News May 08

News from Inua Ellams. 08/05/08 Cannot believe Boris won! I'll have to start watching my back now. With this, we enter the 5th Month of the Year... and the 5th use of the formula: four news items & something good from YouTube: MiD / PROSPECT / FREE WORD / LIVE REC / YOUTUBE:

MUSEUM in DOCKLANDS - On April 3rd, I was invited as a speaker to a seminar at the Museum in Docklands. The conference was called 'London Sugar & Slavery'. Essentially, it was a gathering of Museum curators, academics, managers and consultants speaking on their experiences last year, creating projects around the Bicentenary of the Abolition of the Slave Trade. My role as a speaker was to read poems around the theme. I read four poems over the day: 'Neverself', 'Clubbing', 'Dustbin Diaries' and 'For the Fighters and lovers'. As a writer, I never think to place myself or my work academically or historically. I just write. But it was interesting, intensely interesting, to realise how seamlessly they complimented the discussions. But this isn't about that. It's about The Museum in Docklands. It is a permanent exhibition of Britain's History, our history, of Slavery, and it is breath taking in detail, scope, form, challenge, humanity. Comprising of paintings, contemporary photography, illustrations, time-spliced projection / animation... I can't begin to describe the place. So just check it out: Museum in Docklands

PROSPECT - Prospect Magazine has a circulation of 27,000 or so and is one of the leading magazines on current affairs and cultural debate in the UK, alongside the New Statesman and The Spectator, with contributors from both the left & right wings. Contributors have included Nobel Literature laureate J.M.Coetzee, Margaret Atwood, Gordon Brown and more... But one evening A Poem in Between People, my poetry collective (with Johsua Idehen, Musa Okwonga and Catherine Martindale) met Prospect's assistant editor, Tom Chatfield, for a round the table discussion on poetry, spoken word. It took a couple of beers to loosen lips, but the article is cool, if you have the time, please read: Prospect

FREE WORD - On the 12th & 13th of April, London's Southbank housed the FREE THE WORD festival. (Yes, I know the title is lame). Over the two days, a horde of poets and I created and executed a Word Walk / Literature Tour / Festival Hike type thing, where parts of the Southbank were sectioned off with masking tape into performance areas, and in them, poems were performed to those who followed the trail. It was an experience. The term 'Teen Spirit' came alive in the form of secondary school kids - performers on the tour - chasing down passer-bys to listen to poetry, yelling FREE THE WORD!! Now, I did what I could, but the old man in me shook his head and sighed in nostalgia at the idea that I once had so much faith and energy... The tour, put together by Eastside Educational Trust, was a bristling success. The freerunners, skate boarders, graffiti artist & BMXers did not what hit 'em! As part of the warm up before performing, we were taught an ancient urban hymn I shall now pass on to you and those I teach poetry. It goes...

Black socks they never get dirty The longer you wear them the stronger they get Sometimes I think I should wash them Then a small voice tells me don't do it yet Not yet, Not yet, Not yet, Not YET!

THE LIVE RECORDING - Of Six poems from the Fairy Negro Tales, was a fun, laid back night, a perfect valediction to the poems. A warm and attentive audience of friends, writers, acquaintances and strangers came to the show at the Miller. We ran a little late to begin, but I was relaxed on stage, the poems were read, recorded and filmed. The audience stayed around chatting and getting to know each other, well into the night. Special shout outs go to Rory Broadfoot (I know right! that surname conjures the 'what do they say about men with big feet' joke) the cameraman, to John Hendicott - sound and music guru: both guys brought down thousands of pounds worth of equipment to capture the show, finally to Bailey for being herself. The next step is for the recording to be edited, chopped up and YouTubed. Stay tuned.

YOUTUBE: RYAN Vs DORKMAN - I am a geek. I say this in complete and utter pride. Through my formative years I looked like Steve Urkel (google him), loved and still love Star Trek (was once put on detention of studying The Starship Voyager's blueprints instead of working - there are no toilets on that ship!), I know HTML in-jokes, I even have an anecdote about being a black Milky Bar Kid, growing up in Nigeria titled 'The Way of the Nerd”. Bullies around the world spend decades tormenting the likes of us. From schooling in Nigeria to schooling Dublin and London, the bully / geek dynamic remained constant. But eventually we supersede our muscle bound nemesis and steal the lime light. A great example is the following clip where nerds, my people, show their brilliance, in the execution, action sequence and use of CGI. George Lucas, eat your heart out; this is bloody brilliant:

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Ron

So.. bout two months ago, I spoke about writing an article for Tresspass magazine. The issue called 'What is Black' came out. And perhaps it was meant to be ironic or someone up there is taking the most visceral of pisses, but about 90 percent of the magazine and pieces written by the darker hued writers were illustrated with...chocolate!

