Il Postino at Cottage Road Cinema

Richard Wilcocks writes:

For me, this charming, funny and touching study of the effect of the exiled Pablo Neruda on a poor, near-illiterate island where fishermen vote communist and also dress up to take part in a procession with a statue of Our Lady of Sorrows is about naivety and fundamentalism as well as about the use of metaphors and the wooing of women with poetry.

The story (based on a novel) is strongly rooted in facts: the great poet was forced to get out of Chile in 1948 after the Communist Party was made illegal there and tried to settle in a number of places in Europe before he landed (in this film that is) on the small island in the south of Italy in 1952. That part of Italy was much poorer than the north of the country, and still is. He wrote political manifestos and historical epics as well as beautiful, erotic love poems and was a recipient of the International Stalin Prize for Strengthening Peace Among Peoples, which puts him in the company of Pablo Picasso and Paul Robeson. He was not only a fervent admirer of Lenin and Stalin, but also (in the nineteen thirties) of Vyshinsky, the chief prosecutor during the Moscow Show Trials, in public at least.

At the time of the film, Stalin was just about to die, there was no thaw in the communist world and the revolts in 1956 against Stalinism and Soviet dominance in Hungary and Poland had yet to take place. There is no mention of any critical insights amongst the local communists in the action: their political feelings are largely gut reactions, of the sort which go with being dirt poor. The secondary plot is about a political campaign by an elegant, smart-talking Christian Democrat politician by the name of di Cosimo (he promises to bring running water to the island) who criticizes Mario, the love-stricken postman, for being in love with Beatrice after he admits that he is going to vote communist. He tells him that his preferred poet is d’Annunzio, who also had a muse named Beatrice. Gabriele D’Annunzio was a twentieth century nationalist poet who was very influential amongst the early Fascists, including Mussolini. In fact, the choice of the name Beatrice for Mario’s loved one and muse is highly significant, because that is also the name of the ideal woman of Italy’s national poet Dante Alighieri, the one who guides him through Heaven in The Divine Comedy. I think that Massimo Troisi, the actor playing Mario, actually looks a little like Dante Alighieri.

The island’s grim priest, the one with no feeling for poetry, has the fundamentalist right-wing views of the time, which were common amongst Catholics at the time of the Cold War. It’s all part of the film’s appealing 'retro' feel, with old black cars, early Vespas, the traditional wedding, the peculiarities of an Italy long before Berlusconi, all there for the savouring. But the main story is about the bored fisherman’s son Mario Ruppolo, who is fascinated, naively fascinated perhaps, with the famous visitor and the number of letters he receives from female admirers, in the pre-email days when people wrote them. The scene in which he asks Neruda “What is a metaphor?” brings to my mind many memories of teaching English, along with Neruda’s stock response – “the sky weeps” - but Mario gets it, and later makes attempts to do better than that.

The film is full of metaphors, not just the ones in Neruda's sublime poems, of which there are plenty: students of cinema would be able to spot dozens, for example the pinball which Beatrice pops into her mouth and which Mario carries around as a love token, and the statue of the Virgin in a fishing boat. Mario's personification of the fishing nets, using the adjective 'sad' recurs several times.

For me, a side-effect of the film is to bring to mind the terrible events of the seventies: Neruda died just after General Pinochet took over Chile in a violent military coup in 1973. He was already terminally ill in hospital with prostate cancer, and it was probably shock which finished him. Pinochet soldiers apparently wasted no time in diverting a stream through his house on the Pacific coast after ransacking it.

The acting throughout is superb, and Phillippe Noiret bears a startling resemblance to the real Neruda. He is absolutely credible in the role. Maria Grazia Cucinotta is just right as the innkeeper’s beautiful niece and Massimo Troisi is the ultimate in charm, for his lover on the screen and for his audience in front of it. His portrayal of the timid yet passionate postman must be the result of very careful Stanislavskian preparation, because it is just brilliant.

It was a great tragedy when he died shortly before the film came out, in 1994. He was a poet himself, as well as a great actor.

 

At the 68th Academy Awards in 1995, Il Postino received five nominations and one Academy Award. It also won the BAFTA Award for Best Film Not in the English Language.

 

Under Milk Wood in New Headingley Club

Richard Wilcocks writes:

Trio Literati’s and Theatre of the Dales’s current production of Dylan Thomas’s beautiful, funny and moving radio play from 1954 - Under Milk Wood – is one of the best I have seen on stage, intelligently directed, with much attention to detail, and impeccably acted. Every character lived life to the full in front of the audience last night in the New Headingley Club, even the dead ones, and it did not matter that the lighting was not up to playhouse standards, because Trio Lit and Theatre of the Dales can survive very well without it if necessary: they are veterans of pub and club rooms.

