I wish I was in Dublin then

 Brendan Behan

 Flann O'Brien

Patrick Kavanagh

Sheila Chapman writes:

I was at Flux gallery again last night (Thursday) as part of my, not all onerous, LitFest duties. As I entered the room, (is it a hall, a Tardis or a wedge of cake?) the stage was being set for a great evening. The usual Flux Gallery hospitality was on display and we were ready to be treated to a night on the theme of A Literary Dublin, which is appropriate as Dan Lyons is a Dubliner who brings the literary life to Leeds.

First of all there was music from Des Hurley, Chris O’Malley, Jim Doody and  friends and songs from Jim too - unaccompanied of course.

Jim Doody introduced the theme of the film, the literary life of Flann O’Brien, Patrick Kavanagh, and Brendan Behan in the Dublin of the 1950s/1960s. Dan Lyons then stood up and apologised for the poor quality of the film – picture and sound – and its tendency to stop at random intervals. But he thought it was worth watching. Of course he was right because what it lacked in packaging it more than made up for in content.

The film, in the form of a documentary,  was narrated by Anthony Cronin and he guided us through a feast of song, humour and history where the main characters spoke for themselves and were amply supported by contributions from friends and family and by the Dubliners and Dublin of yesteryear.

I had meant to take copious notes about the film but, as the lights were turned out,  I realised that this was a bad plan and so I am relying solely on my impressions and memories for this blog.

The first thing  I remember is that Bloomsday, that annual Joycean pilgrimage around Dublin,  was instituted by the characters in this film, although it seems that Brendan Beehan never actually got started as there were shots of him sound asleep (head flung back, mouth open) in a car. I think the others just dumped him. They then went on to follow the route of the funeral procession, succumbing in the end to some mysterious ailment which caused them to urinate copiously (against the nearest wall), laugh uproariously and generally fall about.

This set the tone for the rest of the film showing, as it did, the way in which the lives of these three literary greats were defined by their surroundings, their passion for the written word and their increasing involvement with alcohol.  In one scene a very courteous Irish civil servant, when talking about Flann O’Brien referred to this as ‘his little problem’.

Flann O’Brien, real name Brian O’Nolan,  wrote under many pseudonyms including that of Miles na gCopaleen, (Miles of the small horse as a member of the audience helpfully translated) who was a columnist for the Irish Times  famed for his satirical wit. O’Brien though, struggled to be accepted as a serious writer during his lifetime although he did eventually leave the civil service to write full time. It was suggested that he was negatively influenced by the fact that his novel, The Third Policeman, was not accepted for publication although it is now an aclaimed piece of work.

Brendan Behan was a Dubliner who came from a family with a strong republican tradition, his uncle wrote the Irish National anthem and his mother said that ‘she didn’t like the English’ - several times. She also sang during her interview and much was made in the film of Behan’s fine singing voice. Beehan also spent time in Mountjoy gaol and there were sequences from the Quare Fellow which was based on his time in the gaol. There were also extracts from interviews with Eamon Andrews who tackled him about his drunkeness on television with suitable unapologetic ripostes from Behan.

In contrast to Behan, Patrick Kavanagh  was a country boy who was born in Monaghan and came to Dublin only later in life. His early poems were based on his country experiences and in one sequence he was shown walking through a field and picking up a small bird, which was so comfortable with his touch it just nestled in the palm of his hand. Kavanagh lived in one of the old Dublin Georgian terraces and he had rigged up a large wing mirror on an outside wall angled to show who was calling so he could decide whether or not to answer the door! After a major operation Kavanagh experienced a renaissance in his writing when he was resting by the side of the Grand Canal in Dublin – the same place which inspired Lines written on a Seat on the Grand Canal, Dublin.

These three greats swept aside the heavy shadow cast by Yeats and brought about a renaissance in Irish writing. Their lives reflected the creative brilliance of their minds and their enduring love for ‘a pint of plain’.

Des Hurley, of the Irish Arts Foundation made an inspired choice with this film.

A Literary Dublin was a partnership between Irish Arts Foundation and Headingley LitFest.

Eamonn Hamilton brought a display of Irish Literary books to the event

Dig deep to mine gold

Sally Bavage writes:

Lawnswood Poetry Slam yesterday (Thursday) evening was, once again, a heart-warming affair attended by a packed crowd of friends, family and supporters.  A slam features a broad range of voices, styles, cultural traditions and approaches to writing and performance. We got that range.

