***
Den nya festivalen i Nottingham pågår mellan 17 november och 3 december. Men huvudanrättningen serveras under veckoslutet 27-29 november, alltså kommande helg.
Under fredagen kan publiken lyssna till "Atilla The Stockbroker", Luke Wright och Kevin Fagan. Lördagens program innehåller Brian Patten, Mouthy Poets och Jon Bitumen (alter ego of Pete Ramskill) och bland söndagens inbjudna finns Lemn Sissay och Henry Normal. Den sistnämnde sägs vara väldigt rolig. Han måste jag läsa någon gång. Men i dagens blogg blir det en dikt av Brian Patten.
Brian Patten gjorde sig ett namn på 1960-talet som en av "Liverpool Poets", tillsammans med Adrian Henri och Roger McGough. Deras främsta mål var att göra poesi omedelbar och tillgänglig för sin publik, och deras gemensamma antologi, The Mersey Sound (1967 ), har krediterats som den mest betydande antologi under nittonhundratalet för dess framgång i att föra poesi till nya målgrupper, och är nu en del av Penguin Modern Classic.
Brian Pattens dikter har översatts till många europeiska språk .
Han föddes 1946 i Liverpool, och växte upp i en arbetarstadsdel. Han lämnade skolan vid femton års ålder och blev juniorreporter på The Bootle Times, där han skrev en populär musikkolumn. Källa: författarens webbplats
Johnny learns the language, by Brian Patten (f. 1946)
(from Grinning Jack : selected poems. London : Unwin Paperbacks, 1990.)
YESTERDAY
in order to explain myself
I locked myself away
with an old alphabet,
with the hand-me-down phrases for which
I had no use but to which
I was already addicted.
Yesterday,
while considering how absurd it was
that everything has a name
I discovered that the mayfly
was weighed down by a single vowel.
Under the threat of not being understood
I began to understand
how words were the nets in which
what I was floundered.
Mother,
you come with your bowl of words,
fat words, puffed up with kindness.
And father
you come with your silences in which
words sneak about like thieves.
I am learning your language.
“Loss” “Defeat” “Regret” ---
Without understanding
You would have these be
the blueprints for my future.
***
Jag är lite för trött i kväll för att lägga till Transatlantic Poetry i högerkolumnens länklista. Jag ska försöka uppdatera med en del länkar till helgen, för att sedan göra en rejäl makeover under jullovet.
Deras deklaration låter så här:
TRANSATLANTIC Poetry is global poetry movement bringing some of the most exciting poets from the US, UK, Europe and beyond together for live online readings and conversations. With the help of notable partners, we are transforming the way people experience poetry in the twenty-first century.
Närmast på tur står en sändning med Selina Nwulu från London, och Gregory Pardlo from Brooklyn, New York. Gregory Pardlo är säkert bekant, han vann ju årets Pulitzer Prize i kategorin Poetry. Ur den belönade boken "Digest" hämtar jag följande dikt:
Written by himself, by Gregory Pardlo (f. 1968)
(from Digest. Publisher: New York : Four Way Books, 2014. First published in The Best American Poetry 2010.)
 |
| Wombat Baby |
I was born in minutes in a roadside kitchen a skillet
whispering my name. I was born to rainwater and lye;
I was born across the river where I
was borrowed with clothespins, a harrow tooth,
broadsides sewn in my shoes. I returned, though
it please you, through no fault of my own,
pockets filled with coffee grounds and eggshells.
I was born still and superstitious; I bore an unexpected burden.
I gave birth, I gave blessing, I gave rise to suspicion.
I was born abandoned outdoors in the heat-shaped air,
air drifting like spirits and old windows.
I was born a fraction and a cipher and a ledger entry;
I was an index of first lines when I was born.
I was born waist-deep stubborn in the water crying
ain’t I a woman and a brother I was born
to this hall of mirrors, this horror story I was
born with a prologue of references, pursued
by mosquitoes and thieves, I was born passing
off the problem of the twentieth century: I was born.
I read minds before I could read fishes and loaves;
I walked a piece of the way alone before I was born.
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