The play was sliced to about half of its original length by Adrian Metcalfe and David Robertson, and all the stitching was invisible. It was a wise, if not inevitable, move to manage without costumes and set (expensive, hard to cart around) although the cast wore a variety of striped tops to bond them together. They relied on the sort of movement which can be done in a small performance space, and the usual actor’s repertoire of voice, gesture and facial expression. It worked all the time. Nothing was ever touch-and-go. 

The Welsh accents sounded authentic enough to me, nicely varied to fit each member of the population of Llareggub. To pick out individual performances in a strong ensemble piece is difficult, but I have to record how much I loved the Reverend Eli Jenkins and his prayer, Butcher Beynon with his macabre sense of humour, Mr Mog Edwards the writer of letters, Mrs Pugh, at constant risk of ingesting poison, and Mrs Ogmore-Pritchard. I was moved to tears as always by Captain Cat’s memories of his dead lover Rosie Probert, and captivated by Myfanwy Price.

The cast included all of the Trio – Maggie Mash, Jane Oakeshott and Richard Rastall – together with Theatre of the Dales founder David Robertson and Arif Javid, a terrific Nogood Boyo.

Punk Publishing with Mick McCann - House Event

Sally Bavage writes:

Just as many groups in the digital age produce and distribute their own ‘indie’ music, resisting the control of the large conglomerations, so too an increasing number of writers are taking the self-publication ‘punk’ route to having their voices heard. 

Mick McCann described for us the joys and pitfalls of ‘punk’ publishing and envisaged a future not too far off when you can call in to a coffee house, order up your book and have it printed on demand whilst you sip your latte.  He designs his own covers and organises his own help with proofreading and typesetting.  Costs are favours called in and about £50 for support from an online company with details of copyrighting and so on.  His books – Coming Out as a Bowie Fan in Leeds, Yorkshire, England, Nailed - Digital Stalking and How Leeds Changed the World are all available on Amazon and all with 5* reader ratings.  We could have heard more about self-publication but the session timed out because of other LitFest commitments.

His session was also a play upon words as he described his adoption of the punk subculture in the late 70s in Leeds.  All teenagers try to be different, but full-on make-up, spiked hair and his sister’s dresses were, well, a bit out there!  Physically very fit from his years on an early morning milk round – a two hour extreme workout every day hefting crates and running fast to keep up with the float which did not bring Benny Hill’s Ernie, the fastest milkman in the west to mind! – Mick had no fear of getting any bother from skins or other subculture groups.  He was right! He spent his teenage years as a committed Bowie fan, still able to quote every song lyric from any album, though the dresses and make-up have gone. 

Mick has always needed to write down his ideas, though he shrinks from calling himself ‘a writer’ - like nearly all wordsmiths he has a day job.  He has a lively perspective on working class life, often the least likely to get a publisher’s sweetheart deal, and which should be heard.  There will be many young people today who have a view of life not widely represented by our media and ‘punk’ publishing offers us hope that alternative voices can enter our lexicon. ‘Never Get Old’, David Bowie said – or if you do, publish the story!

Gathering Voices - House Event

Once again, Maggie Mash’s front room in Weetwood was the venue for a surpassingly satisfying house event – Gathering Voices – which was entirely appropriate for the LitFest because it took the official theme – Lingo – very seriously. The amazingly large audience was presented with a geographically-based programme which had been slotted together with admirable professional skill, and although for some individuals it might have been very slightly uncomfortable to watch and listen with someone’s knees in the back, or an elbow in the ear, for just about everyone it was a wonderfully entertaining afternoon. 

Music was wafted at us as we came in, and was introduced into every crack, provided at the start and at the finish by Ben (with guitar in photo) and by Kerry (a lovely jig), Lynn Thornton (acapella If music be the food of love, Cleo Laine) and by Lynn and Maggie together as Wordsong. Lynn and Maggie (both in photos below) did not need music for many numbers, for example a Cockney rhyming slang piece and a morsel of T S Eliot’s Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats.

To select a few items from an impressive list of performances, I particularly liked the short extract in English and French from Waiting for Godot/En attendant Godot by David, Feargal and Guillaume (photo) in bashed-up bowlers, Theresa’s song, Síle’s poem Collateral Damage, which had an uncanny ‘ancient’ feel to it, Linda’s Café Italy, the R S Thomas poem (the inbreeding bit was controversial once), and Maggie’s all-too-brief reading of some of Tolkien’s Elvish, which sounds like Welsh, and Maggie should know because she is one of the few people this side of Offa’s Dyke who knows how to pronounce Llareggub absolutely correctly.

