Issue 93 / October 2018

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ARTISTIC LICENCE As part of a continuing series, Leighton Ramsdale curates a selection of poetry from some of the regular contributors to his Cotton Mouth poetry night. Jack Haworth Said the Real Man Regarding the Actor Who Replaced Him: Perhaps one day a man may jaunt before a crowd And when he saunters forth they may be unsure Who he claims to be and yet know of his face And by the end may care for neither nor If his dance of mine fares not so safe As when I danced it, when I raced Wore robes which fit not him That seem obliged to split As he ties his timely lace But tell them, he is fine And only reads a line Or two and then Steps down And so too Do I. Sarah Bristow Untitled Oh I walk these Liverpool streets I’ve never felt so alone Friendly gestures and eyes on the phone Whilst I do my usual 1-9 maybe 6-8 Always fucking late My bus is always fucking late Saw our usual John gave him a quid and said “Look after yourself lovely” As much as he can Whilst only a cardboard to grope And his undying need to hope Friends are fraying – uninterested Drugs are more than a habit here “We’ll just play it by ear” Cold mornings turn to cold sweats Turn to many, many regrets And usual John died the other day No one ever talks about it No one will ever pay We’ll still chant away to underground bands And bruise covered hands And ket-fuelled sleeps And that 14-year-old collapsed here, I can still hear his ma weep But us kids We’ll still dance when the world is at war Stomp and march to piss pensioners off even more Oh and I walk these Liverpool streets And I’ve never felt more at home Tired smiles and glances up from a phone Free food for all! Fuck Trump! Fuck May! Meant to meet at 8 My bus is always fucking late Oh and I walk these Liverpool streets in a daze Look after yourself lovely – it’s never just a phase. William Baines Something More Than Tragedy Don’t worry; it’s fine Tell me all about the thinning line As opinions stretch and polarise and The Sun prints the 14th lie this week Don’t worry; it’s fine What’s yours is yours and what’s mine mine You make your point like a prophet’s eye But if you stick to your own and you’ll find no peace Don’t worry; it’s fine The truth don’t speak she dances blind So when you step leave your thoughts behind So don’t let other words twist the arm of what you see Don’t worry; it’s fine As conquered nations crawl on wealth’s paradime Not enough will have to suffice Cos far too much never satisfies the need Don’t worry; it’s fine Take it all; your gall’s her delight While she wages wars on all that fights And the end comes forth slowly by degrees Don’t worry; it’s fine As it all falls on its keens and dies And you beg for home from the blinding light That burns the sage and stone alike And the ashes fall like rain from the sky And there’s not a soul, a word or a thought in mind And nothing and all dance entwined And what’s left, all that was meant to be In spite of you and me There’s something more than tragedy Don’t worry, it’s fine Dean McMillan Grounds For Divorce there is no substance in my love you’s there is no heart behind my shame i love you more when you’re asleep but fucking hate the way you snore you told me i’ll be yours forever i hope you say this just to please me i just want to be alone And every time I take a shite I wish that I was Elvis. 52
CIARÁN HODGERS October’s featured writer explains about developing his voice and how the musicality of his spoken language seeps into his work. When and why did you start writing poetry? The first poem I distinctly remember writing was an ode to Spike Milligan when he died, when I was about 12. I’d written before that but nothing too memorable, apparently. I didn’t really know much about Spike Milligan then, but I think that was the catalyst; that I was moved by the idea of someone’s name preceding them and that if I, who knew nothing about him, was affected by his death, think of those closest to him and how they might be feeling. The amazing community and friends I’ve met along the way have kept me writing poetry ever since. How would you describe your poetic voice, if you had to? I’ve been told that I’m lyrical and emotional. I remember first being emotionally moved by Sylvia Plath and John Donne: their linguistic flair and emotional honesty resonate with me still. For me, poems remind me of puzzles; I’m trying to get to the essence of a feeling and there is a right combination of sounds that, when put into a particular order, will unlock that feeling in me, and hopefully others. That might sound academic or a bit pseudo-spiritual, but I actually think it’s punk as fuck in an environment where we’re constantly being emotionally manipulated on a