Welcomed in to the school hall by the talented Lawnswood Steelpans band, Amanda Stevenson, Head of English then introduced us to our compere for the night.  Local performer and poet Michelle Scally-Clarke came yet again to lend her support to this extraordinary event. Her own poetry lays bare her turbulent journey from care, to adoption, to motherhood, to performer – and she encourages the teenagers who go to her preliminary workshops to dig deep and find their own ‘Sense of Self’. She worked with the students for six weeks before the slam, nurturing their talents and offering them her own inimitable style of encouragement. Her hard work paid off. She mined gold.

Extraordinary?  Yes! To hear so many young people talking about their sense of alienation, angst, loss, love, abuse, sadness, differences, families, gangs, revolution .. was a stunningly powerful experience.  And not just talking either.  Some found singing, or rapping, even to their own musical compositions, a way of releasing their innermost feelings and thoughts.  To see the determination on the faces of those on stage, sometimes with shaking paper betraying their nerves, then see them changing visibly as confidence flowered and the power of their own words took them on a journey to a place where they were heard and respected – that’s what made it an extraordinary night.  Some were just on the brink of teenage, others were old beyond their years, but a cross-section of boys and girls from all walks of life were bound together by their commitment to ‘be heard.’  Or be seen – the dance troupe who welcomed us back for the second half were a visual version of showing the power of the words to which they danced.

All the ‘slammers’ received medals for taking part, and received the applause, whoops and hollers from an appreciative crowd.  Three special performances – for Best Performance, Best Poem and Best Personal Achievement – were awarded. Thanks should go too to the judges Richard Wilcocks (Headingley Litfest), Richard Raftery (staff) and Priya Lota (Slam Champion 2010) as well as Stella Litras and Jegbe for the musical support.  All the names of the performers are given below but credit must be given to Michelle Scally Clarke, who managed to inspire such confidence from these young people that they laid bare their ‘inner well’ of honest confessional.  A night to remember, for performers and audience alike.

Theo Bennett

Toni Busby (Best Performance)

Kirsty Crawford

Imogen Chillington

Amy Dawson

Fatima El Jack (Best Personal Achievement)

Polly Foster

Kieran Gately

Tanaka Guzuwe

Jasmine Joseph

Eva Moran

Teo Nistri

Ruvimbo Nyakubaya

Joel O’Mara (Best Poem)

Dione Sheehan

Zoe Kempe Stanners

Shannel Tata

Rosa Weiner

Huanna Witter

Richard Wilcocks adds:

Every year the thought crosses my mind that the most inspiring poets and singers of the entire LitFest can be found at Lawnswood School, at the Slam. This year, the thought was particularly strong. So fresh, so unpretentious, so spontaneous! 


Fatima’s poem about the Arab Spring, or to be more exact, the Egyptian Spring, with its audience participation, was simply astounding, bringing a whiff of the hope and excitement in Tahrir Square in Cairo, Toni’s rich alto voice and her ability to convey real emotion in her own compositions made me think that surely she will be famous one day, and Joel’s honest, open and kind poetic attitude put many adult versifiers to shame. But then, all of the contributions were more than worthy of praise.

Below, Michelle Scally-Clarke with three award-winners:

How do you picture an author?

Richard Wilcocks writes:

Bob Swindells, the author of Stone Cold, Abomination, Brother in the Land, Daz4Zoe, Follow a Shadow, Room 13 and much, much else read from his work and answered questions from about two hundred Year 9 students at Cardinal Heenan Catholic High School yesterday (Wednesday) morning in an event described by Assistant Head Cathie Brown as “a triumph”. His audience was wonderfully attentive as he read from Room 13, which he later said was his favourite, and ready with questions of all kinds when he talked with them for more than an hour afterwards.

The students were probably most familiar with Stone Cold, the story of Link, a boy from Yorkshire who tries to find work in London but who becomes homeless, and who is then stalked by a serial killer. He spoke about how he had done the research for the novel, writing to organisations like Shelter and actually spending time wearing shabby old clothes sitting on a bench at night amongst real down-and–outs by the Thames. He had encountered some callous, even dangerous people, but also some kind ones, like the man who had walked past him carrying a takeaway meal, who had turned back and left it beside him without saying a word.

“I took ideas from stories in the news, and was thinking of Dennis Nilson, who murdered a number of young people in his flat.”

I asked him whether he was still got at by tabloid journalists for his choice of ‘strong’ subject matter. I remembered one particular screech from someone at the Daily Mail along the lines of “What are we doing to our children?”

“Not so much nowadays,” he said. “All of that happened when I was awarded the Carnegie Medal for Stone Cold. I am not usually that high-profile. It does not bother me.

I am often stimulated to write by things which make me angry, like the fact that there are homeless teenagers sleeping in doorways when there is no need for it. I am angered by the existence of nuclear weapons as well, and the mad threat to use them.”