Scriptophilia in the Heart Centre

Steve Ball writes:
What a marvellously entertaining evening Scriptophilia was at the Heart Centre, Headingley, last night! Wordsmith Peter Spafford made sure that there was a comforting and supportive atmosphere throughout the evening that complemented the intimacy of the Shire Oak Room; a lovely venue for such a showcase of talent.

Peter’s love of words was evident but the music was not left out due to the prodigious talent of multi-instrumentalist Richard Ormrod – is there any instrument he cannot play?

Helen Burke is the female equivalent of Ian McMillan, who had appeared at the LitFest on the previous evening, and her take on French cats was hilarious. There is always poignancy to her work and it was never more appropriately and eloquently displayed on St Patrick’s Night when she paid tribute to her mother and father, both born in Ireland. Helen is an inspiring poet.

Peter’s guest artistes, Seas-of-Green, raised their game and charmed the appreciative audience, most of whom had never heard of the young Leeds band. A very tight acoustic set was inventive and engaging and there is a special gift of being able to get an audience to sing along to an original song that the vast majority had not heard before. This was a performance that showed what promise they have.

Richard Ormrod is a virtuoso performer and his breadth of expertise provided an extra depth to Peter’s choice of song and poetry. It was obvious that there was a warmth and affection between Peter and Richard and this captured the audience from the off. There was humour, originality and poignancy that kept everyone enraptured through to the finale of their suite of poems set to music.

A very enjoyable evening: thank you one and all.

Helen Burke; http://www.poetrypf.co.uk/helenburkepage.html

Seas-of- Green; http://seas-of-green.com/s/Seas-Of-Green_-_Official_Website.html

Peter Spafford; http://www.peterspafford.co.uk/


Below, Helen Burke, Peter Spafford, Richard Ormrod and Seas of Green. Photos by Richard Wilcocks.

Telling stories with (funny) pictures

The cartoon workshop for children in Headingley Library on Saturday afternoon with local artist Kate Pankhurst was great fun. Kate has illustrated children's books by many very well-known authors, such as Judy Blume, Ian Whybrow, Marjorie Newman and Steve Hartley.

She began by showing some of her work and explaining a little of how the book-illustration process works. She then got her audience imagining their own weird and wonderful characters, thinking of how to illustrate strange story ideas and incidents, making funny flip-books and designing their very own comic-strips.

Everyone involved had a great time ... and also completed some highly-imaginative cartoons! As one parent said - ‘Be very happy to spend every Saturday afternoon like this.’

Below, Kate Pankhurst with Willow, Harry, Alice and Isaac. On the wall, a many-eyed alien monster.

World Story at New Headingley Club

June Diamond writes:

You are three feet tall. The room is crowded. You wrap your arms around the legs of someone in a coat like your mother’s. But it is not her. The room laughs, kindly, but you are humiliated.

Do all children have a similar experience? The group of us taking part in the world story workshop thought that we all had.

In the first workshop we explored the universals of story-telling; scars, epiphanies and transformative moments. Ice-breakers, games and props supported the experience. 'Inspiring', was the feedback.

The second workshop moved past plot (after all, Jeffrey Archer is the master of plot) to explore how moments are made vivid through language. The group turned to memory here . Perhaps not all groups would, but we did. Childhood cruelty and the tale of the solitary guineapig were the basis for some memorable story-telling. 

A terrific creative experience.

Talking Myself Home

Richard Wilcocks writes:

If priests could be as constantly, persistently entertaining as Ian McMillan, they would have no problems filling churches. People would come early and sit sleeplessly at the front, every week, and their responses would be toothy grins, laughs and sporadic shouts of recognition. He held us yesterday evening for an hour and a quarter, and we writhed with pleasure as he walked, hands flying, in front of the crossless altar in this magnificent, deconsecrated church in Cardigan Road, which still retains its name - St Margaret of Antioch - but which is now known as Left Bank Leeds, an award-winning venue for music and the arts brought into being by a group of hardworking volunteers, when the alternative would have been a decline and fall.

Ian McMillan is what a stereotype of a Yorkshireman should be, not a 'vinegar-faced' and narrow-minded character (like Joseph in Wuthering Heights?) but really friendly, warm-hearted and, yes, homely - the sort of bloke you wouldn't mind at all eating at your table with, or watching the match with, unless, of course, if it was Barnsley thrashing Leeds 5 - 2. He's the exact opposite of crabby, and he lets the imagination take the initiative.

