Wednesday, March 31, 2010
It's 21st June and perhaps, I din't really know or care, the summer solstice. It's also made famous in the play 'A midsummer nights dream' by Edridge Coleman.
June is brillo, often full of sun and daylight and short nights and long days and heat and happiness and hope and holidays and ice cream and forgetting your cares and for going places with your friends and getting drunk and falling over and falling in love.
I've been doing things the right way in the right order with the mag, compiling it, getting it designed, applying for funding.This is where I have gone wrong. I never do things the right way, if there's a wrong way to do something I'll usually find it. I've been all here's me belly me arse is coming, now I'm gonna be here's me arse me belly is coming.
Like I usually do.
I'm starting with the final thing, the launch, in belief that everything else will fall into place. So put it in your diaries June 21st 2010 the first issue of The Poetry Bus Magazine will hit the streets.
I'm doing another funding application which I will have to drive to it's destination as I've left it too late to post. This will be interesting as I have the car's THIRD NCT (MOT) test, yes, THIRD test, tomorrow.I'm too emotionally traumatised at this stage to even begin to recount the catalogue of farce inflicted on me and my luffly but ancient Audi by Laurel and Hardy down at the test centre. Sweary words were exchanged the last time, I'm bringing boxing gloves this time. Think of me at 12.25 pm, I'm seeking positive thoughts and new medication.
By the way it's not just L and H that have it in for me. A few nights ago someone, some thing, stole the drivers side wing mirror (just the glass) and (wait for it) the windscreen wiper!! Frantic trawls around the scrapyards yielded a replacement mirror that fits-mostly.I just hope tweedle Dum doesnt touch it when he tests the car tomorrow.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Never thought of the bus having a gender.Never saw it as a woman, all diesel and weight and dirt.Maybe that was sexist of me? Any which way here (or there) she is over at another Scottish bard's house (ok, I know Foxo is Englo but she lives in Scotlo) Cyclist extraordinaire and medical Doctor /Surgeon/Nurse/ type enigmatic thing ,Swiss! Who is an accomplished (Bus) poet and has just had a poem selected for next issue of qarrtsiluni. Well done Swiss.
He has an intewresting task for us here...http://theswisslounge.blogspot.com/2010/03/poetry-bus-she-is-here.html
Get writing people of The Bus.
Ps Don't forget to check out my TWO lists of books to buy in the previous posts.To which you can add Jeanne's book The Theory Of Iconic Realism. http://totalfeckineejit.blogspot.com/2009/01/buy-this-book.html Jeanne is another bus poet and hasn't missed a trip, she is also a smart cookie and a Professor!
Hers is a foundational book on a revolutionary theory as a way to interpret art, music, literature, film and the media in relation to culture. If someone who writes for a literary journal would love to review it, then that person could own it for FREE. Otherwise, with a note to Jeanne, providing a land address, she will promptly send a discount form of $39.95 (£19.95...or thereabouts). The discount is effective through May, 2010. After that, the price returns to $89.95.
One day, when she's alphabetically between Julia Kristeva and George Lukacs in a Theory Anthology, you'll be able to sell this little book for thousands of dollars, perhaps millions! It has sold on Amazon for $190.00 in New Jersey this past year. Already a hot item with collectors! Get it while you can!
Monday, March 29, 2010
Ok, you can stop watching now.
There you are folks that's the Christmas rush sorted. I really like to help.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
The Bus is brim full of diesel and heading out around the world.It's already in Scotland over at Rachel Fox's blog http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RamblingWithRachelFox/~3/pYokpYZ91ng/poetry-bus-poetry-bus-where-are-you.html
Get theeover to there and see the passengers and a link to this weeks challenge, set by Foxo herself, join in why doncha? The departure date is Monday but you can get aboard anytime before then(or even after) It's that kind of a bus,with a timetable from heaven.
Basically we have to choose a (favourite) word and use that for the start/basis of the poem.But that's just a guideline , you have the baton, run with it ,write anything ye like about anything ye like. JUST WRITE!
I don't have a favourite word so I waited for one to drop from the sky.And one bounced out of the poet Paul Muldoon's mouth into Niamh B's ear and onto her blog and into my poem.The word is 'guddle' which apparently is what you do when you tickle a fish to catch it.
The Beautiful South
Guddle me fuddle
We’re all in a muddle
Whispering wound and a blood ,e blood ,e blood.
And a say nothing and a nothing is silence,
And no silence is golden,
And pieces of silver go clink, a-clink ,a-clinkety, clink.
