Showing posts with label London. Show all posts
Showing posts with label London. Show all posts

Tuesday, 30 October 2012

Poetry Hour

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I'm not entirely certain how it happened that I came to miss the news of Josephine Hart's death last year. I suppose this is what happens when you only read the FT and the IHT. Where else are such deaths reported but in the obit pages of the broadsheets? What a strange, long-lasting tradition; the obit pages. I wish the British Library would have posted a notice on their events page - where I regularly go to find out when the next Poetry Hour will take place and always come away wondering why the Josephine Hart Poetry Hour never appears anymore. Almost certainly, someone, somewhere would lambast such a notice as callous and disrespectful, but for my part, I still find it difficult to understand why our culture deals with death - even difficult deaths - as a quiet thing to be hidden away. Or as a thing to be boxed off in the pages of broadsheets no one reads anymore.

I miss the Poetry Hour. For my money, it was consistently one of the finest cultural events in London. There is such power in beautiful, insightful poetry read aloud, particularly when it is read by highly-skilled actors. I'm a huge supporter of the next generation of poets and poetry publishers and I certainly think Britain has a rich and vibrant contemporary poetry scene it can be proud of. Many of these younger poets are as skillful performers as they are writers, though the scene's interest in supporting the new and the next (no bad thing in a discipline still understood by most of the rest of the population as Shakespeare's sonnets), means that there are very few opportunities (outside of academia, at least) to re-examine the beauty and skill of previous generations of poets in a public setting.

The format for PH was simple but effective: Hart always introduced the poet-subject with brief contextual background - in her wonderfuly thick voice - before the actors took turns reading various poems from the chosen poet's oeuvre. I can't remember all of the evenings I attended, but the two that stand out were Damian Lewis and his wife Helen McCrory reading Auden, and Charles Dance and Dominic West reading Larkin. I also heard on Radio 4, before I ever went to PH, Robert Hardy and Greg Wise reading Robert Browning's dramatic monologues, which still stands out as one of the best things I've ever listened to on BBC Radio.

I've written elsewhere about the Larkin and the Auden evenings, about how both events made me entirely re-evaluate my views on both poets and their respective works. I can't fully express how wonderful, in particular the Larkin, evenings were - the pleasure of being made to realise and reflect upon how poems are song and how song is so intimately bound up with human culture and human expression. That these are words which are meant to be read, meant to be listened to and how wonderful, almost essential, it is to listen to them together with other people. And because Hart so often selected experienced stage actors, people whose professional success depends upon their ability to make words meaningful, the old poems came alive in ways in which they so rarely do on the page.

So now that I finally know why the Josephine Hart Poetry Hour never appears on the British Library events page, I wonder whether the time might not be ripe for an adaption and extension of the theme? Perhaps a new poetry hour that teams the next-generation of future-classic poets with their soon-to-be-superstar-stage-actor counterparts? Tempting.

Wednesday, 21 March 2012

Lately I have been...taking a lot of pictures

of Elephant and Castle
of Hackney Marshes
of Hackney Wick
of Newcastle
of Sunderland
of art!
of Walthamstow
of the City

Good times.

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Monday, 9 May 2011

Laissez les bons temps rouler!

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If I thought the days blended together back when I was a student, oh you know, four months ago, then boy was I wrong. Saturday and Sunday mean nothing to the unemployed: every day is a day for work and a day for play. I wouldn't mind, but alas, other people aren't so lucky and Saturday still means a day of no work, all play for most people I know.  

For me, a true Saturday must begin with brunch. Whether one rises at 9am or 3pm, brunch on Saturday is the order of the day. Brunch is no time for experimentation: the FT; a flat white or a pot of earl grey tea; a bloody mary if necessary; eggs florentine, if the institution is reputable, a veggie breakfast, if not. A greasy spoon will not do. Top breakfast spots include The Ambassador in Exmouth Market and The Counter Cafe in Hackney Wick. The Counter has just moved into a new home, three doors down from its old one, and is much better off for it with an excellent view over the canal to the Olympic park.  We devoured our beautiful breakfasts, chuckling at the baby coots chasing after their mama in the canal.