He goes far beyond the homely and you only notice this afterwards, when you recollect his words in tranquillity. He transcends Darfield, you might add. Universal themes are in there. Love and affection?

To select gobbets of delight from his programme, in which well-worn, endlessly hilarious material (like his observations on new pupils in infant schools) was mixed with the newly-created, I would fish out his nursery rhymes, in which words are randomly replaced with 'fish', his stories about when he worked on a building site, his mention of Sir Alec Clegg, who founded Bretton Hall College and who ensured that the West Riding Education Authority was the most innovative in the country, and his poems and stories about his mother and her funeral which were so funny, so funny, and so poignant, so poignant. Love and affection.

There was an experimental aspect, because our partners at Left Bank were trying things out, like the new PA system, which did not serve the back two rows very well. Accoustics are always a problem in churches. The cold was kept at bay efficiently, with two gas-powered tubes which fired warm air in to the space for hours before the performance. Choral music should work at future events.

On arriving home at ten, The Verb was on Radio 3, and Ian McMillan was interviewing our guest from last year, Ben Okri. 

Talking Myself Home at Left Bank

Paul Hudson writes:
Assault on Cardigan Road - were you there?


Have you ever been battered by words?

If not you missed a great evening when Ian McMillan assaulted a packed
audience at the Left Bank last night. The pauses were far and few between so breathing became rather difficult especially when the laughter was taken into account. It was never ever a 'poetry reading' more a glimpse into the life and experience of Ian.

He took us all to places he visits and people he meets as well as some
special moments.

A lot of people were tired at the end of the attack, tired from laughing so much on this whirlwind tour of everything and anything.



(More to follow on Talking Myself Home!)

Poetic Lingo from Headingley

A compère's response. Doug Sandle writes:

“Ladies and gentlemen of this pulsating parish of Headingley, we are proudly presenting a sumptuous stanza of pronouncing poets, a veritable versified evening of lingo-istic largesse to both edify and delight us!”

 So the introduction might have been if instead of the Heart café we were at the Leeds City Varieties.  However, I opened with the more conventional "it's my pleasure and privilege to be your host", which on paper seems boringly meaningless, yet in truth it was a genuine pleasure to see a ‘full house’ of expectation and to be able to compère a line- up of poets that in each of their own ‘genres’ were truly talented.

Having outlined in my introduction some of the rich and remarkable poetic historical precedents for the poetic lingo of Headingley and Leeds 6 - for example the likes of Jon Silkin, Peter Redgrove, Martin Bell, Geoffrey Hill, Ken Smith, Tony Harrison and George Szirtes as well as the contemporary buzz of poetic activity and talent taking place in Headingley and district - there was much for our present gathering to live up to. However from the very first warm up ‘prologue session’ that featured a ‘melody’ of expressed feelings, metaphors, images, and human experience and which included three generations sharing a bed, a rather smelly and badly behaved cat, and an account of unrequited ‘commercial’ love in a call-centre, there was no chance that our performers would not live up to such a provenance. Indeed they presented a varied and deeply rewarding experience that genuinely engaged an attentive and very appreciative audience.

The scene having been set, what followed in individual presentations by our poets was a moving, exciting and thought provoking evening that really did stir the imagination, move the soul, lift the heart and engross the mind. Different styles of poetic lingo, different cadences, some more cerebral than others, some more physically engaging, some more challenging, some more revealing and some more poetically fragile - but in their sum total came together to leave a satisfying sense of lingering engagement with what it is to be creatively human and to genuinely communicate with honesty, depth and a commitment to both the power and subtlety of words and both spoken and unspoken language.

While my compère’s  concluding ‘thank –yous’  to Paul Adrian, Lis Bertolla, Fatima El-Jack, Jasmine Joseph, James Nash, Lucy Newlyn and David Tait also look rather stilted on paper, they were nonetheless heartfelt, as quite evidently were those of the audience as expressed in their  final enthusiastic applause and expressions of gratitude.

Afterthought 1:  There was a special added poignancy to the evening with the visit of Lucy Newlyn, whose poems were so evocatively moving regarding her childhood upbringing in Headingley/Meanwood, and who was visiting for the first time the reconstructed Bennett Road School where she had attended as a child.

