THAT BANDSTAND
This morning the birds have already sung in the new day. The air is still, and holds the scent of almonds.
Alt text says this week’s photo is a person standing in front of a sign. I say it is me behind the bannered and flagged railings of the bandstand at Oswestry Pride saying poems out loud.
I originally gave this post the same title as this time last year before realising I was repeating myself. Changing it to ‘That Bandstand’ instead of ‘The Bandstand’ reminds me of retitling one of my poems and how it brought the object closer. I feel I can bring Oswestry bandstand closer now because I have had the joy of standing on it to deliver poems twice. I have loved bandstands ever since watching Trumpton as a child many years ago. My local park didn’t have a bandstand and it seemed wonderful and slightly exotic to my younger self that some parks actually did!
When I first started sharing my poems at open mics I often used to choose the shortest poem possible so that I wouldn’t run out of breath before the end. I soon realised that my short poems often worked well on the page but didn’t always own their space out loud when read singularly – by the time the person had tuned in to my voice the poem could well be over. When it came to longer readings, I used to imagine that I didn’t have enough breath in me for a whole set of poems which I guess could actually be true if you don’t pause to inhale! It has been an interesting journey to outrun these thoughts and then reframe them.
Now when I am planning a set I have enough past experience to bolster me so that the process focuses on crafting the set not being distracted by thoughts of expiring through lack of oxygen. Last year at Pride I came in a bit short. I confess I might have had my head focused on completion rather than staying in the moment! There’s something rather nice about getting to repeat an experience. You can respond to your own what ifs. What if I had stayed in the moment a little more? What if I delivered the lines with slightly better pacing? What if I didn’t stand on tiptoe all the way through because I was too scared to alter the position of the mic at the start? So this week I planned my setlist on paper and then tested it out loud to make sure it lasted the required amount of time. It did, but it didn’t flow so I readjusted it and then invited Kath to Poetry Corner to hear the revised set. I had given myself the overarching theme of ‘Play’ which felt fun and is also a nod to this year’s National Poetry Day.
I am also very grateful to Caroline Bird for reminding me that no one expects a pianist to launch straight into their performance as soon as they arrive on stage so settling into the space and taking a breath before starting is a good and natural thing for poets to do. I had a few things to say to myself to ground me and I enjoyed adding to this the image of a pianist preparing to perform.
My Hurry Up Driver which springs into action when feelings of stress are present does a very good job of distorting time. Hence that feeling that I need to begin as soon as I am positioned on stage or as soon as someone hands over the metaphorical microphone. Kath assures me that no one at my Dad’s funeral was thinking ‘just read the blinking poem’ when I had to get myself together to even say the title, but to me it felt like a very long pause in danger of turning into a ‘leaves on the line’ kind of delay. My mind can deliver a large number of thoughts in rapid succession at such moments and definitely benefits from being stilled so that time isn’t spent silently responding to these or letting them take root in the space.
So in a week where my joy included a birthday, a many times recandled cake, new songs from Mary Chapin Carpenter, and saying a proper hello to Caroline Bird in 3D life, I am celebrating remembering the following: breathe, the space is yours, give what you’ve got.
Here’s the poem that was once called The Coin which is a love poem for my wife as well as being a reminder of my tendency to need to be early for things. (For me five minutes early used to be late!)
THAT COIN
I imagine putting that pound coin in my mouth
tonguing it from heads to tails
and back again.
As you walked in,
a clock somewhere struck eight,
while the minute hand of the one I was eyeing
clicked its thirtieth tick.
Your hair
your skirt
your make-up
your eyes straight ahead
told me
you were out of my league.
Then that fumble of fingers
had that coin falling from your grip.
Your one flaw was all I needed to say my name.
Like a one-armed bandit on triple seven
I rattled out the stories of my life
and still you said yes to a coffee I wouldn’t make
and paused on the bridge over the canal
to kiss me.
I could love that pound coin forever.
Take its metallic tang again and again.
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