How good are open mics? I had never done one until earlier this year, when my friend, the poet Héloïse de Satge,* invited me to come to her Everything Poetry Night, where I performed a poem for the first time in my life. This was at the Oystercatcher in Greenwich, which is not too far from where I live, by which I mean twenty minutes away on the train.** The poem I performed was called “Loneliness,” and it was very kindly received by the audience. It was the first time I used the expression “bulbous clouds” in anything whatsoever, because that is what the clouds look like over the river behind the Thames Barrier in Woolwich, and I thought that poetry is good for writing about clouds. I gave it to a friend to read, the poet Ali Lewis, who said he likes it, which is high praise, because Ali is such an excellent poet himself.*** In a fit of insanity, I submitted it to the Paris Review. They have been reading it for six months. It is not a very long poem.
At Everything, Ellie introduced me to Adam RW, who co-runs Storytime London. He performed a very funny story masquerading as a poem, which meant that I wanted to get to know him. I got very lucky, because Ellie introduced me to Adam, and in her introduction did not fail to mention that I had published twelve novels, and Adam seemed impressed with that (I still forget sometimes that I have done that, so I tend not to mention it). He proceeded to invite me to come to a Storytime Night at Morocco Bound in Bermondsey for International Woman‘s Day, which I did, and I put my name in the hat, and my name got drawn out of the hat, and that is when I performed**** the opening chapter of what was to become Art or Animals . It might be immodest of me to say that it brought the house down, so I won‘t say it; what is much more important to say is how much I loved the night. I put my name in the hat even though I very much did not want to, but once I was up on stage, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to actually see the people I am writing for, and to hear their intakes of breaths, and their cheers, and their gasps as I told the story. And it also felt like the most natural thing in the world to be there while the other fantastic storytellers told their stories and performed their poems, and I could no longer remember why we would ever want to do it in a different way.
In short, I was surprised by how much I loved performing, but I did; in fact, I loved it so much that I went back to Storytime to perform another chapter of what was quickly becoming Art or Animals at Galleria Objet on Brick Lane, which was a spectacular experience. Folks seemed to like that one, too, so Adam asked me to return as headliner on Storytime at the Ivy House in Nunhead (of Goldsmiths fame) in April. By this time, Art or Animals was well on its way to becoming a novella.***** I think it is funnier and sadder than it would have been had I not performed it, because I knew that I would have to read it in front of an audience, and I knew that I would not want them to be bored; I wanted them to laugh at the hilarity and cry at the heartbreak. I hope I succeeded. I have since told the legend of Penthesilea as I reimagine it at Storytime‘s spin-off Myths and Legends, and last night I got to perform another poem at the open mic of Spit Poetry, which is called “When you told me,” and it is set on a bus, and it is about love, but it is also rather sad. I performed another poem which was about a trip to the Champagne in France but also about death, and about Ottolenghi roasts. I am also going to be performing at the Echo Chamber in late June, hope to go back to Everything in the summer, and Storytime has a Solstice edition coming up, in case you are interested. Also, for all those based in Hamburg rather than London: I will be co-hosting Final Draft, a night of prose, poetry and stories at the Ponybar as part of the Hamburg Festival of Creative Writing. Everybody welcome!
These open mics have been a delight, and carried me through the writing Art or Animals. I finished the manuscript the day before yesterday. Finishing it left me in such a stage of anger and exhaustion that I am still rattled by it. I have no idea why I was so furious; it is not an angry book. It is, I hope, funny and heartbreaking. I think I was grieved by the protagonist, who lives life so earnestly, so sincerely trying to get it right, and getting so much wrong because of it. But it is also a book about grace, and kindness, and love — how to fall out of it, and whether we can. I am not sure whether I can, so perhaps that is what made me angry. Either way, I am not angry anymore. I am on page 705 out of 934 of Don Quixote, which continues to be an unmitigated delight, so full of verve and wit and joy of the imagination that far surpasses everything else I have ever read (move over, Wonderland).***** Besides, my friend and colleague Georgia Poplett***** send me an emoticon combo for Art or Animals yesterday, and I have been smiling about it ever since: 🦊🎨
If nothing else, it tells you which animal we most frequently see out and about in the streets of London, and this animal also happens to be my favourite animal, so that is all good. On this note, has everyone seen David Attenborough’s Wild London? I hope you have. So much, and much needed, delight!
Warm wishes,
C
*Ellie’s pamphlet, Rein It In, is fantastic! Available from her excellent publisher, Broken Sleep Books, a working-class indie. If you buy one pamphlet this month, make sure it is this one.
**We had the most beautiful backdrop, namely a view of the Thames at night with the twinkling lights of Canary Wharf in the distance and the water taxis passing us by in the distance.
**Ali‘s first collection, Absence, was piblished by Cheerio. If you buy one collection of poetry this month, make sure it‘s this one! Ali recently published a poem in the Little Review, which is a wonderfully whimsical new poetry magazine and can be bought online or in some of London‘s excellent bookshops (I bought my copy at the London Review Bookshop).
***It always sounds slightly silly to me to say I performed a poem or a piece of prose, but saying that I read it seems to have too many meanings and be delightfully but also confusingly ambiguous (outloud? to myself? in a tube carriage? to a select group of friends and family? to my lodger, H?)
***** Just kidding, there is room for everybody in the World Republic of Letters!
*****Georgia has been such a support in getting this novella finished, it cannot be overstated. Her support did not start with or end at emoticon combos, but those, too, are important.
*A special star for the title: Obviously, I truly find Open Mics joyful, whereas George Orwell uses Such, Such Were The Joys ironically when he writes about his life at prep school before World War I.