Afterthought 2: While my stated preference for expressions of appreciation by clapping to be at the end of each section or individual reading, rather than after each poem, was particular appreciated by some of the poets, there was a different view expressed by others, especially by some of the audience enthused by the energetic and thought provoking and gifted presentations by the Lawnswood school poetry slam winners. I think there are different ways of responding to different kinds of poetry and styles of presentation that evoke differing kinds of audience engagement and hence response. However, I accept that it might have been better to have allowed the audience responses to evolve naturally and to emerge as appropriate in response to such different genres and to the different cultures of performance, on the one hand, and of a more literary presentation on the other.  So I hold up my hand on that one.

    

Richard Wilcocks adds:

Lucy Newlyn, who is Professor of English Language and Literature, CUF Lecturer and Tutorial Fellow in the Faculty of English at the University of Oxford, wondered whether she had ever been taught in the room which is now the café in the HEART Centre, and which was once part of Bennett Road School, at which she had been a pupil. She had moved on to become a pupil at Lawnswood School in the days when it was still in the old buildings, now demolished, and was anxious to greet two present-day pupils - Fatima El Jack and Jasmine Joseph - who must have felt a little overwhelmed at the idea of so much creative talent originating in Headingley, with themselves as the current representatives of it.

Overwhelmed or not, they were brave and confident next to the high-flown guest poets: Jasmine delivered her lighthearted Potty Park and Fatima her Motherland (all learned by heart) effectively, receiving much applause and a few whoops as well. 

Below, Doug Sandle, Jasmine and Fatima, David Tait, Lucy Newlyn, Paul Adrian:

The Origins of Yorkshire Dialects

Sheila Chapman writes:

Does ‘brussen’ mean bursting with food or bursting with self importance /pride?

It depends on where you live - in this case in Leeds or Bradford.

This word, based on old German for bursting, was the first of many examples used by Dr Barrie M Rhodes of the Yorkshire Dialect Society to illustrate his talk on the origins of Yorkshire dialects.

Barrie grew up speaking a Yorkshire dialect and never more so than when he went to live with his grandmother during the war because she, as he said, ‘did not speak English’ but West Riding. He compared her words with modern Swedish to show how strongly her dialect was influenced by the Viking invasions of this country. He compared her words,  ‘Laikin room for t’barns’, which was how she described a room where children could play, to ‘lekrum barn’ which means ‘children’s play room’ in Swedish. The similarities are obvious.

Barrie took us through the history of the invasions of this country from the Romans through the Anglo-Saxons and the Vikings to the Normans.  Each conqueror left a mark on the language: the Anglo-Saxon (Germanic) language became the basis for modern day English sweeping away, to a large extent, the previous Brythonic (Romanic) language spoken by the Celts. The later invasions by the Vikings had particular importance for Yorkshire, which was part of the Danegeld, and especially for Yorkshire dialects. So, Yorkshire is divided into ridings (from the Old Norse Thrydings) and many of its place names (49% in the East Riding and 39/40% in West Riding) are of Scandinavian origin.

The main contributors to Yorkshire dialects today are Old English and Old Norse/Old Danish together with a smaller contribution from Old (Norman) French.

Barrie sees the dialects (or languages) of Yorkshire as having as much historical significance as the buildings but he also regards dialect (and language generally) as a living thing which constantly changes and evolves – he does not wish to freeze it in time. He rails against ‘the tyranny of the standard’ which he maintains is only another dialect of English and says that the speakers of other dialects in this country should never regard their language as less valid than the standard.

Barrie is passionate about his subject and he put this across to the, nearly fifty strong, audience. As one of them commented, ‘Great evening – good theme (lingo) passionately & clearly expounded’.

Below, Dr Barrie M Rhodes:

Iberian Evening in Café Lento

Sally Bavage writes:

The fourth partnership event with this lively and popular local café was, once again, a storming success.  It was packed out, with latecomers having to press their noses against the glass from the outside, watching proprietor Richard Lindley as he compered a delightful mix of tapas, wine, poetry and music. Portuguese songstress Mila Dores was incomparable!

Eyes closed,  you were in a Spanish bar, with the perfume of warm chorizo in your nostrils and the plaintive tones of Mila in your ears.  She was accompanied by talented musicians Neil Innes on guitar and Richard Ormerod (playing for the LitFest again on Saturday evening, 17 March, at Scriptophilia in the Heart centre) on percussion and flute.  We were treated to a selection of songs in English, Spanish and Portuguese that covered the usual themes of love, loss and death. The Girl from Ipanema was written first in Portuguese in 1962, and Mila’s cover version was a knockout.  One number, sung in the ‘fado’ style of unaccompanied voice, left us emotionally wrenched as it lamented the fishermen and explorers who left Portugal, never to return.