Once again, I am thankful that I am multi skilled, I chose to illustrate and lay out my piece. This is what I wrote: ------------

Ron.

I arrive early for a poetry event in Camden. Not much is going on save the rumour of music rising tiredly from instruments as musicians flex and test sound levels. I greet the guys, hi-five Ash the organiser, tell him I'll be back in five, want to pick up a penguin (I’m peckish), and sprint along the Camden high street, past McDonalds and into a Subway. Two pounds later, I munch a sandwich of grilled chicken, cheese, lettuce and jalapenos, finish in five minutes flat, bin the wrapping and consider returning to the venue, but the glare of a McDonalds calls to me. I step in, not to eat, but to make use of tables and chair in the well-lit area, to write something until the show begins.

I sit and sink into 'the zone'. Scratch that, try to find the bloody thing. A man walking towards me from the cash register, cradling a cup, hails me with a bristling 'You look like a fine gentleman, can I sit with you?' I am so jolted by the unusually formal greeting, I stammer...'of, of, course, yeah...' He sits down opposite, and in an instant, I am staring into the most brilliant blue eyes I have ever seen. Starting from the rim the iris is an azure/cobalt blue, which seems to fade to a light grey, then a semi-turquoise, with streaks of sky arrowing into the black holes of pupils, the florescent lights lie on them like flat diamonds. His face does not match his eyes. Nothing shines it. His pale white skin is dirty, partly unshaven and an unruly hay field of graying hair aggravates its way out of his skull, falls down the sides forming a loose frame.

He introduces himself as Ron. And asks where I am from.

I usually answer with 'Nunhead', and follow the baffled look with a 'it is a small place in South London, fringing Peckham'. Then I get the - 'No, where are you From FROM' question. A lot of my friends (if not all) who are of darker hues and are British will get pissed at this point, but I never do, as I am not British. I answer 'Ahh, I am Nigerian'. But Ron ignores this and just scowls after Nunhead, tells me he doesn't like crossing the river. I ask why. He stops moving for about four seconds, actually stops moving, sits completely still, stares into the distance, he is frozen. Then motion returns, he cheshire-cat smiles at me and says ' That's a dubious question!' He has a voice that crackles like fried gravel, it crunches out of him, much like his hair. I can just about understand what he says, and try to keep the conversation going. He is clearly in some stage of homelessness, his hands, filthy, are in stark contrast to the clean white table.

Why is it dubious? I ask, It is though, sure it is. Don't like Hackney, I lived there you know, Diane Abbot was the MP, saw her all the time back then. She's a black beautiful woman, little dolly bird. She has more bottle than you.

Okay. Where did that come from?

Diane Abbot? I ask, Did you know her?

He freezes at my question and stares into the distance again, stills again, moves after four moments and replies with a satisfied, 'That's a dubious question'...

At this point, I think he isn't... all here, perhaps a touch of dementia or something. The stares-into-distances are intelligent, as if looking at data on a computer screen, trying to process it, but the information is lost in translation.

He keeps talking about Diane Abbot, says that she was a fine woman back then, still lovely, she is not prejudiced, that he loves her, and she loves him, really. I ask how he knows this as he attempts a sip from his cup. He splutters uncomfortably at the liquid, slams the cup on the clean table, and says 'I can't drink that', opens the lid and it is a pint of tar-black coffee, steam chimneying out. I belly laugh in surprise and advise him to let it cool a bit. He winks, 'you have a point there',

then returns again to Abbot, - she has a son you know? Probably thirty years old, something like that. I ask him how he knows, 'Are you the father?' he does the unblinking distance thing again and 'dubious' answers me, clasping his hands. Then he asks about my religion. I ask about his, he replies 'Church of England', pauses for a second then finishes with 'or Jewish'.

when are you Christian or Jewish? depends on who buys the food.

And I laugh again, at the frankness, at the childish honesty. I imagine he's got nothing to lose in talking with me, as I have with him. A car's horn blasts outside, I look up to notice Ron and I are attracting attention from others in the room. Before I decide on what to do, Ron leans forward, whispers, 'can I ask you a question'? I am lean forward too, and reply,

sure, go for it. why do black people have a chip on the shoulder?

Again, I am jolted. Why would this question even be on HIS mind and why is it important enough to ask? I consider trying to cram a brief history lesson, anthropological theory, economic and geographic breakdown of the UK in a sentence, give up and pass the question back, 'why do you think Ron?' and he answers:

because they were treated badly in the past.

and I like him for it. Not because he has said anything in any way profound, but because in his little madness, he thought this through and came up with an answer with some shred of truth, of recognition in it. I ignore the others, carry on speaking with him. He asks me if I knew he was once an officer, I say no, and he is incredibly surprised at this! Says he left the army in the eighties, that the bravest soldiers he fought with were all...

