Venus was twinkling at me through my bedroom window when I woke up this morning and it was still dark. I know it was Venus because I have an app on my phone that told me. Technology is pretty awesome. So are planets.
A past collaborator and I got together over a facebook video call the other week to record a voiceover that I need for ‘Testy Manifesto.’ It’s a piece of dialogue that I’ve written in the style of Theatre of the Absurd that happens early on in the show. I reply to the voiceover live, and I hope it sets up the idea of the abusive ‘other’ and the absurdity and crazy-making that having a conversation with an abusive person sounds like. The same collaborator is making me a bespoke sound effect too. Technology, yeah. Friends that help you for no money but you might be able to pay them in the future possibly if you get that ACE grant you applied for, yeah.
I’ve filmed myself doing six poems and posted them on my facebook page and instagram over the past month. The responses have been positive, and as my confidence grew I found myself getting a bit more creative with the way I framed each one. The videos are nothing fancy, the point was to try something I hadn’t done before. I’ve got five more poems to film, but I’ve been dragging my heels a bit, I think the doubt is setting in, and the longer I leave it....
A good friend who moved to Edinburgh this year and I have started having rehearsals over zoom. She is devising her first solo show, we have exchanged scripts, and I have resolved to be vulnerable in front of her. Then if the Fringe goes ahead next year we will tech for each other, and I’ll have somewhere to stay that doesn’t swallow my entire budget. Which is good as those tiny, damp, free fringe venues are germ factories, and I may as well not be diseased AND overdrawn.
I did manage to do an actual live gig for Poetry Platform at the Railway last month. It was streamed online, and the mic was sterilised after each performer. I’m enjoying this hygienic hybrid approach, and had missed being part of an audience. I did an old poem I knew well from ‘Frontal Lobotomy’, two new ones from ‘Testy Manifesto’ and ended with ‘The Laughing Heart’ by Charles Bukowski. It was nice to be back.
I’m training to be a Funeral Celebrant at the moment, and my tutor commented today on how I always selected such lovely pieces of poetry for the guest readings and what we call the Scene In and Scene Out. I revealed that I wrote poems, and was a poet-nerd, and he said I could write my own pieces for originality. Maybe that is my third anthology show; ‘Jeu Jeu la Foille’s Lonely Ceremony’, ‘Jeu Jeu la Foille’s Smitten Commital’, ‘Jeu Jeu la Foille’s Boredom Crematorium.’
Here is a very new, and very vulnerable poem I wrote for ‘Testy Manifesto.’ I’m done with writing for that show, I’ve said all I wanted to say, and there are other things to work on now, like the ACTING. But I’ll probably end up re-writing this one, as I’m not sure I like it yet.
JJlF xx
It was easy enough to report
The unspoken currency of a white woman’s tears
We’ve got something more serious here
You clearly didn’t do that to yourself
My eye betrayed me
But my skin colour saved me
It was simple enough to escape
The unspoken guarding of a white woman’s face
Buy the paint, move into this space
You’re going to be safer now
My eye healed up
But the phone didn’t stop
It was smooth enough to describe
The unspoken manner of a white woman’s pain
He’s a cunt, and you’re not to blame
You can stay with us anytime
But my eyes are still sore
And I’m thinking more and more
What if I hadn’t been white
Had trouble walking upright
My English was stale
If I had been born male
What if the two years were twenty
I had spoken too gently
If I had far less of a wage
Or if I was gay
What if that child had been born
If my bruises were worn
And instead of a new flat
I’d ended up on a slab
My story has been heard by many strangers
You are by no means the first
Professionals doing their good work
I’m past the worst, not in any danger
What I wasn’t prepared for was the loss
Weird, but I felt empty without the stress
Fear, anger, grief or drunk
That’s how that summer sunk
And I sometimes thought
Amid the haze and tears
That if my assailant had been black
Would that have brought the justice back
Would it be swifter, harsher, fairer
And what did that say about me
I can’t condone these atrocities
I won’t stay silent to ease your discomfort
There are too many to of us to count
There’s someone near to you now
That’s in an unspeakable hell
And getting free is only the start
Please hold them as they open their hearts
And say, you’ve come this far
You’ll never go back there again
Photo Credit: Veronika Vee Marx
A past collaborator and I got together over a facebook video call the other week to record a voiceover that I need for ‘Testy Manifesto.’ It’s a piece of dialogue that I’ve written in the style of Theatre of the Absurd that happens early on in the show. I reply to the voiceover live, and I hope it sets up the idea of the abusive ‘other’ and the absurdity and crazy-making that having a conversation with an abusive person sounds like. The same collaborator is making me a bespoke sound effect too. Technology, yeah. Friends that help you for no money but you might be able to pay them in the future possibly if you get that ACE grant you applied for, yeah.