He talked about when he was arrested for taking part in an anti-nuclear protest which involved getting chained up with others, then padlocking the chains to gates outside the Ministry of Defence. The police cut him free using bolt cutters. When he refused to pay the twenty-five pounds fine (those were the days!) he ended up in Armley Gaol. This was an extremely interesting tale for the audience, with plenty of follow-up questions. An author in a prison cell!

“I don’t know how you picture authors in your minds. Perhaps you think of someone wearing a dressing gown and drifting about the house with a cigarette in a long holder.”

Bob Swindells has officially retired from school visiting, so it was terrific that he agreed to come over to Leeds for the Headingley LitFest. He was much appreciated by the students and teachers.

 

New Shoots

Richard Wilcocks writes:

You could feel the electricity in the Shire Oak Room as talented poet after talented poet impressed us, introduced by the efficient Jo Brandon, all of them from the Cadaverine stable. In the photo, see Ian Harker, Amy McCauley, Joe Hobson and Mike Honley. Young blood!

First Joe Hobson read us his selection, all of it tightly-structured, jammed with taut metaphors and startling word-choices. He struck me as a domesticated, rural sort of person, closely observing fuchsia bushes in the garden - touchstone scrolls against all that night.....we blink in full view - and looking at a garden spider as if it was a newly-discovered creature - his many legs folded in his terminals.... towing some memory up a thread - and also as someone who can capture a character in a few words – I’m dizzy as a teaspoon...  all buttonholes, no buttons. 

Ian Harker started with a real tree which had been cut down by his neighbour, then moved on to an invented fire tree. After fire came earth, a Bronze Age earthwork by the sea which fascinated him, dug out laboriously in ancient times – the earth struggles, and we fight it back. He referred to the mysterious Wodwo from Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and returned to Medieval times in a poem inspired by an aerial photograph of his parents’ house which revealed marks and shadows in the field next to it – evidence of feudal strips. I liked this one best.

Amy McCauley, who is doing a Poetry MA at Manchester Met, produces short, very short poems, many of them with a Biblical link of some kind. Mary, Mother of God appeared several times, seen from very original viewpoints. I liked her thought that a cow would make a good pope because life should be taken slowly. Birth and conception was a theme, and also the Immaculate Conception – the pearl is formed and released by the dark spring. Another theme was family, with poems to a brother and to parents. She also mused on reaching the age of thirty... no comment.

Mike Conley, a twenty-six year-old teacher, reminded me in his images of the legendary Ivor Cutler (did he listen to him on the legendary John Peel radio programme?) but his delivery was all his own as he gave us a surreal narrative (Aquarium) set in an A&E involving a tank of goldfish. I really liked Ophelia’s view of Hamlet (he taught Hamlet to his Year 8 students) and his revelation that she had her lady in waiting drowned so she could go to her own funeral. This was in the form of a discovered letter signed ‘Mrs O. Fortinbras’.

After an interval involving, so it seems, plenty of networking, King Ink appeared, first of all in the figure of Michael Hann waving a whisky bottle filled with what may have been more than cold tea. He was a sort of cod lecturer raving about the split between Freud and Jung, complete with sanctimonious statements, platitudes and bits out of psychology textbooks. He was at his best when not stumbling about too much, when we could pick out something relatively sober from what became a deliberately incoherent dream sequence.

I was occasionally reminded of a more nightmarish Samuel Beckett, but perhaps that was not the intention. He was followed by John Chadwick as a burlesque mime artist, with a beautifully rubbery face and a mobile beret. Broadcast platitudes and exhortations connected with democracy, the rights of consumers, being independent in thought and much else were accompanied by frantic mouthings. Gute Nacht! Gute Nacht my sweet little demographics! said the background voice as the mime disappeared. Right.

The third apparition also harangued us. This was Tim Marshall as an ostrich-feathered, turbaned Russian professor (oh these damned foreign intellectuals!) with a stream of condemnation and advice – sooth yourself with twenty-four hour TV... beware of greed economics and botched sociology! We were urged to watch out for the use of Freudian ideas in any focus groups we might be invited to join, and watched a Powerpoint full of subliminal suggestiveness, with quickly-flashed images of, for example, a cut-off limb, a Hitler rally and paintings by Joan Miro and Francis Bacon.

It was a wild pantomime, a bit clunky and ready for revision – this was its premiere – but rather wonderful. King Ink can come again!

Let Me Speak

Vivian Lister writes:

On a daffodil sunny spring afternoon, a group  of twenty writers entertained and delighted an audience of friends and visitors with a mixture of poetry and prose that was by turns sad, edifying and funny. 