'gays, all of them, they committed suicide though, couple of them drove off a cliff in a motorbike'

The conversations chugs on, his gravel voice steaming with sips from his pint of coffee. It goes to Sammy Davis Junior, 'greatest singer ever' Ron says, 'he'd go on stage with the rat pack and steal the show, but have to go back door to get a cup of tea' to Mike Tyson, 'greatest fighter ever, I would like to meet him, he'd probably buy me a cup of tea, I'd shake his hands, but he won't want to get in a ring with me. Why? cause I fight dirty'. All the while, I am scribbling furiously. His stream of sentences are punctuated with the mention of Diane Abbot, his 'dolly bird' having more bottle than anyone, and his blank stares into nothing.

When the conversation lulls naturally, I glance at my watch and realise we've been talking for twenty minutes, I tell Ron I have to leave and stand up as he thanks me for talking to him. He reaches out his now coffee-wet dirty hand - as dark as the inside of my palms, lets it falter in mid air, not sure if I will accept. Do I take it?

Course I do. Grasp it warmly, glance into those Atlantis eyes and sprint down Camden High Street with two things on my mind. One, the fastest route to a bathroom, I need to wash my hands. Two, Ron. I can't fathom what series of events shaped him, a homeless veteran. What does he see in the distance, what war was he involved in, what dreams of Diane Abbot have come from living on Camden's streets. And to be honest, I would not have cared, but the old boy charm, mixed with the shoulder chip thing endeared him to me. As I take the stage, I silently dedicate the performance to Ron, and regret not running back to ask him what he thought was black.

Inua x

News April 08

News from Inua Ellams 07/04/08 ...and thus we march into April, like to pause to nod to my new mailing subscribers, cut the chitty chit chat, recap the formula; {four news items and something good from YouTube} Off we go: BORIS JOHNSON / LYNK REACH (prt2) / LIVE RECORDING / GIGS / SKATE BOARD

BORIS JOHNSON (for the Londoners) This is the last time I mention last month's Time Out Article. My most ineloquent moment was when asked about Boris Johnson's campaign mayor, I replied... “eurgh”. At the time of said interview I lacked facts on the man and his policies. I know more now & wouldn't change 'eurgh' for the world; it sums up my visceral reaction. I admit, Ken Livingstone's had his problems, policies have side-effected, regular media clashes, he is imperfect. Both men promise pretty much the same things, so the election becomes that of the lesser of two evils. Now Boris is a man who in an article for The Telegraph called the people of Congo “piccaninnies” saying about the Queen's visit; “...the tribal warriors will all break out in watermelon smiles” since then he apologised, patronisingly, “I do feel very sad that people have been so offended by these words...” Note*, not for what he said, but that it UPSET people... incredible. London is the most culturally diverse, most vibrant city in the world, I haven't impudence enough to suggest which evil to vote for on May 1st for but... Boris?

LYNK REACH (prt2) Recap: In Feb's mail out I mentioned Lynk Reach's project, a six-school poetry slam, where the highest scoring poetry team go to Chicago for a week. I have been teaching with Nick Makoha. Two weeks ago, we whittled the team from the original 17 or so, to 9 kids. Have to say, it was the most emotionally charged day of my year so far. Over the past weeks, we have tried to teach more than poetry, we deal with behaviour management, attitudes to work, to family, school, how they influence self expression, relationships... We've had other teachers in the school stop and ask what we do, why the students have come to apologise suddenly for of past bad conduct... I found out recently that 70% of the class are fatherless, so the relationship dynamic is... interesting and at times, fragile. One such kid (who is on the verge of permanent exclusion) pulled out the most touching performance that Wednesday, a narrative poem on burglary, being arrested and sent to youth detention.

The 1st phaze ended with 'Community Building Day' on the 29th or March, where all six schools gathered to write, read, see other poets / poet coaches and to get a feel for what the Slam final will be like. The second phaze is where I feel the Real work begins, the moulding, the find tuning of poems and the priming of performance. Stay Tuned.

LIVE RECORDING** I am trying to exhaust my first collection, Thirteen Fairy Negro Tales (available £4 from Amazon). It has been graphically interpreted, set to music, animated, being staged for theatre, Six of the poems have been studio recorded for sale (more about all those in the coming months) but I want to have a live audio and video recording of the performance of those six poems, So I am really exited about this show:

Date: 29th April // At: The Miller, 96 Snowsfields, London Bridge, London SE1 3SS Doors: 7pm // Show: 8pm // End: 9pm // Cost: £3.13p - please, bring exact change!