Poetry by Federico García Lorca, perhaps the greatest Spanish poet of the twentieth century, who was murdered by General Franco's fascists at the start of the Civil War in 1936, was presented in Spanish by José González and in English by Richard Wilcocks.  His portrait was in a frame on the counter. There was blood and tears, loyalty and love, loss and death, and also passion and meaning whichever the language, the words flowing round us in a narrative stream. The first poem was Romance sonámbulo (Dreamwalker Ballad) from Romancero gitano, which begins 'Verde que te quiero verde.' ('Green how I want you green.') 


Richard Lindley also read us a trio of shorter poems: The Guitar (La guitarra) plays well to the audience, The Shout (El grito) is short and loud and Seville (Sevilla) takes us to the heart of the hot south of Spain.

It is fascinating to hear the same poem read to a  hushed audience, first in the gentle sweeps of English rhythm and then in José’s more staccato Andalucian tones.  One poem, two languages, two rhythms, one idea.

At times the audience was swaying, not with the effects of the wicked sangría mixed by our resident expert but in time to the mellifluous voice and music washing over us. Fingers and toes tapped compulsively to some of the faster beats.  Not Tourettes but just darn good music! 

Altogether, an extraordinary evening. Just how do you spell ‘whoop’ and ‘holler’ in Portuguese?

Lebanese Evening in Mint Café

Richard Wilcocks writes:

According to the cybernetics experts who collect data on poets, hopefully not because they suspect that they have the potential to become the acknowledged legislators of the world, Khalil Gibran is in the top three of the ranks, regularly read, recited and sung by millions, mainly in the original Arabic. Shakespeare and Lao Tzu stand on the podium with him. Marcos, the owner of Mint Café on North Lane, decided with myself that his poetry should be included in a Lebanese Evening, because the mystic and philosopher Gibran, like Marcos, was born in Lebanon – in the late nineteenth century in Bsharri, a predominantly Maronite Catholic area in the north. In 1895 he went to live in New York. Marcos delivered a summary of his life at the beginning of the evening.

While we were preparing, we both noticed that current translations into English which are available (identical on most websites) are in need of improvement. Some of them are wince-inducing, from an English native-speaker’s angle, and Marcos, the real linguistic expert, pointed out what he saw as mistranslations and infidelities. We sat down and wrestled with the relatively short A Tear and a Smile to produce our own version, which Marcos read during the evening in Arabic and I read in English. It was clear that some things could probably never be conveyed except in the original – no surprise there.

Audience-members packed into Mint, which has two upstairs rooms the size of the sitting rooms in an average flat and a downstairs trove of retro clothes on hangers, were obviously enjoying themselves, judging from their responses. They loved the authentically Lebanese food, all made on the premises, returning over and over again to the front counter to pick up more stuffed vine leaves or to spoon hummus on to flatbreads.

They loved the belly dancer as well, the lithe genuine article Natalie, clapping rhythmically as she performed to Lebanese dance music, beginning in the doorway between the two rooms, then shimmying from one to the other. Her explanation of her moves and on how she got into belly dancing was well received.

After a number by one of Lebanon’s most popular singers, Najwa Karam, Marcos spoke about another immensely popular recent poet who wrote in Arabic – Mahmoud Darwish, who died in 2008 and who is known as Palestine’s National Poet. His deeply emotional poem My Mother (Ummi) was read in Arabic and English, and also heard in a song version.

Short poems by Gibran followed, and the evening finished. “All poetry readings should be like this – on a programme along with music and dancing,” someone commented as we left.

“There’s more in the future. You wait and see,” replied Marcos.

Below, Marcos clapping, Natalie dancing, me reading - 

Rosalind Harvey in Headingley Library

Translating Culture – Pigs’ Head Stew, La Chingada and Mexican Chavs Abroad

Sally Bavage writes:

 

The subtitle to this excellent discussion enjoyed by an audience of thirty in a welcoming corner of Headingley Library was 'the importance of culture in literary translation'. Too true!  What would we call someone who drives behind ambulances so they can speed, wears a polyester blouse with a Lacoste logo, claps when a ‘plane lands, uses a clothes hanger for a TV aerial or steals souvenirs from hotels? – it’s ‘naco’ in Mexico, and ‘chav’ in her English translation. Every nationality has a cultural context which influences content and description in creative writing, allowing the intelligent reader to draw their own images from the words.