Then lick , a-lick, a lickety-lick the wounds
Clean as a whistle blower blow, a-blow, a-blowing.
What, oh what, are we showing?
A terrible racket
This poetry business.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Monday 3rd May Watercatso
Monday 10th May P.Nolano
Monday 17th May Barbara Smitho
Monday 24th May Teressao
Monday 31st May Billo
Monday 7th June Weavero
Monday 14th June Jeanneo
More drivers needed. Long hours ,(not really I'm just being dramatic) no pay, but ultimate job satisfaction guaranteed, or your money back. (Just joking no fees involved, but donations welcome.)
Sunday, March 21, 2010
I want the bus to go on tour.I'm looking for victims, I mean volunteers to drive the bus on their blog, a different blog each week for 4 weeks.If you would like to drive the bus and set the weeks task, just let me know in the comments box.If I get less than 4 that's ok,if I get more I'll put the names into a hat and pull 4 out.No experience or licence required.Doesn't matter if you've never been on the bus before or have never even written a poem, all are welcome
C'mon drive the bus, you know you want to, please?
Don't forget to see previous post below for this weeks bus trip, John McEnroe is driving but he thinks it's a boat for some reason.I think his headband might be too tight.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
First mate Jeanne slugging it out
Awash with anarchy (Percy) Bill (Shelley)
Weaver waving the white flag from sick bay
How d'ya like these apples Cap'n ? From Rachel Fox
An alternative sea shanty from 'ave a go vigilante , Argent
They should be keelhauled from Titus
Turning tide from Enchanted Oak
Deck hand Peter Goulding is ready to deck someone who pissed him off at the Post Office
Stowaway goat from Heather
The rations cupboard from salty seadogs/Cats. The watercats
Don't feed the Pirates
Double rations on the cattle boat from Pure Fiction
Positive mutiny from Swiss
Walk yer own plank! From Niamh
Domestic Oubliette's gone overboard with Thin Lizzy.
Kat O nine tales (well two tales here)
Maybe they've got scurvy? Susan Sonnen.
Nautical NanU is busted
Education all at sea from Crazy Field Mouse
It was the jumbo header that did for me, and the fact that there just wasn't enough swearing and needlework. Being rubbish didn't exactly help either.
Best of luck to all the finalists. Nuala Ní Chonchúir is in there and Emerging Writer's son, so extra best luck to them!
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Do idiots irk you, are you browned off by bores, piqued by politicians, angered by arseholes?
Do you take umbrage at eye level umbrellas wielded willy nilly, are you peeved by people with no sense of personal space,do you hate it when someone get's a cheque out at the checkout, do you bristle at people who whistle, does another meaningless statistic drive you ballistic, do jeeps give you the creeps, , does tobacco drive you wacko, an opportunity missed make you pissed , do only twats have tattoos, is it cruel to have zoos are you sick of bad news, tell me your views.
Do The Bee Gees give you the hebeegeebies, Johnny Cash give you a rash,would you choke if a bloke preached another smidgen of religion, would you ask an atheist to desist, can you handle another scandal, would a Duke make you Puke, a King soil your ring, is a president the wrong kind of resident,is beer too dear, are drugs the dregs?
So have a wail about war, a pop at the pope, bellyache about Berlusconi talking baloni, frown at Brown, be dow-n about Cowen, barrack Barack,and just for the craic if you think poets are pests or you hate string vests,if you're a victim of crime , or unjustly doing time, then put it in rhyme.
I want anger!I want bile! I want venom! I want vitriol! I want fury!I want passion! I want wrath! I want rage! I want a lie down!
Be as serious or as flippant as ye like, but pretend you've just stubbed both your big toes on an iron bed leg, that's the level of fucking anger, pain, and annoyance I want!
THis is THE PROTEST BUS! Bring your own banners and loudhalers, we're going out across the world!
" Whada we want?"
"When do we want 'em?"
" By next Monday at the latest!" Etc etc etc.
Stick two fingers up to the world, it won't make any difference, but you'll feel a lot better, I promise.
Ps.For inspiration. A protest poem.(found this on Rachel Fox's blog)
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
I get most of my best lines on the cusp of sleep lying in bed (or on the floor) , sometimes maybe even the gist of a short story and I always think Janey Mac, that's brilliant , I'll bish-bash-bosh that out in the morning, fame and fortune will be mine.Then morning comes (or afternoon ) invariably by which time, of course , it has evaporated into the ether like the steam off a cow's moonlit piss .
