Octopoet y'all

Octopoet

17 October 2014, 7:30 - 11pm, The Coffi House

Octopoet is a Made in Roath staple, and never disappoints – though as last night proved, it can always surprise.

I arrived at the venue, The Coffi House on Wellfield Road, and was immediately gratified by the friendly and familiar faces of Roath’s literary scene. Popping myself down next to poets Clare Potter and Emily Hinshelwood (yeah, I’m name dropping, WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT) I quickly purloined a large glass of red wine for myself* and settled in to soak up the atmosphere. 

The Coffi House, as seen without herds of poetry fans

The Coffi House, while crowded to overflowing with poetry fans, was a very fitting venue for a reading – with its art deco wall lamps, old-school wooden counter, and window alcoves it feels straight outta 1940s New York. You could easily imagine it as café-bar that Dylan Thomas himself might have knocked off on his whiskey-soaked American adventures. 

(And while I’m on topic, many thanks to Robin, and the rest of the team at the Coffi House, for putting up with us poetical types!)

Octopoet, as the name suggests, features a roster of eight local poets (though disappointingly no octopuses)and is hosted by Mr Mark Blayney, who kicked off the evening’s events with a poem of his own – ‘Library’, in dedication to this 7 month year old son, whose guest star appearance later on in the evening was also teased.  

Mr Mark Blayney

With the harmonious sound of rain battering the plastic roofing out back, we then settled in for the performers. First up was Roath regular Dave Daggers, in an amazing pinstriped suit – which to my further amazement, turned out not to be the only pinstriped suit of the night.  Dave held forth on the dangers of interplanetary dating and falling in love with ladies in black and white photographs; a trend which culminated in a fierce ukulele accompanied indictment of cannibals – particularly those who gamble and take drugs. Truly the most despicable crimes a cannibal can commit. 

Next came Emily Hinshelwood (remember her? ‘Cos I sat next to her? Just checking you’re paying attention), who currently is the Writer in Residence for the touring Dylan Thomas Writing Shed. As part of which she is also compiling a dictionary of fresh new words, in honour of the Thomas’ love of language – if you would like to submit a brand spanking new word of your own to this dictionary, I’ve included the deets below.  

Emily, outside the permanent writing shed

 Emily read from her new volume, On Becoming a Fish (Seren). As she explained, the poems are largely based on her experiences of walking the Pembrokeshire Coastal Path. I can attest they were just as beautiful as the inspiring subject matter – ‘First Flight’, in which a mother imagines her daughter as small as a flea, balanced on the tip of her finger, made me do that involuntary appreciation-hum which you only hear at poetry readings. 

Next up was another regular, Mike Greenhough. As an ex-lecturer of Physics & Music at Cardiff University Mike is a skilled adept at traversing the arts-science bridge. Last night however he was also flaunting his comedy stylings; tackling the unexplored sexual dynamics of The Sound of Music (Fraulein Maria listing being ‘tied up with strings’ among a few of ‘her favourite things’) and co-opting Dylan’s ‘Do not go gentle into that good night’ into a Last Orders poem, directed at straggling bar-flies (I’ll let you guess how that one worked). Mike tied off his set with his infamous ‘It Poem’, and - in the words of Mark Blayney – ‘nailed it’, to boot. 

THEN – and I will try (and fail) not to show a personal bias here – came the inestimable Clare Potter (who opened with the suspicious claim that she ‘genuinely has a cousin named Harry Potter – and one named Jesse James!’).

Clare gained instant command over the audience, drawing them into poems with which she demonstrated her always accurate grasp of childhood afternoons spent in gardens, and the small intimate microcosms of human life. The language is a joy in Clare’s poetry. In a poignant poem about a smear test (yes, you read that right) the speaker’s vagina is beautifully described as a ‘soft mechanical being’, in which a doctor ‘sensed stories in the folds’.

Betty Lane takes to the stage

Clare was succeeded by a Made in Roath legend: Betty Lane. In a change of pace Betty read the second chapter of semi-autobiographical novel, Clay. The novel follows the story of Florence, as she waits for her baby to born. The chapter Betty read out, however, dealt with the conception rather than the pregnancy and was rather topically titled ’50 Shades of Blue.’

Very honest, very intimate, and very loving, Betty managed to raise a whole room of eyebrows (and I’m sure Mark Blayney was blushing when he took the mic afterwards) and affirm her Legend of Roath status once more.

Mark quickly hijacked the tone, with a rather compelling impersonation of John Cooper Clarke (shades to boot). Then Emily Blewitt took to the stage. Emily has been selected as the Honno ‘Poet of the Month’ and was recently awarded in the 2014 Terry Hetherington Award. This was the first time I had heard her read – and I was very impressed. 

The very talented Emily Blewitt - and my great lack of photography talent

Emily skilfully welded the language and characters of her everyday life (such as colourful metaphors of her kickboxing instructor – ‘you are holding an ice cream cone, four scoops …’ – into a poem entitled ‘Self-Defence’) into poems which did what all good poems should do – present their subjects on a slant, that gives you new insight. Among poems such as ‘How to explain Hiraeth to an Englishman’ my favourite was ‘Animal Lover’ - a love poem for her partner sat in the front row. Love poems are tricky to pull off, so it is all the more gratifying when they are done as well as Emily’s was. 

The evening was rounded off with two more performers; Nicholas Whitehead (the second pin-striped suit!) who performed his classics, ‘The Office for Outer Space Affairs’ (‘the nymphobots are shagging all the Cybermen’) and ‘Wordsworth in a Bad Mood’ (I wandered lonely as a cloud, that’s full of fucking rain’); followed by the very worthy Ian Cross, who valiantly stepped up to the plate when punk poet Jack Pascoe was ‘too punk to show up’. We are indebted to you Ian!

For all of you who weren’t there – well, you know where to be next year! Just get there early, trust me, chairs will be in short supply. 

-Rebecca 

*… in exchange for legal tender. I didn’t actually purloin it, I’m just being fancy. 

Mark Blayney lives on the internet here.

Emily Hinshelwood’s website can be found here.

And to learn more about the ‘Dictionary for Dylan’ project coordinated by Emily, see the webpage here.