She considered carefully which words would not need translation, leaving many items of food in the original Spanish, reasoning that enough readers would not need an alternative to taco or enchilada.  Posoli, on the other hand – the pig’s head stew of our discussion title – does appear in the glossary she included. Her description of a whole pig’s head cooked with maize, chilli and floating lettuce left the young boy who is the narrator of her book as disgusted as we were. It also served as a metaphor for the trend in Mexico of body parts turning up in unlikely places - 'a good head' IN a barrel of beer was one recent example.

And now we come to the matter of  ‘la chingada’.  It’s rude.  Very rude.  But it is in ubiquitous use and culturally far less offensive to Mexican ears than an effing prostitute is to more sensitive English ones. How to translate the culturally offensive without compromising the meaning within the story is a balancing act without a safety net, it seems. 

Rosalind Harvey has worked with Anne McLean, the doyenne of Spanish to English translations and has now branched out on her own.  Rosalind’s first solo work, translating the work of author Juan Pablo Villalobos is titled Down the Rabbit Hole and was published in September 2011 by And Other Stories, a new small publishing house. Choosing a title to convey the slightly surreal meaning of the Mexican hideout which features in the story, with its hint for readers of ‘Alice in Wonderland’ is, again, a translator’s high wire act.

We are indebted to Mike of the Grove Bookshop in Ilkley, who kindly supported the event with books for sale.

Two of many positive audience comments sum up the evening very well: “Very interesting and enlightening explanation of translating literature from one language to another and the cultural and contemporary choices that have to be made.” 

And, very succinctly, “Muy bien!”

Mik Artistik in Salvo's Salumeria

Benjamin Thomas writes:

This event, hosted by Salvo's Salumeria as part of Headingley LitFest with entertainment  provided by Mik Artistik's Ego Trip, was somewhat like a particularly oddball episode of 'Come Dine With Me' that Channel 4 never dared to air.

As the audience digested four fine courses of authentic Italian dining, Mik and his two sidekicks (Johnny Flockton on guitar and Benson Walker on bass) served up their secret recipe of performance poetry, stand-up humour and musicianship on stage.

Few others could theft the beat from LCD Soundsystem's 'Losing My Edge', the melody from Aled  Jones' 'Walking In The Air', or snippets from hits by the somewhat more renowned Yorkshireman Robert Palmer, then segue such elements into songs about parenthood ('Dad Muscles', 'Turning Into Dad') and budget timepieces ('Cheap Watch From The Market'). Mik even paid tribute to his hometown's best known eccentric with 'Jimmy Saville Had My Album'.

And the fifty-something attracted a crowd which, much like his sources of inspiration, spanned the generations. He mesmerised the young, the old, and everybody in between for the entire duration of his meandering but never tiresome performance lasting almost two hours.

Throughout the show, as Mik flitted between serenading and berating those brave enough to sit in the front rows, he summoned the spirit of two infamously misanthropic wordsmiths from the other side of the Pennines - John Cooper Clarke and The Fall's Mark E. Smith.

But in truth, he's beyond compare, and only those lucky enough to be crammed into the room could have fully appreciated this artist's unique talents.

Below Mik Artistik and his Combo (Jonny Flockton and Benson Walker), and two happy customers - Will Bartlett and Emma Jones - 

New translation for Lebanese Evening

In preparation for the Lebanese Evening in Mint Café on North Lane, Khalil Gibran's famous poem A Tear and a Smile was retranslated from the original Arabic. Read it here.

Can you raise a laugh?

June Diamond writes:

The Litfest got off to a flying start with a comedy workshop led by Mike Nelson.  They say stand-up is the latest performance art, and  a full house of participants aged between 16 and 60+ attested to its popularity.

As you might expect, Mike facilitated the workshop with humour, and also warmth, expertise  and support. Ice-breakers were followed by presentations on the structure of jokes, using the microphone, and other information essential to budding comedians. The session ended with a brief set from each participant. Keep going,  if you can,  for three minutes, was the advice. “That’s what my girlfriend tells me," said one comedian.

I was amused, inspired and touched by the sheer creativity shown by everybody involved. It’s interesting how immersion in such an experience changes the world around one. I walked out of the workshop to go to the toilet and walked into a broom cupboard by mistake.

SI Leeds Literary Prize 2012

        Readers of the LitFest blog could well be interested in this prize, which is organised by Soroptimist International of Leeds. For more information click here. This is a recent SI news release:

Writers with new year’s resolutions to finish their novel and get it published are being encouraged to dust off their manuscripts and submit their entries to the SI Leeds Literary Prize.  This new award for unpublished fiction by Black and Asian women will be announced in October at the Ilkley Literature Festival, and potential entrants have until 1 June to submit their entries.

