A bit about us and who we are:
We are LSRAnthology, Leeds Student Radio's poetry show, coming to you live every Sunday at 2pm. Well, not every Sunday, we won't be on over Easter vac. But y'know, most Sundays.
I know it sounds conceited to say it, but I can't think of a better way to spend half an hour on a Sunday afternoon, I know we enjoy it, and we're starting to build a little fan base for ourselves, which is lovely.
There's always something going on on LSRfm, and it's always good, so I suggest you check it out at www.lsrfm.com, you can just download the stream and listen on your itunes. It's wonderful and I thoroughly recommend it.
I must also add this, for the sake of legislation and whatnot:
Any opinions or ideas represented in this blog, or on the LSRAnthology radio show belong solely to those speaking, and are not representative of LSRfm, or Leeds University Union, or anyone else who happens to be affiliated. Just me, and I'm not sure I agree with myself sometimes.
So, without further ado, a blog for the last two weeks of shows, finally.
Our most recent show, on the 7th March, was on the theme of sex. An idea suggested by one of our guest poets for the week, the omni-talented Christie Hill. So, obscure metaphors galore, we pressed on and immersed ourselves in the world of coital poetry.
We had planned, originally, to open the show with a tune by the master of sexiness, Barry White, but, the usual technical error (lack of CD-Rs...) led to an absence of the great man. But, since I'm now immersed in the blogosphere, here it is:
It's like having smooth melted chocolate poured into your ears, perfect for a sunny afternoon. Mmm.
As usual, we began our show by setting an exercise, this time it was to write a poem ending with a climactic couplet. (See what we did there, eh? Eh?)
If anyone's reading this and has since written a poem they want to be read out on the show, not necessarily on the exercise, send us an email at lsranthology@googlemail.com and we'll sort you out :)
If you're interested in being a guest poet, too, drop us a line and we'll have a chat about it.
Right, so after this, we went swiftly on to everybody's favourite section-
Let me put my poems in you.
After which this blog is named. And yes, I felt it was important enough to be put in what blogspot calls 'largest'.
We were slightly stuck for time in this show, as we so often are, so this was a slightly rushed affair, and only a couple of poems were put into our listeners.
Our other guest poet (the one who wasn't Christie) was, this week, the fantastic Vicki Taylor, a first year Workshop Theatre student. As we all were, in fact.
Vicki read us a beautiful poem, which was as tragic as it was brilliant. It had the vibe of a beat poem, and to misquote the thoughts of Conor and Milly, it had the clarity of prose with the beauty of poetry. Or something similar, feel free to correct me and I will alter the blog accordingly.
Unfortunately I don't have a copy of the poem to hand at the moment, but as soon as I do it will be here for you to feast on.
Got it! Feast away:
One finger presses down on the halfway
Point between beige dawn and smouldering tip
And then releases,
Causing an avalanche of ash to land atop faded
Sun lounger below by the pool.
Teasing dangling foot between railings, arm lolling over peeling wood,
You inhale, encasing toxic whisper
In cluttered lung, stifling a cough and thumping
Sticky upper chest with left coiling fist.
Out. Smoke seeps into air, cloud.
So I prune that smoke, and with latex glove
I push, ease, ease it in to the shape of tangled
Limb. Minutes ago you inhaled my breath, exhaled,
Inhaled again. Bit down on stained pillow
Where the lust of countless other pairs
Had groans, pulsating fit, and they fuelled us,
Touched their match against our feeble wick.
Now you silhouette under fluorescent ceiling strip,
The cigarette a trophy and the sweat sheen on your
Shoulder blades a witness of the memory,
And arch the nape of your neck.
I will forge your smoke
Into a sculpture of weeping salt sheets;
A postcard. Inhale. Holiday.
Point between beige dawn and smouldering tip
And then releases,
Causing an avalanche of ash to land atop faded
Sun lounger below by the pool.
Teasing dangling foot between railings, arm lolling over peeling wood,
You inhale, encasing toxic whisper
In cluttered lung, stifling a cough and thumping
Sticky upper chest with left coiling fist.
Out. Smoke seeps into air, cloud.
So I prune that smoke, and with latex glove
I push, ease, ease it in to the shape of tangled
Limb. Minutes ago you inhaled my breath, exhaled,
Inhaled again. Bit down on stained pillow
Where the lust of countless other pairs
Had groans, pulsating fit, and they fuelled us,
Touched their match against our feeble wick.
Now you silhouette under fluorescent ceiling strip,
The cigarette a trophy and the sweat sheen on your
Shoulder blades a witness of the memory,
And arch the nape of your neck.
I will forge your smoke
Into a sculpture of weeping salt sheets;
A postcard. Inhale. Holiday.
I, too, had a poem to put in you this week, it was brief, it was silly, but it was a poem, so here it is:
Shower scene.
Earlier today, I thought I'd surprise you
So whilst you were showering, I hopped in too
But you weren't expecting it
And when you turned around you
Got shampoo in both my eyes.
In my blind panic I headbutted the tiles
And knocked myself out.
And knocked myself out.
