Reviewer: Clare Stewart

1st Half

Andrew Martin

The evening kick started with DIY’s very own Andrew Martin and it was a very fine start indeed! Andrew performed his poem “In praise of chalk” which was metaphorically gripping and entrapping and had a fantastic visual story, one mental image which has really stuck with me is that of a sheep counting sheep to sleep. This image sprung into form from a question Andrew asked during his poem “do sheep count sheep whilst trying to sleep?” I personally am still pondering over this question but have accepted that I may not find the answer in this life time.  Andrew has only been with DIY for one year but appears to be very comfortable on the stage.

Trevor Wright

Trevor’s a local lad, born in Bulwell, and he wondered how would it have been if Wordsworth had been born in Bulwell too.  And so it’s poetry as alternative history as we heard Daffodils Bulwell-style.  Contrasting with this, a serious, sad and angry poem about the Hillsborough disaster, inspired by the recent hearing and judgment against the police handling of the event.  Trevor powerfully remembers the lies of the authorities and the money-grabbing morals of that decade, and that ‘piss shit and blood not alcohol were the smells of the day’ at Hillsborough.

 Jeff Marshall

We had a first time performance from new DIY poet Jeff, which was an absolute honour, Jeff performed Beaches.  Before he began his poem he pre-described it for the audience as miserable which some may have found, however I personally thought it was beautiful.  “Beaches are for playing not for dying a place where all the scenes are fulfilled” Jeff managed to tip toe into the political murky waters of war very smoothly.  Jeff’s second poem “the hardest jobs” which was a true insight to the BBC or ITV… they both appear to be the same! The poem was very comical and brutally honest (unlike the news) and the audience enjoyed it very much “presenting no news on east midlands today” amazing!

Grace Bernard

Grace  – who is also one of the Mouthy Poets – gave us a longer poem, miraculously from memory, pondering why we are conditioned to be so horrid to each other, and why we compete with each other so much.  We’ve learned to thicken our skins so much, and is it doing any of us any good?  And why can’t we just smile at each other a bit more without fear of a smack to the jaw? She says that laughing and smiling is infectious – and free – so please smile back if she smiles at you.  Sounds good to me!  Her second piece was a passionate love poem You are you are you are…

Martin Dean

Martin Dean performed “Icarus of the Rope” the poem was lovely with handsome imagery and a mesmerising tale which left me wanting to hear more, which is quite impressive as the poem was at least 2-3 minutes long so it must have been good! Martin is a natural charismatic story teller and I look forward to hearing more from him.

Phil Deakin

Phil Deakin told us that he had been to India four years ago but has never written about the experience til now. He gave fantastic detailed description of the assault on the senses on landing in that country, giving us his impressions, picking out things that he saw, the contrast of rich and poor, a cow slowly strolling as though it knew it was holy, a crocodilian river, the sun that still burns in his heart. Phil’s second poem was a comic turn on the name Trump, with many rhymes of that name, which, let’s face it, the name and the man ask for it!! Brilliantly written and executed, mocking the oh-so-deservedly-mockable, this was a poem that needed writing and performing!

Mouthy Poets

At the end of the first, half four of the Mouthy Poets hit the stage to give us a taster of the Nottingham group’s young poets and they were delicious.

Neil

His family’s lungs were made in a petrie dish, says Neil from Mouthy Poets, in a poem about smoking. His second poem was about a special kind of cooking, lots of ingredients including 5 spoons of sarcasm and 5 spoons of awkward that make a nasty and surreal tasting soup. His third poem was about how he loathes boxes, the categories that other people put us in, about his long resistance to being put into boxes, he says he doesn’t want to be special, he just wants to be Neil. Amen to that, Neil! Nice set, surreal and pithy.

Chris McLoughlin

We had “a verbal acrobat” Chris Mcloughlin who told a delightfully moving and relatable story “Side show” about…. His second poem is one of my personal favourites (having heard it before) Pijaykin a pleasant story about a mythical creature called a Pijaykin that lives inside of all of us but “what is a real mythical creature?” good question! Pijaykin has a very positive, inspirational and happy message throughout, Chris is a captivating story teller with his gentle tone he gave a great performance.

 Bridie Squires

Bridie gave us a great hardhitting poem about those special little put-downs that cut deep in whilst appearing to be ‘just a joke, love’, with a brilliant riff of ‘Adorable’ repeated til the full patronisingness of it rendered the word meaningless and hollow.  Ending with some very unadorable language, Bridie forcefully clears space for her self, and we got the point, Back off, don’t make assumptions and let her be who she wants to be.  Her second poem was a frightening, dark tale of something unnameable and the hope that her grandma would know what to do.

Robert van Dongen

The last of the Mouthy Poets to perform was Robert van Dongen he started with a personalised rendition of a song by the band Muse which definitely got the audience’s attention! Robert then executed his poem “Don’t Jinx it “which had a lovely fun rhythm to it, poetry/ lyrics at their best. To finish off Robert performed “Poem about poets” which was exactly that, a poem about poets! I thought it was a great concept that I personally have not heard explored before and he did it very well, one line that stuck with me was “why don’t you write a poem about me? Because you don’t inspire me” I can relate to that question.

 

2^nd Half

Frank McMahon

Frank took to the stage, starting with a direct, uncompromising opener about the Hillsborough disaster entitled “They Shun the Sun”. In his characteristic understated style he then revealed his sly affection for his hometown Wolverhampton with a rebuttal to the Lonely Planet who had the cheek to name it the 5^th worst city in the world, without even visiting it. Frank excels at changing our views of the everyday and read a poem giving a dig at typical male friendships where talking about emotions is taboo and men restrict their conversation to DIY. He ended with odes to two under-rated colours: white and brown; the “least loved of all colours”, defending their virtues in pithy prose.

