London

The audience look hard to please

However, a week later, while watching one Le Couteau Jaune on the Penned in the Margin bill at the Spitz, I’m forced to reconsider that first impression. Accompanied by a soundtrack of choral ululation, a man in a straw fedora and safari shorts waves an incense burner around while intoning a very long poem about a funeral. Afterwards, Le Couteau Jaune’s Darryl Biggs explains that the group (‘The future architects of chaos’ according to their MySpace entry) come from an electronic music background and their performances are actually a reaction against ‘dull people reading from books’. ‘We encrypt sounds of London into our work and we never repeat a performance,’ says Biggs. It seems a misguided boast. At the events I’ve attended, listening to poets read work I’ve heard more than once can be as pleasurable as listening to a favourite song. Biggs style is very much ‘all style, no substance’ marketing ploy, but despite this (or perhaps because of it) he’s very popular in Shoreditch, with a slew of dates booked. Feature continues

Growing out of the current popularity for burlesque and cabaret, this type of performance poetry – mixing visuals and a soundtrack with the spoken word – is a faction of the scene that looks set to dominate in the near future. Happily, much of it is entertaining and inventive. Suzanne Andrade mixes wit, sensuality and perversion in her dark epics about urban freaks who live beneath the sight lines of normality. With impeccable choreography, kooky graphics and perfect timing, as well as her magnificent stage presence (black vintage dress, scarlet lips and a Louise Brooks bob), it’s no surprise to find out she recently went down a storm at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Similarly, Nathan Penlington’s fusion of wit, storytelling and visuals are garnering critics’ plaudits and attention.

Watching such accomplishment makes me realise that I’ve got a long way to go with my own offering. Back at Poetry Unplugged, I’m rigid with fear as I wait my turn. I’ve asked if I can go on early, not least because if I leave it any later, I won’t be able to read what I’ve written – already the page is starting to dissolve in an acid bath of hand sweat. In retrospect, it would have been better to wait until the crowd had warmed up – and drunk more. Virgins who go on towards the end of the evening are greeted by whoops and cheers. I just get a polite smatter of claps. On the other hand, at least I’ll be able to enjoy the rest of the evening’s entertainment. Nothing slashes your attention span like hyperventilation.

There’s no poetry faux pas greater than talking during someone else’s recital, but frankly I would have welcomed the diversion. The level of concentration in the faces I can see as I stand at the front of the stage is extremely unnerving. I take a deep breath, project my voice and get started. Like all first times, though, it doesn’t last long. Two minutes of garbled musings about a tree on a hill at the height of autumn (it’s the spoken word – you had to be there) and then it’s all over. As applause washes over me, I’m strangely elated and, as I make my way back to my seat, I decide that I might do it again. If I can just find a backdrop, a few props and perhaps a wig, I could make a career out of this.

Poetry Café, 22 Betterton St, WC2H 9BX (020 7420 9887). For more info visit www.onetaste.co.uk; www.poetrylibrary.org.uk;
www.myspace.com/lecouteaujaune