The Deejay will be spin, I'll record three poems, Deejay will spin again, three more poems, the end. Should take no more than one hour. The venue only seats 60 people, so I'd advise arrive early. I made a flyer for the show:

GIGS: Again, a few coming up, so listing the first five:

9TH APRIL - Lazy Gramaphone £5 // 20.00 - The Macbeth, 70 Hoxton Street, LDN N1 6LP

10th APRIL - Shortfuse - £5 // 20.30 - Camden Head, Camden walk, Islington, LDN N1

15th APRIL - NewBlood - £5/£3 // 19.30 - The Poetry Cafe, 22 Betterton Street, LDN WC2H 9BX

17th APRIL - Behind The Mic - £6/£4 // 20.00 - The Cavendish Arms, 128 Hartington Road, LDN SW8 2HJ

21st APRIL - Sticks & Stones - £3 // 20.00 - Strawberry Fields Bar, 159 Woodhouse Lane, Leeds, LS2 3ED

YOUTUBE: SKATE BOARD Four yrs old, I taught myself to ride a bike. That summer in Nigeria, I borrowed my neighbours mustard yellow / navy blue BMX and circled my house for days till I made it round without falling or stopping, I remember staggering into the kitchen, torn shorts, torn skin, sand streaks, with the purest, smile on my face. My dad managed to control his pride, asked me to clean up for lunch. Two years pass and the craze was skateboards, by then I had discovered the magic of a pencil and paintbrush. After two failed attempts at mastering the board, abandoned it and concentrated on becoming exceptional with my fingers...

So, when I saw this on the tube, I marvelled at what I may have become. The story, the way this is shot, the slow-mos, the settings and tricks... spectacular. Sit back and watch.

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Something to Love

Four days ago, last year, 11th of March, my father had a stroke. The next few months were... hard. I learnt of how unstoppable my mother is, how much I have in common with my father and the responsibility that comes with being the only son. There were bouts of staying up lates, crying, staring into nothing, re-discovering how fickle all this is. My father is back on his feet and has been so for a while, has been back to work and the grind of London, the pace of work means we forget about those days. Last night, we (the family) went to a Church to thank God for my father's life, a year after the incident. When the blood vessel burst, it stopped on its own and did not flood the rest of his brain. The doctors do not know why this happened, my father thanks God. In all honesty, faith has dwindled, I sit comfortably on the 'want to believe but .....' line. Tried to define myself through my work, to believe through it, but it should be the other way round, the belief should fuel my work. Half way through the prayer, I glance up, and all the heads are bowed, the bright lights bathe everything, like faith, sinks into the heads of the balding men, glows like a dim-beneath skin halo, and the preacher is in tears...

His voice cracks as he thanks God for the lives of men. And always, when I am presented with incredible moments like this where the belief in something undefinable, abstract, necessary and unnecessary moves one to tears, I wish I could swap places, I envy the conviction. I wish for tears.

After this, the preacher gives a long weird babbling sermon, all I take from it is a theory I will try to explore in the future, that happiness needs three things: Something to do, something to love and something to hope for. I think I have two of the three covered, maybe just one, but I was wondering just how many of us have all?

Lemme know:

something to do something to love something to hope for

Inua x

News Mrch 08

'Sup homies, hope your Feb went well, mine was a month of Mondays man, another hectic one, from recording an E.P. in three hours! to catch a deadline, to covering Bjork, gate crashing parties, stages, workshops, acceptances, rejections, I grumble, but deep down, would not have it any other way. The beautiful Struggle.So.. the formula, four news items, and YouTube link.

TRESPASS / TAWIAH / PUMA / GIGS / MAC

TRESPASS: I attract freaks. This is as factual as the statement 'water is wet'. It is necessarily true. I'm trap myself in conversation with some pretty... kaleidoscopic people. I always find something in common (which says a thing about me), forget the strangeness, chat as if we go way back and reflect on the bus. So far I have documented three such incidents. The first is as a poem in my first collection 'Dustbin Diaries' currently playing on myspace page. Second, I turned to a short story, recently moulded into a ballad (poetic form) called 'The Ballad of Abdul Hafiz', the third, took place in Camden before the Remedy/Bjork show. It involved a war veteran called 'Ron', the M.P. Diane Abbot, and a pint, I tell you, a PINT! of hot coffee. I can't give away the gist because the entire incident will be published in the next Issue of Tresspass Magazine, available from 1st April. Where to buy? check out: Trespassmagazine.co.uk p.s. if you went in search of my Time Out article / interview, it was put back, but I've been assured it is coming out this week.

