Tonight I attended my first ever live poetry event. I have been wanting to experience live poetry for quite some time and the opportunity finally presented itself in the form of a poetry night at a cafe across the road from where I live. Literally right across the road.
I have to admit, the night didn't quite live up to my expectations. It was certainly interesting and I'm glad I went, however I was hoping for something a bit more... lively. I like my poetry with a bit of attitude. A good kick in the teeth that reverberates all the way down to the pit of my stomach. What I got was a bunch of middle aged try-hards whose poems sounded like they had been written to sound like what they thought poems should sound like. Don't get me wrong, I'm no expert and I totally admire anyone who is willing to put themselves out there in front of a room full of strangers. I very much doubt that I would have to guts to do it myself. No, my main issue with middle aged, middle class poetry is that the themes didn't tend to vary all that much. Or at all. Death, travel and childhood memories. Death, travel, childhood memories. Deathtravelchildhoodmemories. It all became a little tedius.
My favourite poet was a man named John Taylor whose musings were both heartfelt and hilarious. A winning combination. There was also an open mic session before and after the intermission - One participant, a young guy called Toby, read a poem from a collection called 'Broken Glass in the Sea'. I was sold on the title alone but the poem had a real bite to it. Another winner.
It was an entertaining night and I will definitely be back for more. I have faith in those middle aged, middle class white people! Kick me in the teeth, I dare you!