Bad writing, good writing, big decisions

Please, please stop what you're doing and read what is now likely to reign as the worst poem ever written in the English language, as reported here in the Guardian. It was unclear from the article who exactly decides the prize-winner or how, but clearly, they're not wrong.

I'd say read it over your coffee break, but it's so laugh-out-loud bad that it might be inadvisable.

Better still is the good-humoured rant devoted to it in the Guardian blog, in which readers wrote in their least favourites and duked it out amongst themselves.

A propos, the Bespectacled Chinaphile was ranting last night about the Poetry Society Café hitting him up for a £1.50 membership fee with his latte; seems to me he should pay up and see if he can't best them at their own game if these are the results of their labours. Not only is the BC not a poet, he's also not a spook, so really I'm a bit disillusioned. That said, we're now going to be freelancing for the same paper, which is quite exciting, though this is but one of a list of absurdly impressive credentials for this all-singing, all-dancing son of a publisher.

Next day, back in my favourite Brity daily, and charming Andrew Motion, (one of whose poems appeared in the aforementioned blog, *eek*) wrote the warmest piece I've seen in 'Writers' Rooms'; he seems to have actually cared about its writing, given it some time and made it count. Others, like Famous Seamus in the same column, have catalogued their bits and bobs, though I love that the boards of his desk were 'polished by the soft shiftings of a century of student schoolmistresses' - yeah, because that would help you focus. You can hear the gabardined bums scoot.

Mum, on her annual pilgrimage of the faithful to the Dublin Theatre festival, reported back that all is not well, that much of it was uninspiring and stale, and that the focus on the working class and immigrants is worthy, though a few pieces that examined something a little closer to home for the audience might be just the ticket - New Ireland needs a kick up the arse, and this was not the Festival to do it. That said, Sebastian Barry's The Pride of Parnell Street was a success. I saw it here in Kilburn at the Tricycle and thought it extremely moving, though weak in places, and so ran most of the reviews. Karl Sheils is a powerful one; I realised that I'd seen him in Beauty in a Broken Place (Abbey), This Lime Tree Bower (Project) and indeed in Intermission - but will someone tell me, is he Brush's son? Also - Radio Macbeth was reported as being thought-provoking on language and expression, so I'm sorry to be missing it.Meanwhile, back at our lovely flat, the kitchen has been ripped up to dry out a leak from next door... long story short, we're looking at rubble, loud, hot machines and eventually, builders, a process that will last until the end of February. This is a major drag, and seriously unfortunate time-wise as it covers the winter months, the ones during which you'd most like to be comfortable at home. No one's fault, and the wonderful landlady has continued to be helpful, supportive, and hand back large chunks of the rent.

This is all well and good, but it's hard in that, sorry, it's another thing that just hasn't turned out as I'd hoped. Granted, I don't need a lot of encouragement in this arena, but really, we have to decide what's going to happen next before I lose me marbles entirely. No need to skip town just yet; I'll give it a year and a bit, as planned. I need a good location, hence photos on this post from our August trip to Brussels. Brussels is a definite contender, a city where they do, at least, have a sense of humour: I do need something to look forward to and plan for, and we're going to work on where we're going next and for how long. Initially, I thought it enough to be somewhere lovely and potter along in our next phase, but maybe that's just not true. I should probably plan to be doing something engaging, and that needs forethought, particularly if you're looking to do it all in a second or third language. Really, I think it's time for me to go home, but I'm up for fantastic master plans, too.

Answers on a postcard to parkbench.

Autumn

A disgraceful amount of time has passed since my last post. I never thought I'd be quite this bad this early on, but there we be.

Succeeded in seeing only one preview for the Dublin Theatre Festival, Festen at the Gate. Odd to see a play which began life as a film, and one that has made the seamless move from a Danish to an Irish setting, but it was a very fine play. Not all of the actors were up to the task, or alternately, their direction clashed when they were pitted against eachother, but all in all a success. The physical 'choreography' of it on stage was very fine indeed, with at one point three or four scenes playing simultaneously on stage- physically overlapping without seeing eachother, juxtaposing the various relationships to great effect.

The scene is set as a family joins together in a large country house in Denmark/Ireland for a banquet in honour of the father's 60th. Having just celebrated my father's 60th in an old Dublin pub, I wondered whether we'd done him justice... until the banquet scene all went sour with the promised nasty revelation of a dark family secret. Dark is an understatement, mais bon.

It was also extremely funny: it was, as I've tried to highlight, a very well-staged affair, so there was often a physical comedy element to its presentation, be it slapstick or mock-balletic. This not to mention some very funny lines...

The new RTÉ arts show, cast out to the 11pm weekly slot (RTÉ supporting the arts, ha!) came into its own when covering the Theatre Festival soon after my return. I was glad of this, considering that their debut airing was a focus on public sculpture. You do the math: sculpture, radio, sculpture, radio... I mean, ok, maybe once you have a listenership, but your debut show?? Come on.

But I digress. One of the critics mentioned that he saw one woman walk out of Festen, and to be honest, I'm surprised it didn't happen at every show. I'm trying, here, not to reveal the revelation, but let's just say it's a bit topical to Ireland's current confessional culture.

I wasn't the only one who liked it, though I suspect my companion for the evening did not- the Guardian gave it 4/5 stars.

Dublin Theatre Festival

So, being third in a three-woman team, I didn't draw the lucky straw to Edinburgh this year. That said, if I were to go, with, say, The Bearded One, I'd rather it not be during the festival so that we might enjoy the city, or alternately, that I not be at the festival for work. Demanding, I know, but that's what publicity gals are like - or so I'm told.

Besides, it's the Dublin Theatre Festival that really gets me going, as it always somehow manages to up the ante. Dublin is an amazing city for theatre, it's true, but things tend to get a bit pallsy and nepotistic, with the same pairings of actors/directors or actors/playwrights cropping up again and again. Either that, or as happened to me in my last two years of university, absolutely everything I saw was laughably bad. Every single one. It was thespian death out there, folks, but since, the pendulum has swung back to the kind of theatre we're all comfortably used to, and some we're not. The festival is a bit of fresh air, and the rest of the year seems to draw a lot of energy from it.

So, Thursday will see me at an Irish adaptation of Festen, reviewed there for the West End production. No doubt the ever-present theme of abuse will hit the reviews, which like the constant insistence on all things Catholic gets trying, particularly when you're living in England, but I'm intrigued as to how the Dublin production will rework a Danish country kitchen drama.

And, if I can get the blasted website to accept my plastic, I'll fly solo to a matinee -a parkbench first- to see the topical production of The Exonerated. Always one for a gimmick, I'm only dying to see who shows up as a guest. Unsurprisingly, given the topic, Susan Sarandon was strutting her stuff in the New York show. On the downside, it's in (though it pains me to link to anything so hideous) here we go, it's Liberty Hall.

Reviews to follow.