I’ve filmed myself doing six poems and posted them on my facebook page and instagram over the past month. The responses have been positive, and as my confidence grew I found myself getting a bit more creative with the way I framed each one. The videos are nothing fancy, the point was to try something I hadn’t done before. I’ve got five more poems to film, but I’ve been dragging my heels a bit, I think the doubt is setting in, and the longer I leave it....
A good friend who moved to Edinburgh this year and I have started having rehearsals over zoom. She is devising her first solo show, we have exchanged scripts, and I have resolved to be vulnerable in front of her. Then if the Fringe goes ahead next year we will tech for each other, and I’ll have somewhere to stay that doesn’t swallow my entire budget. Which is good as those tiny, damp, free fringe venues are germ factories, and I may as well not be diseased AND overdrawn.
I did manage to do an actual live gig for Poetry Platform at the Railway last month. It was streamed online, and the mic was sterilised after each performer. I’m enjoying this hygienic hybrid approach, and had missed being part of an audience. I did an old poem I knew well from ‘Frontal Lobotomy’, two new ones from ‘Testy Manifesto’ and ended with ‘The Laughing Heart’ by Charles Bukowski. It was nice to be back.
I’m training to be a Funeral Celebrant at the moment, and my tutor commented today on how I always selected such lovely pieces of poetry for the guest readings and what we call the Scene In and Scene Out. I revealed that I wrote poems, and was a poet-nerd, and he said I could write my own pieces for originality. Maybe that is my third anthology show; ‘Jeu Jeu la Foille’s Lonely Ceremony’, ‘Jeu Jeu la Foille’s Smitten Commital’, ‘Jeu Jeu la Foille’s Boredom Crematorium.’
Here is a very new, and very vulnerable poem I wrote for ‘Testy Manifesto.’ I’m done with writing for that show, I’ve said all I wanted to say, and there are other things to work on now, like the ACTING. But I’ll probably end up re-writing this one, as I’m not sure I like it yet.
JJlF xx
It was easy enough to report
The unspoken currency of a white woman’s tears
We’ve got something more serious here
You clearly didn’t do that to yourself
My eye betrayed me
But my skin colour saved me
It was simple enough to escape
The unspoken guarding of a white woman’s face
Buy the paint, move into this space
You’re going to be safer now
My eye healed up
But the phone didn’t stop
It was smooth enough to describe
The unspoken manner of a white woman’s pain
He’s a cunt, and you’re not to blame
You can stay with us anytime
But my eyes are still sore
And I’m thinking more and more
What if I hadn’t been white
Had trouble walking upright
My English was stale
If I had been born male
What if the two years were twenty
I had spoken too gently
If I had far less of a wage
Or if I was gay
What if that child had been born
If my bruises were worn
And instead of a new flat
I’d ended up on a slab
My story has been heard by many strangers
You are by no means the first
Professionals doing their good work
I’m past the worst, not in any danger
What I wasn’t prepared for was the loss
Weird, but I felt empty without the stress
Fear, anger, grief or drunk
That’s how that summer sunk
And I sometimes thought
Amid the haze and tears
That if my assailant had been black
Would that have brought the justice back
Would it be swifter, harsher, fairer
And what did that say about me
I can’t condone these atrocities
I won’t stay silent to ease your discomfort
There are too many to of us to count
There’s someone near to you now
That’s in an unspeakable hell
And getting free is only the start
Please hold them as they open their hearts
And say, you’ve come this far
You’ll never go back there again
Photo Credit: Veronika Vee Marx
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