Radio | Poetry | Open Cast Surgery

“Radio is cleaning up the nation.”

-Elvis Costello

My teaching timetable this year has taken me out of the comfortable fireside of literature into the cold operating theatre of linguistics. I was initially troubled by this shift away from the subjective sensitivity that I spent three undergraduate years honing as I recently began to acquire the clinical skills of language-studies.

My fears were soon put aside for the re-ignition of my childhood fascination with the idea of a ‘fair test’. You spend years in secondary school playing with this idea. ‘Why wasn’t this a fair test? What could you have done to lessen the variables? Why are your results fundamentally moot?’

The linguist’s lab is rife with unclampable variables. The sands of semantics are constantly shifting, with many dictionary definitions reaching obsolescence before even going to print. The English language’s internationally plunderous nature makes it idiomatic and, with the internet’s erosion of the barriers between modal conventions, measuring its dimensions is like trying to use a 30cm ruler to scale a melting ice cap.

Then there’s ethics – how far can we go to determine the science behind these chunks of breath we use to share our brains’ contrivances? I’m thinking here of what linguists refer to as The Forbidden Experiment. The only way to prove Chomsky’s idea that language is innate would be to shove a baby in a silent, unlit chamber and see if it started talking. It could theoretically bury the tabula rasa for good, but it would mean that you, the license payer, allowed scientists to abuse an innocent child. How could you?

And so these endless thoughts of fair tests have followed me back to the bookshop. It is impossible to give a fair reading of a poem, in the scientific sense. The actual words used are just one layer to the poem’s reception; there are just too many variables in place. This is not an exhaustive list, but here are some of the key distractions/detractors that come between you and the words of a poem:

On the page…

1. What publishing house is this collection released from?
2. What font are the poems written in?
3. How has the blurb/bio been written?
4. What poets have donated quotations of recommendation for the cover?
5. What illustrations have been used on the cover?
6. Where did you find this book and did you have to pay for it?
7. Is there much background noise in the place where you are trying to read this poem?
8. Seriously, how loud does that kid on the bus need to have his headphones? The whole top deck can hear Kings of Leon emanating from his dirty white ear plugs.
9. What sort of press-shot has the poet gone for? Are you kidding me? A glass of wine? And a raised eyebrow? Christ.
10. How thick is the collection?
11. Nice paper?
12. How old is the poem? Is the poet alive?
13. Any ye olde language to be dealing with?
14. What was your English teacher in High School like?

On the stage…

1. What sort of event are you seeing this poet at? Open mic? Guest spot? Book launch?
2. Are they doing the poetry voice? Oh god, they aren’t doing the poetry slam voice are they? With the hand gestures too?
3. Do you find this person physically attractive?
4. How confident are they?
5. How much time does the poet spend introducing each poem? Have they just spent 20 minutes telling you about an obscure tribal tradition they found out about on their gap year?
6. What sort of company are you with?
7. Is the rest of the room enjoying the poet? Have they earned that rare thing of applause for an actual poem rather than a polite clap at the end of a set?
8. Is there free wine at this thing?
9. Are you distracted by the sound of bar staff muttering to each other?
10. Is the poet younger than you?

The lists of distractions could go on for hundreds of nuanced pages, perhaps separated into ‘social’, ‘linguistic’, ‘ambient’ and ‘subliminal’ factors to name a few. But we aren’t ever going to get rid of the countless barriers between you and an enjoyable poem, so why think about them?

Well, the radio (and its descendents) represents the closest thing to a fair test we are likely to get in poetry. When poetry is allowed to vibrate the air around a wireless we have a far more democratic process that that of a crowded reading, or a poorly produced book, or a badly lit YouTube video.

Granted, poets on the radio are still only as palatable as their voices allow, and the quality of microphone and the reputation of the station is a factor - but so fewer variables exist when considering the medium of radio broadcast; a medium which allowed Dylan Thomas to reach a far greater audience than he might have by virtue of his written words alone. But then he had the sort of voice needed to sell such aurally complex pieces, so perhaps my argument does not stand.

What the radio has done however, is lay the ground for my generation’s most underappreciated, free-at-point-of-service commodity; the Podcast. And if poetry does not embrace and thrive as part of ‘podmanity’ then it is a shameful missed opportunity.

The precedent is set with one of the finest regular podcasts available – Classic Poetry Aloud.  Those who are unaware of the existence of this vast and beautiful resource need to spend the next three hours getting lost in its archives. The reader, who chooses to remain anonymous, reads a different poem every week with his impeccably clear and tentative delivery.

For me, this is poetry at its most democratic – read by a consistent, nameless voice, with the sole motive of delivering beautiful words to anyone willing to listen. Many of my undergraduate nights were spent wandering the streets of Leamington or the endless footpaths of Warwick campus, listening to the impassioned delivery of poems from Blake to Verlaine.

Chomsky loves it

But for financial reasons, this podcast is only able to supply work that is now out of copyright. This is helpful in so much as you are guaranteed works which have stood the test of time, but the modern mainstream needs to awaken to the power of the podcast and its untapped potential for making people truly love poems rather than buying poets.

Reading this, who would not make a point of downloading a weekly CarcanetCast, or FaberCast where a member of the editorial team picks a poem from their stable to share with the world? I know that I would subscribe to hearing Roddy Lumsden record a rendition of his favourites from the Salt line-up once a week. Or to hear Neil Astley work his way through Bloodaxe’s back catalogue.