TAWIAH: As well as word work, I am a graphic artist, design for the poetry community, music industry, illustration and commissioned portraiture, installations here and there. One of my recent clients is also a good friend, singer by the name of Tawiah. She is quite incredible. Has toured the world with Mark Ronson - who is everywhere at the moment, she holds it up for West Africa and is one of the most charismatic live performers I have seen. Her E.P. called 'In Jodi's Bedroom' just came out, the lead song is called 'Every Step'. The song begins simple, with a driving rhythm, then her voice drops like smoke, builds, layer by layer till it becomes an epic wall of psychedelia, drums, and all that good stuff then suddenly cliffs off, and ends with the starting simplicity. But listen for yourself, 30 sec samples on itunes. The E.P. is available from HMV, Virgin, iTUNES etc and I designed the cover.

PUMA: Following on from the news above, Tawiah is sponsored by PUMA, and the good folks there got all hot and bothered when they saw the cover I created, and reproduced it on t-shirts! Basically, PUMA made limited edition runs of my design. I ran down to her management offices and secured some of them -

// Womens - White - size 10 x 2 / size 12 x 1 } // Mens - Red - size XL x 1 / L x 2 } // Mens - white - size M x 3 }

This is what they look like: ttshirt And I am giving them away to you guys, FREE! (I'm that nice). All you gotta do is mail back detailing which you want and come get it at my next show. Simple. First come first serve.

GIGS: Quite A few this month, So I will just list the next five: March 5th - WORD // 8pm - Bambu, 21 Welford Road, Leicester, LE2 7AD // March 7th - PERFORMANCE + Q&A // 7 pm - Oxford Road, Manchester, M15 6JA // March 10th - NIGHT VISION // 7:30pm - Media Center, Northumberland Street, Huddersfield // March 11th - LDN WORD FEST // 8 pm - Cargo, 83 Rivington St, London, EC2A 3AY // March 15th - RADIO SHOW // 6.30 Life FM - 103.6 or from www.lifefm.org.uk // More events on myspace.com/phaze05 and the tour page of this website.

YOUTUBE: UNIQLO I am an Apple Mac head, I cherish these things, I mean, I look at PCs in contempt. I have a lil 12 inch powerbook I call 'Virginia' and in Motown - Mrs Jones style, 'we got a thiiinng, going on'. We have a healthy symbiotic relationship. This year Apple released the Mac Book Air and it is a stunning machine, I lust after that thing. So much so that I refuse to watch its adverts online on Virginia, because she'll get jealous and I'll have spend nights convincing her that she is the only one for me. The Mac Air is equivalent to a 'younger blonde woman' with a ridiculously thin waist, and big.... hard drives. It seems like others share some resentment towards the new Mac and made parodies of it's iconic - fits-in-an-envelope advert. This months YouTube offering comprises of four clips each under 90 seconds, beginning with the original ad, they are hilarious.

1) - original.

2)

3)

4)

Yeah!

A week on Holiday

Title is not what it seems... So I am hanging out in Dulwich, ACTUALLY hanging out on Dulwich. Don't get me wrong, I love south london, love the people, the vibrancy, but I never ever hang out here. Most of my chill out times are spent across the river in houses or backstage things. Anyway, hanging out with C Bailey (you don't know who she is), and we are complaining about the week disappearing, 'where did the week go?'

then Bailey asks, 'where will you go if you were a week?' brilliant concept right? so I say... 'probably go to New Zealand, hang out there for a while, just stay low, you know'

but Bailey meant IN TIME... so I say, prolly go to the prehistoric, nestle in with the boys in April, see what the dinosaurs were like... but it gets more interesting, say if you were that week and you traveled back with everything that happens in you, and they still happen, how would it play out?

e.g. if I was the week when Bush won the election, and I traveled back in time, would I let a T-Rex bite his head off? what would be the repercussions? and what would be the voice of the week? would it be an old man's? a kid, a teenager? what accent?

now imagine writing a monologue as a week, talking about what happens in you, in time, then time traveling...

hmmmn, my pen itches...

just need the time now!

News Feb 08

What the hell happened to January, month went faster than Greased Lightening on Speed. Anyway, down to business, thanks to those who wrote back with comments from the first mail out, really appreciate the words of encouragement. Remember the formula? Four News Items and one Youtube. TIME OUT / LYNK REACH / ONETASTE / SHOWS / UNIQLO

TIME OUT: 30 years ago, Legendary Poet, Linton Kwesi Johnson's record - Dread Beat an' Blood was released to critical acclaim, an album of political poetry buttressed by the powerful beats of reggae. To commemorate the anniversary, there is to be an event at the Barbican on 9th of March, featuring Jean Binta Breeze and Dennis Bovel. At about the same time, Penned in the Margin's London Word Festival, (20th of Feb to 14 March) will be in full swing, where yours truly and a host of other word warriors such as Saul Williams and Anthony Joseph, will be performing. For the next few months, there will be verses in the air...

