UK Poetry Podcast

A live event promoter once asked me if he could have a claim to fame he could stick in my biography or perhaps use in the introduction to my live set. I'm appalling at self-promotion at the best of times, so the only thing I managed to come up with was an economical version of the truth - namely that I had appeared on the "UK Poetry Podcast" more times than any other writer, including Will Self. You can guess the truth for yourselves, surely? Oh, come on, stop being so damn slow:

A/ Will Self only fleetingly appeared on the service once probably because he was never going to be the sort of person who would ever have the time to appear week in, week out as some kind of regular guest - especially on a podcast which was popular only within its own particular niche. Great though it was, it was never going to take priority in his diary over "Newsnight". I, on the other hand, am usually always available.

B/ The "UK Poetry Podcast" actually made an error in their programming and included me once more than they intended to. Having run one of my poems in an early edition, they accidentally used another one a little later on, then had me back yet again for a live show from the Poetry Cafe along with many of the other writers they'd featured during the first year of their activity.

C/ To be honest, even taking into account answers A and B above, I'm still not 100% sure that what I'm saying is true anyway. It definitely was once, but it's perfectly possible that the podcast eventually ended up featuring other people more frequently than me before its run came to an end.

Anyway, never mind all that undoing of a particularly transparent piece of hype. Please find an mp3 of my live set from the Poetry Cafe show below which I remember as being a particularly good evening, and thanks to Dominic O'Rourke for giving me access to the recording (and do come back to the poetry circuit and do some more stuff soon, Dominic, you're missed).

Before the Honey

I clearly remember the last
conversation we had
before you honeyed me to death.

I recall you stood on
your last legs of youth,
determined, unexpected in my
front room, brandishing the
day’s newspaper like a
truncheon, smiling hard as if
your mouth was holding your
tired, suntanned skin on to
your face.

If I’m not mistaken you were
damp from a summer downpour,
hinting, pulling at sodden floral
cloth like dogs tug at
blankets for attention, uttering
pseudo-profound phrases
fresh from the footnotes of
organizational diaries, and
your gaze didn’t drift from me,
following me like
helicopter beams trace
urban criminals.

When I finally screamed and yelled,
demanded to know who
let you into my house,
you just laughed.
Then you held a dainty
finger to my lips like it
was the missing piece in the
indent of my philtrum, and
gravely accused me of
focusing on the negative in the
situation yet again.

Slow Death of Another Trade

I watch the fluorescent tube flicker.
I am still stuck here, but it’s dependable.
There are gentle erosions to mark the passing of time.
The bumper telephone message pad is almost finished.

I am still stuck here, but it’s dependable.
The fax roll needs replacing.
The bumper telephone message pad is almost finished.
Someone cracks a joke about women’s tits.

The fax roll needs replacing.
We are almost out of padded envelopes.
Someone cracks a joke about women’s tits.
Someone comments that all men are redundant and useless.

We are almost out of padded envelopes.
There are circulars about staff productivity to send.
Someone comments that all men are redundant and useless.
Someone kicks the photocopier and curses.

There are circulars about staff productivity to send.
A culling of inessential workers seems inevitable.
Someone kicks the photocopier and curses.
Poor budgets are blamed yet again for maintenance issues.

A culling of inessential workers seems inevitable.
The lift keeps jamming on the second floor.
Poor budgets are blamed yet again for maintenance issues.
The whole company seems in danger.

The lift keeps jamming on the second floor.
The union expresses its anger in no uncertain terms.
The whole company seems in danger.
Perhaps it would be wise to consider moving on.

The union expresses its anger in no uncertain terms.
Heads will roll about the static pay levels.
Perhaps it would be wise to consider moving on.
I begin to scour the classified jobs sections.

Heads will roll about the static pay levels.
Mass redundancies are said to be the most likely outcome.
I begin to scour the classified jobs sections.
I need work in a new trade that’s dependable.

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