 Orla Shortall

Or Sparklechops as she is also known, the only belly-dancing poet I know.  After giving a much-needed plug for plug sockets, Orla read a poem about the draw of self destruction when things are going wrong – “self destruction is all fun and games until someone gets hurt”, about the adrenalin-urge to mess everything up even more and get yourself another helping of disaster.  Her second poem was about her relationship with the sea, with that classic Orla line, “I like my seamen like I like my semen, salty”. A sort of love poem to life and the sea.

Andy Szpuk

Andy treated the audience to an extract from his show Austerity Café, which he described as political verse, fractured melodies and satire joined together in an experimental mash up. He recited the musical beat-poet-esque “We’re Still Good at Making Guns”, exploring Britain’s industrial heritage and modern political hypocrisy. He then launched his paper plane fleet Poetry Airlines across the room, sending people ducking and weaving to get hold of promotional paper planes for his upcoming show.

 Eagle Spits

Eagle, our resident angry punk poet, pulled us in with an old favourite, Atos Death Squad, with the amusing idea that he should just take that job as a lorry driver they’re insisting he do and, with his poor eyesight, ‘accidentally’ drive into the House of Commons. That’d do it!  His next poem expressed his anger at the meanness of the posters the council have put up asking us not to give money to homeless people, cos they’ll only get blathered if you do that, so give to the charities instead. Eagle’s instinct would always be to react to the human in front of you, Eagle’s raison d’être – be kind.  His third piece was a sweet and loving poem about his dad.  And fourth, another old chestnut about the aborting of a foetus because it has Down’s Syndrome. As ever, Eagle was gentle and terrifying, principled, irreverent, rebellious.

 Clare Stewart

Clare ascended the stage with a short powerful portrait of writing as torture, when one has to make a living from it.  She then explored her own writer’s block in a poem full of word play and humour, twisting a block into inspiration.  She finished with two personal portraits, one of her father, and one of a woman she encountered while working in a nursing home, the repetition of the only phrase the woman would say “hokey cokey” creating a vivid picture of this woman which was both funny and touching.

 John Humphreys

Next up, the fantastic John Humphreys.  He curtailed his long intros this evening, which was a shame, but we had a lot of poets on the bill this time – arguably, John is as much an introducer of poems as a poet…  John is in the idiosyncratic process of taking quotes from a film – ‘Youth’ recently released, with Michael Caine, Harvey Keitel and Rachel Weisz – and making poems from them.  Not really connected with the actual film, just using the quotes themselves as springboards for the poems.  In this case, the quotes were ‘Emotions are all we’ve got’ and ‘The last great idyll of our lives’.  Delivered in John’s wonderful microphone style, and I think, still in the wake of his fiftieth birthday, he brings you in to the world of the poem, and the world of his mind.

 Lytisha

Lytisha Tunbridge read a detailed study of a person’s illness and decline, opening up their world of trying to adjust to changes and life as it now was. The poem ended on a compassionate note of care and empathy. She delighted the audience with tales of the everyday, a predictive text mishap, a meandering bus, rich with meaning, humour and pathos.

 Rachel Eagling

Rachel read a touching poem about that rhythm that many of us have heard or felt in the middle of the night when sharing a bed, and expanded that experience out to all who have ever shared a bed, a mattress, a lilo, a floor, and she took a wide overview of life as it is lived. She also gave us a poem about her dad (minor theme of the evening), about how practical and hardworking he was, and how she tries to be like him in putting ethics into action. (I’ve seen a film of Rachel reciting this poem in a graveyard, it’s really good, prob on FB.) And then a very long poem (went over the 4 minutes there, Rachel) about visiting a friend in prison. She told us the small details of the visit and her observations. As ever, Rachel sums up the sad and the funny and the touching.

 Hazel Warren

The looked-forward-to-by-all headline act Hazel Warren read up a storm with her gentle, powerful, sensual poems that get under your skin and stay there. Listening to Hazel read is like mainlining honesty in its rawest, sweetest form. Hazel read poems “Pompeii”, “20 Years” and “The moon is full of sorrow” about relationships, longing and unspoken rules. Poems “This place is ours” and “You shouldn’t be able to touch your insides” which she called “the nostalgia section” dealt with childhood and the past, real emotions remembered and reconstructed. “Chocolate bunny” was a slyly sensuous paean about temptation and… chocolate. “A dancer dies twice” captured the sorrows in a dancer’s always finite vocation. “Brew love” was a witty and honest portrayal of negotiating the beginning of a relationship. She ended to wildly enthusiastic applause with “Cycling proficiency”, a faux melodramatic piss take of all those who believe poetry should remain an elite sport. The word “amateur” she pointed out means “for the love of it” and the audience loved it.

 

3^rd Half

Paul Carbuncle

The folk punk one man electrical storm Paul Carbuncle ended the night with ferocious, melodic ballads about Robin Hood, squirrels, police brutality and corruption, racism and the political activist Tom Paine, among other subjects. He filled the room with energy and rhythm, making it difficult not to clap, tap, nod, sway or dance in time and generally become part of the whole experience.

 End Of Review – Maze 19th May 2016

We await the next DIY event on the 30^th June at Rough Trade on Broad Street with salivating ears.