Not only would this help spread awareness of some of the sparkling talents that flit from renown due to poor marketing budgets or lack of bookshop stocking, but it would help kindle that most precious thing in poetry-world; an audience. And let us not forget here – for producer and consumer alike – podcasts are free.

Now perhaps I only argue this case in the hope of sparking off a product that I want to exist, but I know that what I’m suggesting makes sense. With the smallest of financial investments, the finest poets and publishers of poetry can easily drip their beautiful words into the ears of commuters, teenagers, teachers and scientists, and anybody else who thinks that they are too busy to sit down and read the stuff.

Phil Brown

Poetry Editor

Sideways | Poetry | Line-Scan

The film Sideways did a very bad but very necessary thing; it taught people with no previous knowledge of wine how to talk about it. It gave us just enough insight into the process of wine tasting, fermentation, grape-harvesting, etc. to bull-plop our way through a bourgeois dinner date, pontificating about the superiority of Pinot Noir over effing Merlot.

Five years down the line and we’re still all at it due to that bloody film. Granted, it’s added another ungodly dimension to the ‘pretentious doosh-bag pseud’ persona (you can spot them by the way that they use the phrase ‘cab-sav’ without a whiff of irony) but it’s worth it by a long way. It’s worth it because it has flung open the doors of wine-banter and kicked those ritualistic, elitist wine-connoisseur bastards out of their ivory tower. Now we all know how to shove our nose in a wine glass and pass abstract comments about the ‘bouquet’… don’t feel so special now do you?

It strikes me that poetry needs the same cinematic treatment. It’s not that Joe Public doesn’t like poetry, it’s just that he doesn’t feel confident discussing it with the self-appointed experts. Come on, Hollywood, give Joe a chance. Make a film which gives us just enough of a sample of poetry’s nomenclature and throw in a few arbitrary opinions that people can parrot when faced with that god-awful situation of having to talk about a poem.

Yes, there have been bio-pics aplenty in the world of poetry, but they have all been too specific, too niche. What poetry needs is something incredibly broad that anyone can use as a blueprint for farting through your average vacuous poetry-blah-blah situation.

What’s that, Hollywood? You can’t be bothered to think of a storyline yourself? Alright, I’ll bail you out this time Hollywood, but I want an invite when this sum-bitch gets an Oscar.

Line-Scan … two best friends, one woman, a whole load of poetry.

James Lee , a paunchy thirty-something poet from London, has just received the latest in a long line of rejection letters from potential publishers of his third collection. In a desperate, ‘all-in’ last effort to get his latest collection in print, he heads to the Ledbury Poetry Festival, having heard that Neil Astley, editor of Bloodaxe Books, will be there at some point.

Taking his best buddy, a handsome philistine on the edge of divorce called Steve, he hits the road in the hope of forcing his way into publication. Because the lads have no idea where or when exactly Astley is going to show up however, they have to hang around for the entire festival, going to as many events as they can.

What follows is essentially an hour of James teaching Steve how to behave at poetry readings and how to fit in amongst poetry-people when they sneak into the green room. These ‘training’ sections will be the selling point of the movie, for they will contain valuable advice like “when in doubt, say you find the line-breaks unsettling” or “always suggest that the poem feels like it’s a couple of drafts short of the finished product”.

INT. A small room with about seven people sat on plastic chairs watching a young man at a microphone read a poem called ‘Angelic Intervention’. Steve and James stand at the back of the room, whispering to each other.

Steve

This is bullshit, man, this guy just spent twenty minutes introducing a fuckin’ poem. What’s the point in writing something that needs a fuckin’ instruction manual to understand it?

James

Shhh, man. That’s just how it works. You can tell how much of a bad-ass a poet is by how many obscure quotations they use when introducing their work.

Steve

But wouldn’t it be more creative to just say as much original stuff as possible without constantly dredging up references to books that few people have read?

James

Please tell me you’re joking.

Steve

And what’s with this guy on-stage anyway? He literally hasn’t rhymed a single thing since we got here.

James

Dude, it doesn’t work that way anymore. People only rhyme if they are being sarcastic or discussing something contentious. It creates a jarring effect by mixing humorous form with serious content.

Steve

Bullshit!

There will of course be the moment where the handsome philistine ends up having sex with a famous poet’s wife and the bit where James overhears his favourite writer bitching about his last collection.

When James finally tracks down Neil Astley and manages to push a manuscript into his hands, he is crushed by the suggestion that his latest work seems far more suited to a publisher like Seren. “I hate Seren! With all my heart I hate Seren! They print all their poetry in Arial goddamit!” shouts a bemused James before driving back to London, defeated.

The film finishes in Spearmint Rhino. James tips a stripper with his signed first-edition of Prufrock and Other Observations. He is kicked out of the premises.

Fade to black.

*Please note, there is nothing wrong with Seren, just like there was nothing wrong with Merlot before the writer of Sideways decided to give it what for. Seren do not print their poems in Arial. It is however, important to have an arbitrary negative opinion in a film like this to save people the hassle of coming up with their own.

***

Obviously the synopsis needs a bit of reworking, but I reckon there’s definitely enough here to attract some serious financial backing.

Phil Brown

Poetry Editor