Yesterday Morning (04/02) I sped into Brixton to meet Linton and interviewer: Tamara Gausi, for a discussion on the coming month, London and a touch of Politics. Later that night, the questions were posed to Saul and the article up will be featured in Time Out Magazine on the 18th February's Issue. Look out for it. During the photo shoot, I was wearing my favourite scarf. (Thanks Kim)

LYNK REACH: Lynk Reach is a charity dedicated to providing opportunities for young people, they run the London Teenage Poetry SLAM. Created by Jacob Sam-La Rose, it is a performance poetry competition across six secondary schools, where poets are stationed to generate work in schools, culminating in a dazzling final at Stratford Theatre, riddled with tears of joy, pain and all that life stuff... It is truly a magnificent thing to behold. Last Year, I worked with poet: Charlie Dark at Kidbrooke Secondary in South London, and met the most amazing kids. A bristling Jamaican girl told an amazing story of arriving in London alone, identifying a father she had never known from birth, only by the song he sang, in an airport. One kid, asked to describe a noise played to him wrote: 'It is the after sound of a bee's heart humming'... just casually pulled it out of nowhere... nuts.

This year's Slam is about to commence and I will be stationed in The Lammas Secondary School in Leyton, with Poet Coach - Nick Makoha. I will keep you posted as it goes...

ONETASTE: Aaaaaaaaaand Were BACK! I imagine you've heard of the Collective. Last Year, an article published in the London Paper on Live Lit talked about the top ten shows, and the three that I co-organise / Graphic Guru / and occasionally read at, all made the list, NewBlood at the poetry café (20th of Feb, come) was 6th, Poejazzi (PiP, PiP!) was 2nd, ONETASTE was 1st! Last year was incredible for us, over 100 shows, scattered across the UK, a tour of the summer festival circuit, front pages, releases, our own festival, a sell-out jazz café event, and we began this year in style. Again, the 250 sitter sold-out-event on Sunday gone in Balham, saw the word works of: Roger Robinson - reading dazzling short stories, Excentral Tempest the lady rapping like a beautiful battering ram, singers, the naturally, talented MADness of Mark Hole, new to Onetaste - John Kenzie, and our very own, Jamie Woon (nuff siad). for a taste, check out: http://www.Onetaste.co.uk

SHOWS: FLOETICS / REMEDY My first reading/performance of '08 was at the PlayBar in Oldstreet on the 27th of Jan, a laid back affair, really nice way to start the year. Feb begins with two babies in quick succession. First is in Brighton on Wednesday at 'FLOETICS' on 6/02/08 - 8pm // Venue: Redroaster Coffee House - St James Street, Brighton // Wallet Damage - £2.50 and the second is on Thursday, in London at 'REMEDY' 7/02/08 - 8 pm // Venue: Oh! Bar, 111-113 Camden High Street, London, East NW1 JN// Free before 9, £5 after//

At the 'OH! BAR' I will be working with a Live band. A poem of mine 'Candy Coated Unicorns and Comverse All Stars' has been adapted to a jazz version of Bjork's 'Come to Me', and 'Older', written for a beautiful acoustic guitar arrangement, will be revisited. Have to say I am terribly exited about both shows, especially the live Bjorkage. To listen to both poems before the show, stop by: http://www.myspace.com/phaze05

YOUTUBE: UNIQLO I am by no means the best dressed male poet. The titled is passed back and forth between a certain Tim Wells who moonlights as a stockbroker and David J, whose style is only outdone by his verbal gymnastics. However I do get a fair few nods and words of encouragement complimenting, my choice of colour, attire etc. I have three sisters, (I learnt the heard way). But today I reveal to you my formulas, 1) I stick to five colours, mix and match, 2) H&M and Uniqlo. I am found somewhere between these fine establishments.

I am affiliated with a dance collective called Avant Garde. They don't let me dance (!*?&ards, kidding! u kno I luv u) instead only want me for my word and graphic skillz. I have spent time watching incredible dancers, summersaults, holds, tenses and well toned bodies doing things mine can't, so I know a little about street dance and its cross over with ballet.

Putting these topics together, you'll understand why I wasn't half exited when I watched this clip. This month's youtube offering is an add campaign from Uniqlo. Sit back and Jaw drop.

Keep warm, Stay Cool... Inua x

Only As Old As You Feel

So, I was racing for New Cross Station to Embankment to meet a recent infatuation of mine (might as well be honest). I slid through the rain, bought the £2.30 ticket from the train station, jump in when it comes and ride it all the way to Charing Cross, but I over hear a conversation by three older women. I sat listening and smiling a little as the talked of the weather, the hospital, etc then I heard and whipped out my note pad laughing, had to write it down. 'you know, you are only as young as you feel Margaret, it is all in the head, because my walking stick reminds me that I am not as fit as I used to be, but without it, I still think I'm in my seventies!'

priceless.

