Cafe Poet Update

I'm shamefully overdue for an update on my experiences as a Cafe Poet. It's not for lack of things to write about, either.

First, there's been the chance to meet a lot of fascinating people who love poetry. There was the older gentleman, a former soldier, who spotted a story in the local paper about me as poet in residence, and came by to show me his poems and tell me a whole lot about his life story. He himself is too young to have fought in either of the World Wars, but he lost family members in both. He writes poems about that, and even now, when he gets to the part where they die, he still cries.

Then there was the young woman on assignment to take photos that epitomize Wollongong as "a city on the verge of recovery" or something implausible like that; she's just back from riding ponies across Mongolia. Here is her web site; she has some fabulous photos under "Essays". Gratifyingly, she still shoots actual film with a venerable and tank-tough Pentax K1000, the same model camera I myself have dragged all over the world with me. Her shots have a burnished quality that crisp, crisp digital can't equal, I'm sorry, that's how I feel.

I've given out little slips of poetry from the Poet-Tree (get it, get it?) to dozens of people, most, if not all, of whom have been delighted. I've been having lots of fun scouring the Internet for startlingly brilliant works from poets of diverse backgrounds (diversity is good) whose work is in the public domain (not violating copyright is good).

I've had a mini-write-in with someone who found me (somehow) on Twitter.

I've begun organizing the series of open-mic readings and slams that will, I hope, provide a focus for performance poetry in Wollongong, and I've already started finding like-minded people to come and read, or just come and listen. The more, the better, y'all! Go to the Poetry at Yours and Owls page on Facebook for more information!

Along those lines, last week I had the terrific experience of attending a performance-poetry workshop by the people at the Centre for Poetics and Justice. It was actually here in Wollongong, which knocked me out (figuratively speaking), because while the University of Wollongong does have a creative-writing program, there doesn't seem to be a lot of performance poetry associated with it, and I was shocked, frankly, that it would even occur to the CPJ folks to stop here on their tour. Turns out one of the three founders is a 'Gong boy, and they wanted to do a gig on his home turf. Worked out great for me, as I got to attend a very inspirational workshop at a very reasonable price, and go to their performance later that night for an equally reasonable price. They are very supportive of my efforts to galvanize some performance poets into action here, and they let me announce my upcoming events here at Owls, as well, so it was win-win-win-win all around!

Finally, part of my brief as Cafe Poet is to actually, like, write some poetry while I'm sitting here. What's interesting me at the moment is using poetic language on stage — to ramp up the intensity, the imagery, in what the actor is saying, and to give them a chance to really cut loose on some really electric stuff. Fun and challenge for the actor, for the writer, and (hopefully) for the audience. Well, I've been working on a short one-person piece (I'm estimating it will run about 12 to 15 minutes or so) that incorporates some stuff I wrote a while ago, some stuff I've written while sitting here at Yours and Owls, and some stuff I came up with during that workshop. I've sent the piece off to a theatre company that is calling for submissions, so we'll see how that goes!

So: status report, two months (one-third of my residency) along. Writing poetry, check. Publicizing my residency and the program, check. Being an ambassador for poetry, check. Creating a welcoming atmosphere for other poets, check. Coordinating poetry-related events, check. Blogging about the experience, check (finally). Bringing more business to Yours and Owls — don't know yet, but I guess all the publicity and stuff can't hurt.

And now, back to writing poetry. I leave you with my current favorite piece of performance poetry, by Mark Grist:

Improbably, sometimes even I crave a bit of writerly elegance.

Okay, it's true: I don't necessarily spend a lot of time trying to be elegant. (Those who know me may now clear your computer screens of the food and drink you spluttered in your horrified laughter at my understatement.) However, several years ago I did venture into the lobby of the Algonquin Hotel to write amidst the opulence and the ghosts. Every now and again, a bit of atmosphere — nay, perhaps even a bit of affectation — is fun.


Here's the lobby of the Algonquin Hotel — isn't it great????

Yesterday was another such time. Houston and I sought out Sydney's amazing Absinthe Salon, run by the extremely knowledgeable and not-even-a-tiny-bit patronizing Joop and Gae. Not only were the surroundings fabulous (see below), not only did Joop and Gae invest enormous quantities of time making sure we chose the absinthes that would be enjoyable for each of us, but I got to indulge myself in the mystique, the ritual, the aura, the je ne sais quoi of being a writer and drinking absinthe. Yes, my friends, oh, yes, it was an adventure.


The Absinthe Salon

Absinthe is a love-it-or-hate-it kind of thing. It's not "fun" per se to drink. Its flavor is alarmingly intense and complex, the sort of thing that compels you to savor it, because your only other option, should you be so crass as to gulp it, is probably to experience a fervent longing for death. I was not so rash: tiny, tiny sips over the course of nearly two hours was my approach, and it was a good one. Conversation flourishes in such an atmosphere (and, indeed, the proprietors consider it one of their missions to foster good conversation). I confess I didn't do too much writing (mainly I just posed affectedly for the photo that Houston took), but I can foresee an afternoon when I go into Sydney to wait for Houston to finish work, and find myself in the Absinthe Salon with a fountain pen and a Moleskine notebook and a serious jones for writing and absinthe.


Me, being writerly and absinthe-y

The intoxication you get from absinthe is famously "clear-headed": I, at least, did not feel the same kind of woozy furry-headedness one can get from an imprudent rate of wine consumption (I originally thought this was my imagination, but then I looked it up, and apparently I'm not the only one to think this). Granted, I wasn't after intoxication, and I was (as I mentioned) seriously taking my time. However, the feeling was quite distinct, and really rather invigorating. I could certainly see how it would be conducive to conversations with the Muse, as well as with one's husband.

It's not cheap — particularly the very, very fine stuff available at the Absinthe Salon (no Green Fairy Brand for them) — but God knows you only need to drink absinthe once in a very great while. Unless you have a yearning to really chase after the whole garret-in-Paris experience, which I think may possibly be taking the Neo-Romantic, Oscar Wilde thing a bit too far.

A few more links for you:
Famous Absinthe Drinkers
A story on the lobby of the Algonquin Hotel
Strindberg and Helium in "Absinthe and Women"

Gearing up for Albatross!

If you know what this is, you know what to do. If you don't, read this.

Either way, please come and see The Death of Albatross! March 9-25, Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, at the Phoenix Theatre in Coniston!