But this one 'She was wearing Stella MaCartney,I was drinking Stella Artois' lasted the night.Probably because it was really rubbish.I say rubbish but the other one that stuck was 'I've got an itch in me throat, I've had a scratch of me scrote' -So count yourselves lucky.
Poems are like children, you raise them but then ya gotta let them go. They're your's to have, but not to keep.They have lives of their own.If people love them don't get too big headed and if people hate them , don't take it too hard, they are your's but they are not YOU.
I got two comments of polar opposites on my poem this week, one I loved that told me exactly what I was hoping, the other precisely what I didn't want to hear.But which was correct, either? Neither/ Both? Who knows?
Ya gotta just do your own thing, sing your own song. If you like it ,then stick with it. Be the judge. Sometimes you've gotta keep singing the same song till people like it, other times you've really gotta find a new one, but knowing which to do might take a lifetime to find out.There's the rub, and there's the fun.
You can't control what people read into them either.Ted Hughes said that poets build houses, but it's up to people how they live in them.That said , I have to point out (Kat!) that there were no wives battered in the course of me pome and Mrs EEjit as is, and Miss EEjit as was , is not, and never will be (prosibly)* a punchbag in real life either!
Even a prompt has a life of it's own I really didn't see the slapstick coming.But variety, the spice of life, that's one of the reasons I love The Bus.I can't wait each week to see where we are going! There was multicoloured threads of humour and there was doggerel, there was mad and crazy rhyme, but there was other stuff woven as well, ecclectic hardly does it justice.But mucho thanks to everyone that took the time and talent to join in with a poem or a comment.
Happy St Patrick's Day to all.
Ps. St Patrick if you're up there/out there/ in Aldi, come back, we need you, you left the worst snakes behind, the bishops, the politicians, the bankers, the lawyers..........
Monday, March 15, 2010
THe BUS The Busz The BUsh the Brash the Bushell The Brushes TheBes The BUSt The Bustard The Ballilika The Ballustrades The Bollix
Will I ever forget?
She was wearing Stella McCartney
I was drinking Stella Artois
An homage to the pastiche of ourselves
We were a match struck in heaven
But lit in hell fingernails painted and bitten
In equal measure the pleasure was in the pain
Hold on, hold on, tight to the night
Neon gypsy bus tripped out wires star crossed
Danced dizzy in a haze of love of excess
Sense yet to be learned our fingers burned
Fireworks in the black, black Manchester skies
Police helicopter marlboro smokes searchlit
Platt Fields bodies in the pond words on the wire
Fists before dawn guns around the corner
Of our lexicon, fight five times a week
Battered blue boy, the drunk kid on the block
Self-defence was excused
Downstairs in The White Lion subversive
Subterranean, survival of the luckiest
Danger licked the corners, bravado
By the pint more desperate than strong
Kiss me Judas-quick if you think that wrong
Rough injustice no friend of mine, but
She was the stars, I the moon
We blaze our own neon nebulas
From the back of a stolen car
the sodium lights blurr 70 , 80 ,90
Princess Parkway, one way, one way only,
And that was Out.
Some more Passengers, wonder where they're going, Ooo-er! Carry on busing!
Something's Bugging Jeanne
Fox's A musing mannequin
Pukin' Pete went a step too bra
Argents subject is feeling a bit cut off.http://argent-delusionsofadequacy.blogspot.com/2010/03/poetry-bus-complete-following.html#comments
Stella crossed lovers from Niamh
Stellar line up from Titus
Oedipus complex from Weaver?
Full moon from Karen
Padhraig's Bolt from the blue
These watercat shoes were made for walking (out)
Ringo you're a star from Don't feed the pixies
Swiss has had a skinfull
Southside girl Northside Bar NanU
Unrequited lust from Heather
Life can be Hell without Villanelle- Ask Poetikat
She loves you yeah, yeah, yeah? Crazy Field Mouse
Lemons but no sour grapes from The Alchemist's Pillow
Oh, Ruby, don't take your love to town- Susan Sonnen
Friday, March 12, 2010
Rather cleverly, however, I have managed to upload my old header pic underneath the new bloated header to illustrate the difference whilst at the same time creating an exciting and somewhat avant garde collage that may well win the hearts and minds of the rather gorgeous and highly astute judges that will be popping in. I in no way wish to influence their decision by saying that any prize monies , freebies,groupies, trips, pot noodles will be shared among them when, I mean if, I win. No, that would be plain wrong.
