About a Black Bough Open Mic session (and how that got me admiring the poet Paul Short)
On the 12th of November I finally did it. I worked up the nerve and participated in my first online open mic in the English language. Ever. Black Bough Open Mic it was called, hosted in the most friendly and professional manner possible by Matthew Smith from blackboughpoetry.com, a publisher based in Wales.
Rewriting my Dutch poetry in English is one thing, but actually reading the results of those labors out loud is quite another. For those of you who follow me and my creative endeavors more closely (thanks as always and yet again!) that might come as a surprise? But it isn’t. Not really. I Might have a history in slam poetry and hundreds of performances to my name yadah yadah etc, I never got around to sing my English songs in front of an actual audience. And around the time I could have started doing so, when the worst of that fucking pandemic had come and gone, I had found myself yet another new thing/medium/obsession to hyper focus on? Still sorry about that, Martijn (music/production/alotofpatience)! … Enfin.
I heard some great poetry that night! Met some talented people. Felt welcome and got pleasant feedback on my work. Greatly appreciated! I can recommend joining one of their sessions. I sure intend to do so again, if I can find the time. You know what, I’ll keep you all informed about the next one, I promise.
At each of those open mic sessions the organizer/host shines a light on one poet, featuring said poet by letting them read a few more poems than the rest of the participants and highlighting his/her/their/its creative career by drawing attention to websites/bio’s etc. This evening that poet was Mr. Paul Short. And to be honest, he blew me the fuck away? So much so I reached out to him the next day, asking if he would mind if I wrote my own ‘feature’ about him. Guess what his answer was :) I’m happy I decided to ask him because scouring his website these last few days to be able to do so (and him justice) I learned some stuff that warmed me up to him even more. Did you know, for example, that Paul is a classically trained chef (got myself a cooking diploma as well…) or that he’s a working-class poet? (Mate!)
So, there’s my real reason for this little piece (surprise!), and here goes:
The turkey’s too large,
another midnight axe job;
tin foil hysterics.
Or:
well-folded laundry
stacked high on the armchair
– reminders you’re gone.
To start with, Paul’s written a lot of haiku’s. These 2 I consider to be his best. And yes, that’s because there’s some… friction to be found. This poet excels, at least in my not so humble opinion, in writing what is essentially positive imagery, I mean I really had to delve deeper to get to the kinds of subjects/feels we at Double Dutch magazine are generally more interested in? Which says less about him, true enough, and so, so much more about us. … Me. But hey, that’s the route we went, are sticking with, and you’ll be happy to know that to our satisfaction delving a bit deeper did NOT disappoint. His more vulnerable/rough-around-the-edges kind of poems hit all the harder for it. Here’s a good example:
Crimson Treacle
she wears a noose of silver
around her throat
St. Christopher lays flat
feigning protection
the blood on her chin
cloys like syrup
but her tongue
tastes like rust and copper
she exhales pleasure
sensually chewing
torn tendons and soft flesh
against carefully crafted teeth
arrogantly
she smirks
allowing more treacle to comfort her chin
gargling on voracious words
‘if he had a silver noose around his neck
he may have survived remained intact, but doubtful’
muscle memory
precise and purposeful
dismembers her lust
as she dismembers and disembowels
she showers
in his carotid crimson treacle
relishing the flavour and feel
as she splits sinew and bone
feeling righteous purity
the crescendo of violence
always anticlimactic
plastic wrapped bundles of body and tissue
a food parcel to sate her appetite
a bitter sense of home economics
It’s his first attempt at a horror poem and does not disappoint. ‘A bitter sense of home economics’ indeed. Or this one:
Question The Campaign
Meeting Minutes for Monday 1 March between CEO & Head of Campaigns
“What’s our campaign this week?”
“Maybe – tackling food poverty?”
“That’ll raise the charity’s profile and brand, yeah?”
“We’ll use some vloggers to tell people how to eat and budget properly and create some hashtags, perhaps?”
“How about telling people to use Food banks?”
“Do you want to spend big on this campaign?”
“No, No – I’ll just get the PR team to send some free stuff to the vloggers and buy their weeks shopping how much do you reckon that’ll cost?”
“We’ll tell the vloggers they’re ambassadors for this campaign, they’ll love that and a week’s shopping and some of that promotional fairtrade stuff lying in the warehouse, total outlay under £1000?”
“Sounds great, can you make sure we get the social media team and the vloggers to add the JustGiving links?”
“To the food banks?”
“No to our charity, we can get Legal involved to get a disclaimer put in so we can say a percentage of donations will go to the Food bank can’t we?”
“Of course, just wanted to make sure, should I give you the metrics in a couple of weeks?”
“That’s great, so is that it?”
Being one of Paul’s more experimental poems, it sure ticks all MY boxes. My absolute personal favorite, however, I’ll copy paste in its entirety because it’s… allowing me in, to a point where it feels like I mustn’t make a sound, and again, hidden on a website filled with so much Christmas spirit that’s a rare find. Making me feel like I earned that, somehow. Propelling the whole experience described into just darn brilliant:
The Armchair
Cenotaph of my loathe-quarry
lurks in the corner
ominous obelisk of misery-grey fabric
stained by stagnant-self
arms grubbier than a plagiarist in an inkwell.
It haunts my body
memory-foam cushions twisted
around my depression
like an alligator in death-roll.
If perching, it’s only for seconds
dread at comfort swallowing me whole
or falling over the feet clumsily
delivering self-recrimination
that plunges me into that dark brutal chasm
- again.
The armchair is a sound-hollow
negative echoes only
so I stay silent near its plinth
⁃ yet sometimes the pride in victory
my eyes hold
is loud enough to drown
past despair.
… Thank you, Paul. Really. Want to read more of his poetry? You can do so right here!
Paul’s certainly no stranger to getting published, like in Stymie Online Journal for example, or The Dark Poets Club, The daily Drunk, Flight Of The Dragonfly, on podcasts such as Eat The Storms and in 2021 he came third in the Black Bough Poetry’s #BBMicro2 contest. He also read his work on BBC Radio Newcastle and BBC Radio Tees, and here’s an interview with him by writer Allan Parry. Read his enthusiastic piece about a Black Bough Open Mic session from a couple of months ago under this link. Oh! And! Answer his call to submit poetry for an anthology he’s putting together? + He’s got an active presence on X, Instagram and Facebook. … So much to like…
I saved the biggest reason that turned me from a new fan of his more… frictionous work (at least) into a straight up admirer for last, though. I mean, a lot of us not yet famous enough poets put in the needed leg work to get noticed, to get published, and many of us become experts in getting rejected. A lot. I know I did? But that’s okay. Hurts, sure, but is part of the hustle. The grind. There are so, so many people out there shooting for the same cluster of stars… Nothing high fucking brow about that. There are a lot fewer of us who will admit to this, sure, but that’s okay too. After our first year as a free to submit to mag, we fully intend to start asking a nominal reading fee, for example. See if we can recuperate some of the costs, complement our income a bit this way, or by organizing a paid writing contest, maybe even starting our own paid open mic…? All that is totally valid. Makes sense, even. … Where was I. … Oh yeah. What I’m trying to say is that when I come across a fellow poet who’s trying to get his writing out there, applying said elbow grease, filling his website with all he has to offer, which is a lot, BUT, in addition to this then turns out to ALSO spend a lot of time highlighting other poets and their work for no discernible reason other than being a true fan of poetry in general…, that’s just fucking special. And for me more than justifies this little piece about him! Cheers.