Prize judge Hannah Bannister, the Marketing Director at Peepal Tree Press, thinks it’s an exciting opportunity for women writers: “I know from my experience at Peepal Tree that writers sometimes need encouragement to take that first step and complete their manuscript, and that being shortlisted for a prize can change an author’s life.  I’m particularly keen to read the entries as the winner may get a publishing deal with Peepal Tree, as well as professional development support through our Inscribe programme.”

The award winning authors will also have the opportunity to perform their work at the prestigious Ilkley Literature Festival, where the prize will be awarded in October.  The winner will receive £2,000, with £750 to the runner-up and £250 as a third prize.  Entries can be submitted any time before 1 June and full details of how to enter are on the prize website: www.sileedsliteraryprize.com

Patrons supporting the prize are influential writers and thinkers with a significant public profile, and the prize team is delighted to welcome its latest Patrons, Bonnie Greer OBE and Bernadine Evaristo MBE.  Playwright and novelist Greer is a passionate advocate of diversity, and her works are concerned with the lives of minorities within majority cultures, particularly those of women.  British writer Evaristo was awarded the MBE for being ‘a major voice in the multicultural panorama of British literature’, and her novel-in-verse The Emperor’s Babe was chosen as a Times ‘Book of the Decade’ in 2009.

For further information, images or interview requests, please contact Fiona Goh, Project Manager, tel: 01422 435077 or e-mail: info@sileedsliteraryprize.com

The Dream and the Reality

Sally Bavage writes:

Our partnership event with the Irish Arts Foundation on Friday 2 March was a double bill which promised to be entertaining and thought-provoking – what the LitFest always aims for - and we were not disappointed.

Father O’Malley, I imagined,  would be a frailish man in his eightieth year.  Not a bit of it! He gave us a feisty view of the history of the movement to preserve the Irish language since the end of the Middle Ages, spiced up with recollections and anecdotes of his own part in its preservation.  He had subtitled his account of the rise and fall of the speaking of Gaelic as “the dream of the Gaelic League”, founded at the end of the nineteenth century after three centuries of decline, and “the reality of failed twentieth century government initiatives and minuscule funding” leading to Gaelic having an uncertain future in contemporary Ireland.

As early as the sixteenth century, the poet Brian Ó Gnimh was speaking about being adrift on a rising tide of English which reduced his words to the lonely call of seabirds:

I am the guillemot, the English the sea.

Reasons for the decline were many: Cromwell, colonisation by the English, some of whom insisted their labourers and their families spoke English, the Great Potato Famine, lack of employment opportunities ...  all conspired to confine Gaelic speaking to outlying areas, in some cases within a generation. Although the Gaelic League made good progress up to 1916, speaking the native language also fed the aspirations of the republican freedom movement, which led to government support being mealy-mouthed and inconsistent.

Father O’Malley gave us an entertaining account of his part in the setting up of a pirate radio station that confronted those who said it was technically impossible.  Quite a turbulent priest indeed.  Now there are thriving TV and radio stations which broadcast in Gaelic. Forty years ago, those who refused to pay a licence for English-only broadcasts only in English were jailed.  However, in uncertain economic times, the progressive strategy to support the acquisition and the use of the native language is in doubt.

Irish literature is published by two key publishing houses, who provide volumes of stories, short stories and poetry, and who support modern young poets as well as more traditional forms.  The Queen spoke in Gaelic in 2011 on her visit to the country, which has given a fillip to the movement determined to hold back the tide of cultural globalisation through TV, radio and news media that threatens to swamp the resurgence of Ireland’s native language. Food for thought indeed.

For the second half of the evening we were delightfully entertained by Dylan Bible on guitar and Amanda Fardy’s vocals as they explored traditional themes of life, love and loss using some modern interpretations of old Irish airs.  It was Trad meets Blues meets Burt Bacharach through haunting melodies and piercing words. 

A truly enjoyable evening exploring the voices of Ireland!  If the definition of an elegy is ‘mourning or expressing sorrow for that which is irrecoverably past (and you like to play upon words) then our evening was Gaelic to elegiac – almost.

Below, Father O’Malley

From Headingley to Oxford

Former Headingley resident Nicolette Jones took part in the first Headingley LitFest: she talked about her terrific book The Plimsoll Sensation. You can find out more about it here

She is now the main moving force behind the Sunday Times Oxford Literary Festival, and sends us her best wishes...

If you have an appetite for even more munching on literary matters after the Headingley LitFest, you might like to get yourself down to Oxford, where there will be three hundred events, including a children's programme with fifty-nine authors and illustrators.  www.oxfordliteraryfestival.org