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After brunch, we wandered along the canal to Chisenhale Gallery.  I love that no matter how many galleries I've been to in London, there always seem to be more left to visit.  My other half was responsible for planning the afternoon's itinerary, and typically, when he's in charge, we end up at the Aubin gallery on a Thursday evening in search of free (read cheap and disgusting) booze for him and his cohort of recovering alcoholics. So it's no surprise to say that I was completely astonished that of the three galleries we went to on Saturday, I enjoyed all of them.  


Janice Kerbel at Chisenhale was wonderful: a room of theatrical lights on rigs, commissioned by Chinsenhale and described by Kerbel as "a play for theatrical lights".  I sometimes mourn the lack of originality in contemporary art, but Kerbel's play on stage lights as objects with dreams, desires, and stories of their own was both beautiful and original.  Sure, everyone goes on about Duchamps, but all he did was put a urinal in a gallery and call it art; Kerbel put a grip of theatrical lights in a gallery, but was bold enough to give them a life and an identiy outside their original function, without resorting to just whacking them in the space and insisting it was enough to call the lights art.

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Post Chisenhale, we headed to Vyner Street for a peek in Matt Roberts and Nettie Horn.  Julie Cockburn's show of found portraits - both photos and paintings - altered with hand embroidered or collaged geometric shapes is also very good. 

Though her techniques are in no way unique and others have created similar works - most notably John Stezaker - Cockburn's show pleases me because it reads like a very good fashion collection; a clear theme with a progression of ideas and techniques all of which create a thoughtful, interesting, and unified body of work.

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above photo from The Science of Patterns.
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We hopped over to Nettie Horn to check out the latest work by Finnish artist, Antti Laitinen, entitled Bark Boat. It's not altogether difficult to figure out what Bark Boat's all about - a boat made by the artist out of bark which he then attempted to sail across the Baltic sea to Estonia. There are a few videos - one of the artist making the boat, another of the artist sailing the boat across the Baltic - as well as a number of photographs of Laitinen sailing the boat across the Baltic, but best of all is the actual boat, resting in the corner. I know that being made of bark and having seen the videos of it that it does indeed float, but man it looks puny sitting in the corner of the gallery. It's a miracle he made it anywhere, let alone across the Baltic. It's not an exceptional show, but it's definitely worth dropping by.

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I dragged TJ, who like most of the rest of the UK thinks of smashed up sawdust when he thinks of tea, to TeaSmith in Spitalfields.  I love tea. Like he loves cricket, I love tea.  TeaSmith is one of my favourite places in London, but if London had a Mariage Frères, I'd be happier still. Alas, this is not to be. Anyway, I was given a lovely voucher for afternoon tea for two by the lovely owner, John, for a piece I wrote on the Underbelly installation by Chairman Kato and Chris Stoneman in the TeaSmith basement, a superbly lovely surprise. I'm a regular visitor to TeaSmith, but I'd never tried their afternoon tea tasting menu and so we spent a very enjoyable few hours tasting white tea and oolong tea and matcha tea and green tea and lots of cakes and chocolates to match.

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Post tea, we were feeling the need for refreshments of a more alcoholic nature and headed to the new Zetter Townhouse in Clerkenwell for cocktails. Despite the fact that the bar is a joint effort between the Zetter and no less than my favourite bar in London, 69 Colebrooke Row, I'm sorry to say that I was rather disappointed.  I'll spare you the details. If you want to know more, read about it on the New London Cocktail Review.

After a quick and delicious bowl of noodles at Pho on St John Street, we headed home replete with food, art, booze, and tea. Now that's how you spend a Saturday in London. Maybe I should start running tours...

Monday, 28 March 2011

KEW

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Went to Kew on Sunday, the loveliest day of the year so far, where all the beautiful spring flowers were in bloom.

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