a 6ft 4, skin-head, 22 year old blues-guitarist from Ardrossan called Tragic O’Hara.
At first I was a wee bit worried – and not because the blues guitarist was from Ardrossan - it was a Sunday afternoon, in a bar where people come to eat Sunday lunch. Several questions were running through my head. Would people want poetry inflicted upon them while they munch into their chicken a la whatsit? Which course would fit best with a villanelle? Should I wait until they’re eating their syrup sponge and custard before I read the one about the vasectomy?
As time approached we decided just to do our stuff and stop worrying about how it would be perceived. And the good news is that we needn’t have been concerned because it went down as well as a slice of honeydew melon with parma ham and a wee side plate of sorbet. All the tables were taken and we even had a few peeps standing at the bar.
Can I just say that Tragic was fantastic? I thought you had to be mid-life, with 3 ex-wives, 10 kids and 1 old dog to sing the blues (or is that Country and Western?). In any case, Tragic has the goods. Check him out on Youtube. Better still keep your eyes and ears open and when you find out he has a gig coming up, get yourself along there. There ain’t no substitute for a live musician. Or for live poetry for that matter. We got the usual (and I love it) comments from people saying...hated poetry at school, but you guys really brought it to life and made it relevant. One lady accosted Sheila in the loo to say, who knew poetry could be such fun!
I think we should get some sort of award or something...services to poetry etc. Dinnae wait until we’re dead. Give us the acclaim and the rewards NOW.
Please.
Actually, I feel a wee bit of a fraud. I haven’t written a poem for over a year. Call yourself a poet, Malone? I do have the excuse that I’ve just written 134,000 words of a novel, so I’m giving myself a break. A poem will come along shortly, so it will. In the next day or two. Maybe even the next couple of minutes. (Just you sit there while I talk amongst myself).
The next event is in the Market Inn, Ayr on Thursday 15th October. Sheila and I will be reading alongside Rab Wilson. Should be good.