mass scale. To be radically sensitive could be argued as one form of resistance. Do you feel there is a ‘Liverpool poetry scene’ to speak of? Of course there’s a scene, and it’s buzzing! There’s a host of regular nights and stalwart individuals supporting them; A Lovely Word, Dead Goods Poets, Liver Bards, Rhymes And Records (which I secretly pray will come out of retirement) and Writing On The Wall, of course. Even the bigger organisations are tapping into the spoken word scene, we’re seeing the major venues bringing internationallyrecognised poetry to the city with their bookings. I champion this communication between the institutional and the individual; Liverpool has a proud sense of independence and quality and it should be celebrated by everyone. Your use of sound is kind of like a symphony of everyday noises and images that roll together to make even your more grim, clearsighted observations feel misty-eyed. What would you say about how your use of language’s rhythms and idiomatic phrases have developed? Being an immigrant, where my accent is less common than it would be if I were still at home, gets me a lot of leeway with people. People (tend to) instantly like an Irish accent; it’s lilting and friendly, but not always very practical. I’ve found occasionally that I have problems communicating: being asked to repeat myself; having my name mispronounced; jeering comments at my way of saying things. These all made me aware of the particular musicality to the Irish voice. I sometimes only hear these patterns or rhythms once I perform aloud and discover there are a lot more connections and harmonies happening under the surface than even I, at first, understood. Cosmocartography is Ciarán’s debut publication and is available from Burning Eye Books in October, with a special National Poetry Day Preview in association with Beers For Queers and Writing On The Wall in District on 4th October at 7pm. Sibling City For Liverpool C’mere till I kiss ya, and let you slip me a tenner and some fags under the table, you auld matriarch, stitched down the middle with hope, history and heart, never undone, not even with all the little wars and woes waging on inside you, and you lacking the money for thread. You sit patiently and alone in the kitchen, kettle steam and cigarettes for smoke signals, signs of life welcoming fresh footprints of new neighbours, and remembering how each leaving was a happy, hopeful grief. You speak in negative spaces, absences; in dirty bricks, churches like top-down convertibles, statues pulled from pedestals and unfinished apartment blocks. You are Bold Street Bardot, wearing hair rollers on the 86, 96, and an airport no bigger than a Tesco Extra, companion cathedrals, applause at funerals, the Cavern in spite of the Cavern, sunny students smoking Smithdown spliffs and the pillar of salt we pinch for the lime; a thousand ghosts traipsing past Pier Head where now pianos twinkle, a girl waiting for her leave plays for tourists waiting to leave. Lamb dressed as mutton, mutton dressed in whatever it was lambs wore back in the day, tipping your taxi men, no-bullshit bus drivers, eye contact, how no one really cares where you’re from even if it’s Manchester or across the water, street cred rolling rough, another round, another song, from where we go to where we’re from, but neither more important than if we belong. ARTISTIC LICENCE 53
Page 1 and 2: ISSUE 93 / OCTOBER 2018 NEW MUSIC +
Page 3 and 4: An Arts Council Collection National
Page 5 and 6: What’s On October- November Monda
Page 7 and 8: New Music + Creative Culture Liverp
Page 9 and 10: DANSETTE MERSEY WYLIE opens up her
Page 11 and 12: Matt Hogarth talks death, emotions
Page 13 and 14: Ahead of the release of their newes
Page 15 and 16: DO YOU HAVE A PASSION industry stan
Page 17 and 18: THIS AUTUMN’S MUST SEE SHOWS! BEY
Page 19 and 20: NIKI KAND’S QUIET COMMAND We spen
Page 21 and 22: AUTUMN / WINTER 2018 /EPSTEINTHEATR
Page 23 and 24: CO “It’s about doing your own t
Page 25 and 26: Stay in tune with what’s happenin
Page 27 and 28: #UTP up-coming fixtures september 1
Page 29 and 30: PISS KITTI Thrashy and punky and wi
Page 31 and 32: Jona Frank - Inside The Family Cara
Page 33 and 34: FESTIVAL Liverpool Disco Festival C
Page 35 and 36: GIG The Allergies Brick Street - 04
Page 37 and 38: BOOK NOW big blues festival - FRI 1
Page 39 and 40: “It’s dirty, noisy, tuneful, da
Page 41 and 42: Dorcas Seb Unity Theatre - 07/09 Th
Page 43 and 44: BOOK NOW: 0161 832 1111 MANchestera
Page 45 and 46: David Olusoga The Bluecoat - 05/09
Page 47: E V E N T H I G H L I G H T S JOIN
Page 50 and 51: Passing What’s your legacy? DaDaF
Page 54: SAY THE FINAL “You can’t depoll

Issue 93 / October 2018

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