I am gonna remember to say that in the future, when I rock a walking stick shaped like a pen, on a monorail in future London.

For those who went to the event at the Foundry, I apologise on behalf of the organisers; it was running about two hours late, and I had to go before it eventually kicked off.

stay cool. Inua x ---

Happy New Year

Happy New Year! Highlight of the 7 days surrounding the 25th & the 1st, apart from food friends and general madness, was making my household watch the hour long Doctor Who special on Christmas Day, the Ice cream party on New Years Eve and the party on New Year's Day where, I was at some point, in a room full of musicians, pretty much singing backing vocals for a trio singing 'I'm every woman'. Surreal!

New Year Resolution include maintaining my mailing list, sending out something once a month and regularly updating this blog/news section of my website, I really didn't let you guys know enough of what I was up to, that will change starting now.

Five News Items:

TWOFIVE/ Stratford Residency/ DayDream/ Indiefeed / Hitchcock

A&S TWO FIVE One of the stages I graced in December was Cargo's in East London at an event hosted by Apples & Snakes (the reputable promoters / producers / possey / people). They've been going strong, pushing boundaries and opening doors to bigger platforms for 25 solid years. The event was a celebration and launch of a poetry album produced to commemorate the years, featuring poets they had worked with. I was commissioned to collaborate on a poem-song with Yemisi Blake, Jay Bernard and Joe Coehlo. The event was a sold out massive success and the album will be out in March on Vinyl, CD and will be downloadable from itunes.

STRATFORD THEATRE I was recently appointed a writer / performer in residence at Stratford Theater, in a project called 'Spoke Lab'. Spoke Lab is an exciting coming together of artists, who, along with Roger Robinson (Writing Coach) and Dawn Reid (Associate Director at Theatre Royal Stratford East), want to explore the art forms of Live Literature & Theatre and see how the two might collide and inspire. It is a year long residency and there is a possibility of a Collaborative Showcase at the end of the residency. Other writers include: Nick Makoha, Jasmine Cooray, Ebele and Sifundo. spokelab

DAYDREAM They say power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. This is my first taste of it. Daydream is a graphic art magazine published quarterly. I was published in the first two issues, featured as a Graphic and Word artist - the first time I was featured in both lights - (this year I strive to do more of that). But I was recently appointed Poetry Editor for the Mag - insert manic laghter - and the first issue out under my editorship features the work of Zean Edwards, Jasmin Cooray, Jay Bernard and BrotherMan. The magazines are visually stunning and the poems stand their ground against their thousand-worded counterparts. Daydream also hold regular graffiti battles where street artists live-paint to a given brief, the audience screaming and a sound meter determine who wins, its is fascinating watching these sometimes 7 by 7 foot canvases unfold... Daydream

INDIEFEED If you log into Itunes and search for poetry, Indiefeed should crop up. In February, it will get it's one millionth download, which is pretty good going for a poetry show don't you think? On the 24th of Dec, amongst all the madness of that period, I was featured on the show, the poem 'The Truth' was put out there for the world. If interested in poetry from around the world, I strongly suggest you subscribe to them: link to my show: Myshow link to the indefeed website: indiefeed

YOUTUBE: HITCHCOCK Alfred Hitchcock was a genius. This is a fact as undeniable as sunlight. The fact that movies such as The Man Who Knew Too Much, Vertigo, Psycho, The Birds are still dropped in conversation as some the greatest movies ever, are testaments to his talent. In this incredible ten minute clip, Martin Scorsese (another genius dude) makes a movie of Alfred's - that was never made. Confused? Click, sit back and watch: Hitchcock/Scorsese

That's all folks!

Again, Happy New Year. I wish 2008 to as productive a year for you, as I intend to make it for me. Please stop by the website for much more regular news and events. ---

HASTINGS WORKSHOP

HASTINGS WORKSHOP 08/11 On Thursday the 8th of November, I was tired. My nose was filled with more mucus than a thing filled with a lot of mucus and the weekdays before were spent designing for Apples & Snakes and for the Oneatste Festival - clothing, books, desktop wallpapers etc. I was excited about going to Hastings, but my bones acted otherwise. Mind over mattering, I persevered, rolled out of bed, onto a bus, into a Clapham Junction Train Station, into Hastings and into the friendly face of Jennifer, my first contact of the day.

