Poetry underground

As the result of a chronic poor habit of mine (laziness), I was unable to secure a ticket to tonight's premier concert in Exeter: Reel Big Fish. Instead, I opted to attend an underground poetry reading in which my good friend (and president of Exeter University's Creative Writing Society) Sarah Parker was featured. This event was underground not in its theme, but in its location, which was the basement of a used book store in town called "King Ludd's." I was familiar with this establishment not only through my love of used book stores, but also because Ms. Margaret Willison had taken me there earlier in the year, at a time when she had tentatively agreed to become an occasional unpaid assistant there-- an offer which she subsequently never appeared to fulfill, leading to my and Terrell's supposition this afternoon that I might have been chased out of the poetry reading in a Seinfeldian manner by the irate bookstore proprietor, who would identify me as "the friend of the girl who never showed up."

Fortunately, such an event never occurred, and I was able to follow Sarah's suggestion that we "bring our own alcohol" by filling my flask (acquired recently in a trip to Topsham's antique shop) with vodka and coke, which I shared with several of my British friends who showed up to show Sarah their support.

As we packed into the bomb-shelter like basement, forced to stand because the venue was so packed, I found myself chuckling at the curious surroundings-- bare white concrete and plaster walls, a concrete floor painted black, and a small multitude of students, locals, and book enthusiasts. It was one of the more curious events I have attended in my time in Exeter.

The first act was a lithe blonde gentleman named Billy, the evening's organizer and master of ceremonies, who wore a pinstripe suit and a shimmering collared shirt and thanked his hairdresser after finishing his set. His act consisted primarily of abstract (and often aggressively shouted) poetry, which I would have found off-putting if he hadn't juggled my impression of his attitude so expertly. I was constantly unsure of whether he was exceedingly pretentious or just being ironic, and whatever the quality of his poems, it was this artistry as a performer that really impressed me. Even now I wonder if he took himself too seriously or not seriously at all, and that uncertainty amuses me.

He was followed by a very confusing piece of "performance art" involving several photographs, a flashlight, and long pauses between nonsensical verbal interludes. Had I had a better view of what was going on, I might've come to a fuller appreciation of the material, but as it was I kept thinking of the few church services I'd been compelled to attend as a child-- a long time sitting still waiting for the next bit of nonsense to come along.

Sarah read next, and I found her poetry delightful both in its use of imagery and its careful selection of wordplay. She was unquestionably the most traditional of the performers that evening, but in a way she was also the most consistent-- all of her stuff was really good, and the audience really responded to it.

There followed a skinny gentleman with dreadlocks and a crooked smile who read a single poem with seven stanzas, each of which were typed out onto a different sheet of paper, and after reading each he would fold the paper up into a paper airplane and throw it into the crowd. It was a cool concept, the poem was good, and the airplanes were well made (one flew directly into my lap and I kept it), but the time it took him to make each plane between stanzas made the experience drag perhaps a little longer than I would have liked it to.

The final act was a gentleman named Will (calling his act Face-o-meter), who was a genius guitar picker, a master comedian and lyricist, and with whom I was very impressed. He sang a song which was a biography of William Blake which I thought was a comedic masterpiece, and his 15-second musical treatise on his disappointment with the movie "Contact" had 'em rolling in the aisles. Well, it would have if there had been any aisles in which to roll, or indeed any space for anyone to move. After the show he told me that he might be playing next Wednesday in Cornwall House, and it's fully my intention to investigate. He was a thoroughly capital gentleman.

All in all, it was a very unique experience, and though I'm not sure it was as fun as Reel Big Fish would have been, I can safely say that it was about three times more interesting. It was something to write about, in any case.