Sprickor och stämmor

Kvällens inlägg blir en Onsdagsutblick. Materialet var planerat att användas till Utblicken 2 oktober. Men bättre sent än aldrig. Jag vill åter lyfta fram poesins status i de engelskspråkiga länderna. Kvällens inlägg handlar till största delen om utbudet vid Culture Night i Dublin och Wicklow, 19 september. Bakom arrangörsskapet av kulturnatten står bland annat organisationen Poetry Ireland.

Bland programpunkterna syntes "storytelling for children", en "open mic session" ledd av Dermot Bolger, och "spoken word and music performances". Självklart erbjöds även diktuppläsningar av inbjudna författare. En av dessa var Colm Keegan. Han förekommer frekvent på webben i form av ljud- och/eller videoklipp. Hans accent är obetalbar. Läs hans dikt "The Crackle" och lyssna sedan på hans uppläsning av "The Crackle" via förlagets hemsida.

The Crackle, by Colm Keegan
(From Don't go there. Cliffs of Moher, County Clare, Ireland : Salmon Poetry, 2012.)

There's a party full of 'Fat-Frogs'
and coke all over the table.

There's a man out by the Liffey
getting out while he's able.

There's a fight starting somewhere
a fellah getting stabbed.

There's a car doing hand-brakers
two girls jumping a cab.

There's twitchy bouncer hacks
keeping an eye on the door.

That poor lad in the jacks stuck
cleaning puke off the floor.

The country's getting locked.
There's nobody to care.

There's a slut going down
and there's danger in the air.

There's men drowned in money
girls who'll never bend.

There's a beggar whispering 'honey'
but that's nothing down his end.

There's the gentle sound of heartbeats.
There's alleys full of death.

There's a man after your brother.
There's a lightness to your breath.

All these people hanging around
everybody acting cool
and the night-times fucking freezing
but don't let that fool you.

There's a crackle to this city
There's a steam of dreams that rises

and it gets behind your eyeballs
and it kind of compromises
the concrete
the shell
all the bits that sing 'to hell with it.'

There's another bit
a hoping bit
that screams out
Make a difference.

The city's
electricity.

It shines on us.

We're sparkling!
And love it man
'cause further out
there's nothing
only darkness.

The Crackle, by Colm Keegan

***

En välkänd amerikansk estradpoet, bosatt i Irland, är Erin Fornoff. Hon deltog också i kulturnatten. I april 2013 tilldelades hon tredje pris vid Strokestown International Poetry Awards för dikten "Hymn to the Reckless (For my Brother)".

Hymn to the Reckless (For my Brother), de inledande textraderna, by Erin Fornoff

Together we throw flame into orbit.
The frantic patter,
the volley, the hit.
From afar it’s just stars
come down to flit.

We bend quick to the flame
and pull coals into flight
Delirious sleight of hand
with a teaspoon of light
Once one caught
between my fingers and seared
and that night I wrapped
my aching hand around cold beer.

We’re boozy folk heroes
performing incredible feats
craft exquisite trajectories
with arms full of heat
Look! the arc as he sends it
hurdling toward me
bending with some
eccentric choreography-

We burn.
Our power, to drag a new comet trail
across the evening
a hymn to the reckless,
so breathless it falls to earth,
the air singeing–
we smolder.
...

***

Det presenterades också uppläsningar ur antologin "Poems that make grown men cry" (redaktörer: Anthony och Ben Holden). Den innehåller dikter som rört kända författare, filmmakare, vetenskapsmän, m.fl. till tårar. Hundra manliga kändisar har valt ut sina favoritdikter. Gissa hur många av dem som är skrivna av kvinnor? Svaret finner ni sist i inlägget.

Den brittiske Mellanöstern-journalisten Robert Fisk valde Christina Rossettis dikt "Remember".

Remember, by Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)
(From Poems that make grown men cry : 100 men on the words that move them. New York : Simon & Schuster, 2014.)

Remember me when I am gone away,
         Gone far away into the silent land;
         When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
         You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
         Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
         And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
         For if the darkness and corruption leave
         A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
         Than that you should remember and be sad.

**

Av de 100 dikterna i antologin är 89 skrivna av män och 11 skrivna av kvinnor.  Det går bättre för kvinnorna i uttagningarna till National Book Award. Idag presenterades de fem finalisterna, fyra är kvinnor. De fem är: Louise Glück, Fanny Howe, Maureen N. McLane, Fred Moten och Claudia Rankine.