We were lucky enough to receive a poem live on air this week, which we read out towards the end. It was slightly rushed, but hopefully now you can take the time to appreciate it fully. Kudos to Mark Pollock for this beautiful poem:
MY FAVOURITE JUMPER
I can see my favourite jumper
Unravelling
It's Inevitable
Looking at the fraying Ends
I think of all the time we
Shared
Just me
And you
My little bundle of wool
So i could never be scared
You looked great during the day
Kept me warm at night
Ill down the pen of futile love
And try to find a needle and thread
Instead
I can see my favourite jumper
Unravelling
It's Inevitable
Looking at the fraying Ends
I think of all the time we
Shared
Just me
And you
My little bundle of wool
So i could never be scared
You looked great during the day
Kept me warm at night
Ill down the pen of futile love
And try to find a needle and thread
Instead
Humphrey, this week, treated us to a review of a poem he'd been saving for at least a month, but had never actually managed to read us because we were too rushed/ it wasn't appropriate or he overslept, but this week, he did it.
The poem was 'In Paris With You' by James Fenton, which Humphrey read, as always, brilliantly.
In the spirit of a poetry radio show, I thought I'd find a video of someone reading the poem, and I have been lucky enough to stumble across this video-
How amazing is that man's voice?!
This is a poem that I wasn't terribly keen on at a first read, but after hearing it read out to me, and after Humphrey's critical appraisal, it's really started to grow on me, kind of like a pleasant moss.
Soon I will publish Humph's review, because it's definitely worth thinking about, but I was too shortsighted to get it from him before writing this. Watch this space, folks!
Hope you've been watching the space, because here's the review!
James Fenton was born in Lincoln in 1949 and educated at Magdalen College, Oxford where he won the Newdigate Prize for poetry. He has worked as political journalist, drama critic, book reviewer, war correspondent, foreign correspondent and columnist. He is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and was Oxford Professor of Poetry for the period 1994-99. In 2007, Fenton was awarded the Queen's Gold Medal for Poetry.
Bestselling author Ian McEwan said of him that; “There is a strong case to be made that James Fenton is the finest poet writing in English.His technical virtuosity is beyond doubt; his long experience as war correspondent, journalist and traveller has given him an unmatched range of subject matter - war and revolution, the dementia of collective passions, reflections on fate, and love - he has written some of the most beautiful love poems of our times. He is a poet of great emotional depth and wisdom. Increasingly, his work has a strong connection with song. He also has a taste for light verse of exquisite charm and humour. He is a modern master.”
This Poem; 'In Paris With You' touches on an element in rebirth that many of us must be familiar with; the rebound. Before I say anything more, lets here it, and since he'll read it infinitely better than I ever will; here he is:
Read the Poem. - -That recording was from poetryarchive.com, an excellent site, and more of Fenton's work read aloud by the author can be found there.
What I adore about this Poem is the way that Fenton can use language to surpass its original meaning. The words 'I'm in Paris with you' become (for me) a suppressed way of saying; “I'm in love with you”. I thought that the way Fenton reads this, emphasises this particularly. In the past I've always read it as “I'm in Paris With You” he says “I'm in Paris with you...”. This second goes against the natural trochaic rhythm but makes the statement seem even more like one declaring love.
But theres more going on in this poem. In rejecting the Louvre, the Champes Elysée and saying “sod off to sodding Notre Dame” he's dismissing a perception of traditional High Romance which is synonymous with high culture. And there's a certain soreness to this poem, made poignant in the word “wounded” in the first stanza, its downbeat humour even the broken images of the room, with its cracks and peeling wallpaper seem to make this poem all the truer, there is a lingering pain present.
Fenton also masterfully manipulates our vision as the poem zooms inwards in a cinematic manner throughout. It begins with abstract feeling, to glancing through Paris' sites, to their hotel room and finally the intensely intimate final stanza where the speaker study's his own physical intimacy (and perhaps feelings) with his partner's eyes, mouth and “all points south”
The last two lines are what seal the deal for me. The playful sexual glance southwards in this already sleazy hotel room, then coupled with that wonderful line “am I embarrassing you? I'm in Paris with you” leave us with a glimpse into his partners squirmish reaction and once again that beautiful line. “I'm in Paris With You”, is it a way of expressing love while avoiding cliché? Or merely geography? The reader makes up his own mind.
Bestselling author Ian McEwan said of him that; “There is a strong case to be made that James Fenton is the finest poet writing in English.His technical virtuosity is beyond doubt; his long experience as war correspondent, journalist and traveller has given him an unmatched range of subject matter - war and revolution, the dementia of collective passions, reflections on fate, and love - he has written some of the most beautiful love poems of our times. He is a poet of great emotional depth and wisdom. Increasingly, his work has a strong connection with song. He also has a taste for light verse of exquisite charm and humour. He is a modern master.”
This Poem; 'In Paris With You' touches on an element in rebirth that many of us must be familiar with; the rebound. Before I say anything more, lets here it, and since he'll read it infinitely better than I ever will; here he is:
Read the Poem. - -That recording was from poetryarchive.com, an excellent site, and more of Fenton's work read aloud by the author can be found there.
