Soul to Newcastle

11.01
Northbound, the song of the rails
And footie fans

Bright tongue-punch of tamarind –
I’d go miles for pani puri

New builds on brownfields
Fennel glades, teazels, finches
Unhomed

Kestrel’s cliff scraped clean of roots
Bloody cranesbill

Street food, not sawdust
In the covered market; ghosts…
Skinned hares, white tripes

Kittiwakes scream from the bridge
No-one wants a terraced house

Everyone is fine
Talking to thin air these days –
Pods. Buds. Our blue teeth.

Shop fronts like cast shells
Waiting for crabs

Guts hanging out
Sliding doors wedged open
Cataract windows

The Laing’s a drum, deaf with rain
Paintings sign to each other

Bloodlust and faith
Objects in oils and suspense
Gilt-framed

Gulls after a lightning strike –
The Age Concern social group

Do you paint? Used to.
But the girl I showed them to
Never loved me back.


Sap green
Scorched earth

Where you see a storm
I see a girl tucking in
To a ham sandwich

Things, alone in their thingness
But, a field of attention

Smashed rainbow
The old snooker hall windows
Be Gay, Do Crime

Three white clouds; the blossom trees
Next to Manors car park

Tall cakes, short coffees
In your head, they’re still fighting –
This cafe has changed

The basic anatomy
Of buildings eludes my pen

I am surprised
By the skyline we worked for;
Its absences

Ten years in the mirror
That body is lost to me

The hotel shower –
Skylight in a downpour
Headful of pictures

Looks like she ate all the pies
Exhibition in a bathtub

Close to shame
Wouldn’t do that one
(After grabbing)

Shit on the pigeon netting
Echoes fall down Dog Leap Stairs

Cities are dreams
People too are mostly dreams,
New builds on goldfields

The waters of Tyne…
They run between me and me

Continuing experiments with renga, though this doesn’t really count as not many people believe a single poet can write a renga – you need at least one other person with whom to collaborate. Let’s say this is me collaborating with the ghosts of former selves as I take a writing day around Newcastle, where I lived and worked for twelve years.

I’ve now lived in Hartlepool longer than I lived in Newcastle, but of course with it being just up the road it’s still very current for me, so the disconnect is not as strong as I might find going back to other old haunts in search of psychogeography. I filled half an old journal with sense impressions and random free writes over the day, then pulled these fragments out. Like emptying your pockets after a foraging walk.

Review – North East Rising by Rowan McCabe

I was recently one of ten people selected to write theatre reviews for the North East Artist Development Network, which of course has made me very happy and has also forced me to admit that I know very little about reviewing. So my cunning plan is to do some warm-ups on here.

Rowan McCabe
Rowan McCabe

I’d really like to tell you about ‘North East Rising’ by Rowan McCabe, and I will, I will – but in all fairness, I must declare an interest. I’ve been working with Rowan in my capacity as Apples and Snakes co-ordinator since he started as a performance poet. He’s come up through Scratch Club, had performance mentoring from me, been programmed and commissioned by me on a range of projects and most recently I acted as a freelance mentor helping him edit the text of this show. Fairly obviously, I think he’s good, but then so do all the other people who have supported him to write this first solo pice – Arts Centre Washington, Arts Council, ARC Stockton and the like.

North East Rising is based on a simple observation, that the portrayal of the north east and Geordies in the popular media is unfairly skewed towards negative, vulgar or impoverished stereotypes. It’s grim up north, always has been. What McCabe sets out to do is to use his own experiences as a north-easterner to set out a stall of alternative exemplars, exploring what for him is the true ‘essence of the north east’. He does this through a series of character sketches in poetic form, ranging from poignant to lyrical to comedic, linked loosely together by an imagined walk through Newcastle and beyond, up the Tyne valley. The overall tone is one of relaxed, chatty comedy, as he moves from poem to poem via links that are scripted a little like stand-up routines, and this all works extremely well. He’s an affable presence, the audience is always on his side and happily jumps up to twerk with baked goods for his Stottie Rap! And the final piece, stretching out its fingers towards this new positive ideal of north east community and culture, is truly moving.

If I have any reservations, it’s about the support acts. In keeping with the stand-up nature of his delivery, the show is presented within a cabaret format, with a first half consisting of music from Alix Alexandra (who was sublime) and poetry from Jess Johnson, all hosted by Robbie Lee Hurst. This is a fantastic format, it really makes sense as a structure given the feel of Rowan’s piece, but I was a bit taken aback by Jess’s set. She’s a tremendous actor, incredibly vivid on stage, and I’ve seen her in late-night cabaret settings and laughed until I hurt. But the same material shifted to early-evening theatre struck a different note. Her themes are sex, jealousy, domestic abuse, drug-use, drunken brawling and council estate slaggery  – so, many of the negative stereotypes that Rowan’s show is trying so hard to move away from. Her set seems to undermine his in its content, but this could be mitigated if the pieces were delivered with more invitation to empathise, and there’s plenty of space to do that as she’s writing with heart and not to judge or mock. Instead they are spat at us, obscenities lobbed like bricks, angry and confrontational. It’s like being blasted with a flamethrower.

I know there may be tweaks made to the support set for the next three performances, so I really wouldn’t let my responses put you off, not least because you may enjoy Jess’s piece very much, there were plenty of others around me finding it funny. And the main show I wouldn’t have you miss for all the pasties in Greggs.

North East Rising can be seen at Northern Stage, Newcastle on 21 October and at ARC, Stockton on 23 October

Headline set at Material Magazine launch, December 2013

I feel I have neglected all my *millions* of followers on this blog – my time and mind have both been consumed by blogging for my show (at http://www.themooncannotbestolen.wordpress.com). I’m also slightly hamstrung by my own petty ambitions to enter poems into magazines and competitions – all those nasty editors and judges only want clean poems, unsullied by prior publication on blogs. So just to apologise, here’s a whole twenty minutes of me in performance. Joy 🙂