A quick lunch later, I was at The Grove school teaching a group of gifted kids poetry. We only had an hour, so we warmed up with a couple of games, I read a couple of poems and we got into the process of writing. I have a little poem that deals with identity through objects, we broke down its construction and I had the young ‘uns write about themselves. Have to say I was wowed by what was written. A girl wrote about her father tending to her wounds, one of the Daniels wrote about silence, and a girl who asked to be called ‘Dave’ wrote about her family.

After The workshop the teachers told me they were astounded ‘Dave’ wrote in the first place, and could not believe it when she read her work. Poetry Power.

The next day, the workshop was at Hastings Museum, we pretty much sat and talked about ourselves for two hours. The writing exercise was more about generating ideas and using imagination than about writing Poetry specifically.

PERFORMANCE. 09/11

That Friday night, I walked into the green room of the venue - The Sussex Hall, White Rock Theatre - to a home-cooked meal of rice and peas. (They know how to treat poets in Hastings). I helped myself, and made a set list until I was called to the stage. I read five poems and stepped off to a roaring applause. The audience were warm, friendly and they listened to the surreal metaphysical trips I deal with in my work. I stepped off the stage feeling a lot better about poetry than I have in months.

Linton Kwesi Johnson came on… and was… Linton Kwesi Johnson. The Style, the confidence, the experience, the philosophy, the history and culture flowed effortlessly from him. The Audience at points began applauding at the mere mention of poems like “Sonny’s Letter” and “Five Nights of Bleeding”. I met some ladies who had last seen Linton read thirty years ago. My parents hadn’t even met then. Imagine.

I think one of the successes of the night was the contrast. Me, of Hip Hop and Metaphor, Linton of Reggae and Reality. Afterwards we shared a drink in the hotel bar and Linton told me of Nigerian poets I am ashamed I never knew of. I have been doing my homework since.

Hastings and the people I met there helped me realise that London stifles the nomad in me. This coming year I want to travel, read and teach more outside of London.

I could not resist taking some photos. These are of the Museum, and the sea front. Check 'em out.

Stay Cool. But keep Warm Inua x

Steve Biko

Today I read at Islington Council's black history month end celebration.I was not as prepared as I should have been, hadn't found out who was reading, what was being read or who I was reading to. Just sorta turned up in the blind faith all would be okay. I power walked down Upper street to the town hall and ran the flight of stairs into the main chamber were the event was to be held. A swarm of kids stood fidgeting surrounded by seated adults. I panicked. My work never goes down well with kids, it demands too much attention...

The children turned out to be a choir. Their's was the opening slot of the event. They sang songs I imagine a teacher thought were suited to a Black history events, one about drinking coconut juice and the hit single Disney song from the lion king 'in the jungle'. Ahhh. The sound of stereotype from the mouths of children. but alas, as the saying goes..."Ours is not to question why; ours is just to do or die." Scratch that, I am supposed to. Right? but I won't.

The kids left shortly after their rendition and the real event began. A friend of mine took the stage next and sang a couple of gospel songs, followed by an Education Consultant and a History Major from SOAS who was to me the most interesting and lively of the lot, but I have to say, the most astonishing presence was that of Nkosinathi Biko, the wife of Steve Biko and his son.

(I reiterate, I had no idea who would be present) If you do not know who Biko is/was, fear not. I did not until about a year ago. A year before that I was given a T-shirt with his face on it and the slogan : I write what I like. I wore the t-shirt for a while, just revelling in its beige colour and its bounce of light on hot days... Until someone said to me:

'I have read that book'. 'huh?'I said 'Your t-shirt I have read it' 'yeah, good wasn't it?' I replied

Before googling the name to find out what the hell we was speaking of.

Steve Biko was an anti-arpethide activist in South Africa, a student leader who was murdered in police custody. He founded the Black Conscious Movement. He was a writer. While living, his writings and activism attempted to empower blacks, and he was famous for his slogan "black is beautiful", which he described as meaning: "man, you are okay as you are, begin to look upon yourself as a human being"empower blacks, us, me.

I was speechless, stood up to clap and wondered if those around me knew who was before us, what sacrifice had been made, what effect it had in South Africa and subsequently, the world. This has an ending seeped in ant climax, as I could not hear the speech well enough, and before I could make my way to introduce myself, they had gone...

All I have is a t-shirt that has become more real to me than ever. This is the global climate, where legacies, people become fashionable, worn for no reason, save style. And I am guilty of such. I wonder how many have donned a Che Guevara shirt without knowing of the man, of his work.

This has no moral, or conclusions, just me... pondering in type.

Inua

The Universe expands left. No1.

Last week I saw a Hawaii - Born Chinese performance poet,make love to a cabbage and give birth to a brussel sprout.

-no explanation save a name - Stacey Makishi.

The Universe expands Left.

Inua x