What I adore about this Poem is the way that Fenton can use language to surpass its original meaning. The words 'I'm in Paris with you' become (for me) a suppressed way of saying; “I'm in love with you”. I thought that the way Fenton reads this, emphasises this particularly. In the past I've always read it as “I'm in Paris With You” he says “I'm in Paris with you...”. This second goes against the natural trochaic rhythm but makes the statement seem even more like one declaring love.
But theres more going on in this poem. In rejecting the Louvre, the Champes Elysée and saying “sod off to sodding Notre Dame” he's dismissing a perception of traditional High Romance which is synonymous with high culture. And there's a certain soreness to this poem, made poignant in the word “wounded” in the first stanza, its downbeat humour even the broken images of the room, with its cracks and peeling wallpaper seem to make this poem all the truer, there is a lingering pain present.
Fenton also masterfully manipulates our vision as the poem zooms inwards in a cinematic manner throughout. It begins with abstract feeling, to glancing through Paris' sites, to their hotel room and finally the intensely intimate final stanza where the speaker study's his own physical intimacy (and perhaps feelings) with his partner's eyes, mouth and “all points south”
The last two lines are what seal the deal for me. The playful sexual glance southwards in this already sleazy hotel room, then coupled with that wonderful line “am I embarrassing you? I'm in Paris with you” leave us with a glimpse into his partners squirmish reaction and once again that beautiful line. “I'm in Paris With You”, is it a way of expressing love while avoiding cliché? Or merely geography? The reader makes up his own mind.
This week we had a unusual feature, which may or may not be back in the future, which was a debate about poetry! Very exciting, I know.
This week it was Christie and myself, debating (not arguing), on the nature of poetry and love. Christie took the view that all poetry is about love, I disagreed.
The pro-love side proposed that love is defined by the OED as a strong interest in something, and that all art is fundamentally that- an exploration of this love. (Apologies if I'm misquoting, it's been a long week)
The anti-love side, however, argued that you can have a strong interest in something without loving it. I, for example, am interested in human interaction and flaws of human nature, but I wouldn't say that I love it. I concede, though, that writing comes from a love of writing.
Ultimately, though, the argument is dependant on love, which is entirely subjective and so there can never really be a satisfactory answer. How disappointing.
What, though, do you feel about this? Leave a comment and let us know what you think :) We might even go for a pint with you to discuss. Might.
By this stage we in the show we were running very low on time, so, after a rushed a-cappella introduction, we stormed into Chris Marr's Cultural Review.
This week Chris looked forward to Sticks and Stones poetry night, and review the Arts Against Cuts extravaganza.
Sticks and Stones is a monthly spoken word poetry extravaganza at Strawb's Bar, Leeds. It's a chance for you to have a drink, listen to some obscenely talented poet-types and even have a little go yourself on the open mic. For those of you who facebook, which I presume is most of you, join this group to stay up to date with all of the Sticks and Stones crew's shenanigans- http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2203921664&ref=ts
Arts Against Cuts took place on Wednesday the 3rd of March, and was, I must say, quality.
We were treated to poetry from members of our very own Anthology team (Humphrey, Sam and I all read),l as well as talent from theScribe magazine (the latest edition of which is currently on sale, comment for details!), music from local bands and much more!
Well, not much more, but it was all good stuff!
Danny and the Lost Souls rounded off the night perfectly, getting everyone off their feet and dancing with their funk and soul stylings, the Blue Wickeds treated us to their laptop-backed indie-punk-rock tastyness and Elijah at Sea gave their debut performance, and were described by the Leeds Student Newspaper as lifting everyone's spirits with catchy rhythms and gentle harmonies.
I'm sure there was more, but this has been a long, long blog and most of you have probably wandered off and been distracted by something or other. For those of you who haven't, I will leave you with a series of links and goodies to peruse at your pleasure.
And remember, listen on Sunday at 2 on lsrfm.com!
Up and coming events:
This Monday, the 5th of March! Al Baker and the Dole Queue, The Ruby Kid, Ben Childs and Elijah at Sea play the Packhorse Pub! It'll be a good one, hope to see you all there-
After that, Amnesty International are hosting a party in Mine, Leeds University Union featuring DJs from PunkSoc, should be fun and it's a good cause!-
Polarbear's RETURN. As in, that's the name of it, he's not returning. Although that is what it's about... Spoken word screen play, sections available on the page! Get yourself there!
Some poets for you to feast your ears on:
LSRfm's very own Henry Raby with his punk poetry!
dan le sac vs. Scroobius Pip's new album is up in full on their myspace!
Kate Tempest- fantastic writer. This is from BBC 2s poetry month, a Gryff Rhys Jones programme, which was awesome-
This is Tempest with her band Sound of Rum, pushing the boundaries of rap and poetry. Currently supporting dan le sac vs. Scroobius Pip
Other than that, spend the rest of your day finding good poets and posting them as comments here, I will listen to/read it all. Promise.
Love,
Jake.x
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