Some of the work  touched  upon  themes of tragedy and loss  as in the beautiful elegy for the long dead seaman John Torrington  who at just  twenty years old died of TB, malaria  and lead poisoning (Beechey Head by Campion Rollinson) or the poignant empathetic description of a frail widower examining a ‘biscuit tin of memories’: Coconut creams of holidays on tropical beaches/Chocolate bourbons of times in France/ and Lemon Puffs of Acid words /when Mary was alive (Memory Box by Jenny Jones). 

Others focused upon capturing and describing very personal experiences and events.  In Collide, for example, the  poet ( Howard Benn) strives  to pin down  those   very painful ephemeral  thoughts and feelings as ‘fragile as glass’ that accompany lost love, whilst in  vivid  prose B. McLinley describes the hazy thought patterns of the drinker.

Here is the   brisk concreteness of Beans on Toast- by Chris Woodhead:

-       Open the tin with a crocodile snap

-       Pour into the pan with a little tap

-       Into the toaster with bread nice and thick

-       Whilst watching the clock with a tick tick tick  

  

And here the lyricism of Marlene: She walked slowly towards the beckoning waves –young, beautiful, full of sadness, beyond control

This wide range of subject  and style was welded together by a singleness of purpose - the writers’  desire to create something true and authentic. Each individual had performed that magical language trick of transforming an experience whether of a single event (a day out in Wales , dancing , catching a teapot, a foster child’s temper tantrum, falling asleep) or a series of life shaping  incidents ( first 78 to lifelong love of jazz, the day of the Bradford Valley Parade fire, moving from rural Tanzania to urban Leeds) into  exact  and honest words and went on to deliver them with courage and openness.

The performance was as inspiring as the material . At the end of the programme, a member of the audience said, "Thank you for having me" and I knew exactly what she meant.  The speakers supported each other, creating an easy and relaxed atmosphere - all the more commendable when you know that they came from two  separate creative writing groups, Osmondthorpe and Headingley, and that the first joint run through had been two hours previously.

Becky Cherriman, the WEA tutor of both these groups was pleased that the joint venture had worked so well, although she stressed the  welcoming nature of both these groups. Some people have been attending the groups for several years and they form a supportive centre, always open to  people and ideas so that nervous newcomers quickly feel at home She also talked about the tremendous support of helpers for people with physical disabilities at the Osmondthorpe group  particularly Mary and  Jenna.

Talking to members of both groups revealed just how much they valued the creative experience of their weekly meetings. Here are just a few typical views:

It’s  wonderful to find a way to express yourself creatively , to try something new – and also to make new friends. And the group is local and easy to get to (Jenny)

I like to try out  different genres of writing and it’s great to learn from the different backgrounds and experiences of others in the group. (Howard)

Writing and sharing my experiences helped me to deal with lots of situations in my personal life.(Steven)

The afternoon ended with a rousing ‘seize the day’ poem by Carl Flynn urging us all to experience our lives to the full, to treasure our friends:

 And all the sorrows , all the joys 

 The chance is yours to make the choice 

I am sure that I wasn’t the only audience member who felt inspired by the spirit of these performers to do just that! 

In summary, I shall steal the words of an audience member, Mary Heycock. She wrote: A very entertaining and heart warming experience. I loved every minute!

And so say all!

Beast with Five Fingers

June Diamond writes:

Monday’s event at the Cottage Road Cinema appealed in so many ways. I’m a sucker for old horror films , and we also had local history and significance.

Janet Douglas began by telling us a vivid tale of the early life of the author of the original short story on which the film was based. In We Were Seven, William Fryer Harvey describes how he grew up at Spring Bank House in Headingley, in a Quaker household full of books and stories. His grandparents kept to the old ways and the family eschewed violence in every form, down to not burning a guy at Bonfire Night. It is no surprise that he read Edgar Allan Poe under the dining room table.

It also made sense to learn that he became a doctor, conducting a particularly gruelling amputation to free a trapped sailor during the First World War. This dreadful  episode wrecked his own health, but was retained in his imagination.

Janet’s lively and evocative introduction led brilliantly to the film. They really don’t make them like that any more, from the excellence of Peter Lorre, to the pace and atmosphere that contributed so well to the grisly story.  A terrific evening.

RW adds: We are approaching the hundredth birthday of the Cottage Road Cinema, the oldest operating cinema in Leeds, which opened as The Headingley Picture House on 29 July 1912. The first Leeds cinema was The Assembly Rooms in Briggate (opened 1907) which is now a refurbished space used by Opera North.