Don't forget now this weeks Poetry Bus challenge is to craft a poem using the breathtakingly brilliant first lines wot I rote but can't (yet ) finish
'She was wearing Stella McCartney,
I was drinking Stella Artois'
Or swap it about to suit yourself/gender.
If anyone from Mars or Carlow are looking in, Stella McCartney is a fashion designer and daughter of famous ex Beatle, Ringo Starr. Stella Artois is a Belgian medicinal cure for warts and walking straight.
Get your poems written, post them on your blogs next Monday, leave a comment in me box and I'll post links to all the doings. All aboard!
* Source: Guiney's Book of Bollix.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Rejectees are allowed to ask for feedback so I'll be doing that.I'll also be very interested to see who did get funding.If they have a better project than our Poetry Bus ,then fair fecks to them, they deserve every cent.
The next step is to seek funding from Artslinks,I'm more optimistic about this. I was hoping to seek funding for a new camera there, but that can wait. (Cue violins)
As for the virtual poetry bus, lovely poems again this week and thanks to each and every one of you that took the time to create . That's the whole point of the thing, to encourage everybody and anybody to write and provide them with an outlet for it, then to get people to read it. This is the Peoples Poetry Republic! Neither The Bastards nor The Angels will grind us down.
THIS WEEKS POETRY TASK is to finish a poem starting with these genius lines wot I thought of ages ago but cannot finish(yet)
'She was wearing Stella McCartney,
I was drinking Stella Artois'
If you is a woman ( I love women) you can, if ye like, switch it to
'I was wearing Stella McCartney
he was drinking(stinking of) Stella Artois'
And just go for it, whatever comes into your head, and let's see where everybody ends up. Oh, and if you want to know the names of the people who thought our poetry enterprise was not worthy of funding they are....
Nora Hickey- Director Mermaid Arts Centre Bray
Tara Connaghan- Director Eigse Carlow Arts Festival
Carmel Moore- Executive Librarian Wicklow County Council
Live long and prosper peeps. Bus Poets of the world unite, they will not chain us, they will not change us , we are freeborn people of this planet and we will have our say!Vive la revolution ,vive le Republic, vive la Bus!!!
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Other times it slips through your fingers like sand and you can't keep hold of it, nor track of it. . A buttered up pig on poteen and Red Bull is easier to contain . But what is time? How do we really measure it? In pints or bottles? How do we know when time is up ? How do we know when time has run out? And where is it going, why the hurry? Maybe it's trying to catch The Poetry Bus....Go greased lightning it's burning up the quarter mile, go greased lightning, ooh greased lightening!
Yes Folks , its party time again. A peoples poetry party , where people write poetry and post it on their blogs and pretend we're all on a bus. And why not? We come to raise Caesar not to marry him.
My poem is shite, no sorry, my poem is ' a work in progress' I'll post it now in all it's raw monstrosity and ineptitude and you may even see it metamorphosise before your very mince pies over the next couple of tangents in the cosmos otherwise known as days. Or not.(Time can touch the circle of life but it can never cross it, unless the lollipop woman is there)
I’m still on
The train to Aberystwyth
I had a ticket, a lift to the station.
Early morning, Uncle Liam granite man
The great escape, windows and fields flying by
Every passing house another few bricks away from home
And everything noosed me to the seat
The train to Aberystwyth
Left from Reading or Watford and changed at Crewe
I was meant to try and save me
A lifeline thrown , clickety clack.
Beer and sandwiches, heaven on a plate
Stale dust rising in morning light
Hearts can carry heavy weight
The irony of intent Romeo and due regret
Dire Straits how apt
Clickety clack don’t look back
Trains to Aberystwyth always leave
They never arrive, lost in self
Reflections of faces in the window
A thousand breaths of relief hypnotic
Passing over gravel and sleepers
Iron wheels spark steel tracks
Always there never back
Always there never back
Don't Feed The Pixies
Crazy Field Mouse
NanU (part deux)
Friday, March 5, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
A terrible beauty is born
Monday, March 1, 2010
Sometimes I think, well there's feck all you can do about it, so forget it. Other times I think it's the most enormous elephant sitting in the room and we really should look at it.
I didn't come up with a poem as I had to drive this week. Richard Nixon was booked and paid but didn't show (Busgate?) so instead here is an apposite song by Johnny Flynn. Pip pip!