Brightsparks

Cardiff is one of those words.
If language is a map, words
ordered by their relationship,
it is right out there, so far
off in the open it is nowhere.

It is one of those words, that
you know, you recognise, you
remember but you just don’t know
what it means. You carry it
around, but you can’t get it
out of the herd. I guess cows
recognise each other with that
black and white pattern I guess is
unique-but then I know you all
but don’t recognise your fingertips.
Cardiff is one of those words.
I know it’s there
in Wales, but where in Wales.
I don’t know. I don’t know who does
Cardiff is one of those words.
So is death.

Jo Swift 

So the last RAC Sparkplugs Poetry session has happened and the Sparky Poets will be taking a brief rest while we look for more funding. In the meantime, you might like to see what that last session entailed….

Consequences.

Making like a room full of teenagers we set about this much in demand exercise. Here are the randomly generated results:

She was taking pills for her optimism
He was horrified at how similar he
was to her wanton insubstantive-
ness – he wasn’t however convinced.
They met as residents of
a mental health community
government pickle jar!
He said “I used to live in Cornwall,
but then my wife died-so I came here.”
She said “run away with me and my cat”
In the end they got married and had 14 kids.
They lived happily ever after.

She was amusing to the point of death
He was in love with her.
They had gone out for ages.
They met at a party on a riverboat
on the river Thames.
He said:
“I’ve been looking for you all my life
now I’ve found you
will you be my wife.
She said:
“Don’t worry, it’s not contagious”
In the end it was-
“I hate you and I hate the ostriches
and never begun it never
once continued - ‘cept in the science
of simpletons and caterpillars.”

She was fantastic.
I loved her very much
She was my best friend.
He was dressed - in black.
They met at the bus station-
Stand number 12, it was the first time
They had been there together.
He said:
“Sorry love, you look like me mum.”
She said:
“I’d rather like a coat made of
lama and ghosts and ostrich”
In the end,
It was black eyes all around,
Until we shrugged it all off and agreed
“Wot was all that about?”

She was a young woman
With long flowing
Rapunzel-esque hair
That frequently became
Knotted around her ankles.
He was the minister of popular youth.
They met in the cinema.
That was where they had their first date.
He said-“I am here
For one night. One night only”
She said- “I feel the same.
You are my shining star
I’ve been waiting for you for all
Eternernity.
In the end, ‘a’ comes before ‘i’
Except after ‘b i’

She was my valentine, but when
she didn’t come home for a
week the bouquet of flowers
became withered and shrunk to reveal a
heart shaped twig skeleton.
He was an old man. Didn’t get out much
And suddenly there she was.
He said “I want to give you a baby
That we can love”
She said “I have written down
All that I have to say.”
In the end,
They strolled through life hand in hand.
Love had taken over their hearts
and they lived happily ever after.

She was the most beautiful female I ever set eyes on!
He was quite attached to his conscience.
Wherever the ghost left his hat
was where they were to meet-but
he only ever put down his umbrella
leaving his head, famously under
his hat.
He said: “Wassup? Girlfriend”
She didn’t say anything-she just looked at him
And then, raising one small hand
Slowly touched his face.
In the end, Felix and Deidre met Harry

She was profoundly disturbed by what had happened.
He was strolling through this situation called life
They met at a clinic for people with exclusive habits
He said “ abracadabra and allez-ka zoom
And all piffling bonkers stuff
That was quite possibly ill.
She said “I do worry about you, y’know?”
In the end they said no more
but went their separate ways.
He remembered her for months afterwards.

A ghost substantiated thinly
With griefs and veils of apprehension
she was.
He was more of a brother
Than a friend or a partner.
We bickered and fought
Like brothers banded and branded
Together with loyalty
They met in a shopping centre.
He was examining the silk cravats.
She was lingering by the till.
He said “take me to the moon
So I can see the stars.
She said “you can fuck off
You bastard.”
They never really knew what the
other person was thinking…”

The BrightSparks voicebox has been woefully far behind in keeping you to date with things that are exciting in all kinds of exciting ways.

Exciting thing number one: last weeks Sparkplugs. The sterling turnout of heavens knows how many trotted their way through a follow up Things I have brought exercise.  Those who’d done it as ‘homework’ read round to start. Those who hadn’t, did that as their sessional exercise and some others still did clever things with mixing lines up between the things they had brought exercise and things they had not …. Here are a couple of pieces, done in the session to illustrate the point.

My Darling

My seal of zeal
As the distant clouds
Is my beloved darling

Still she lays bare in the glass vessel

For time I look at the seasonal rain
And bare barren trees
To inform me of its meaning

Whilst the birds withdraw
As to escape its shadowy clutch

My musik now belongs to the tarmac
As the tyres crush,
Sounding like waves
Lapping against the seashore

I wrap myself in my warm, weathered waist coat
To shield me from its force

Finally I am reassured.

Sean Benjamin 2007

full of things I can’t remember
mixed up with things I can’t forget

I hold the stone which will become earth part of the planet from the star stuff and my body burns iiself to holdand the stone holds my hand back which is like the darkness reaching out to you which is like nothing holding you firmly this is an interlacing of my fingers and your fingers of darkness and nothing and there are rings on your fingers my darling and all the husbands and all the wives are solid stuff intershot with emptiness and we hold each other tight we put out the fires inside for rings are forever my darling but we are only now we are fists and fingers we are statues we are holding and so we are from the planet from the stars we are stones

Jo Twist

Well, after a short break, The BrightSparks Poets are back on track, rejigged, renamed and ready to blow. ‘Sparkplugs’ relaunched this Wednesday, at the super swanky RAC (Richard Attenborough Centre). Subsidised by the RAC (through the vastly kind donation of space) and facilitated by me, the first session went really well.

We LOVE the centre. The room is spacious, light and airy, packed with books and condusive for writing. The cafe downstairs does great snacks and is lovely to break in. The art throughout the centre is fabulous. We are very happy and we would like to stay please, so…Lydia must get writing that funding application so when our 10 week pilot runs out, we can do.

In our first session we read Not a CV (or I am not who you think I am), a fantastic piece by Penelope Shuttle and one which had inspired me to write Not a Mathemetician a few weeks earlier. After discussing Penelope’s piece we kicked off with a writing and feedback exercise-which ended up taking the rest of our time. The group wrote following the same ‘negative’ theme, but using the prompt: ‘Things I have not brought with me’. This exercise is a kind of linguistic version of the drawing exercise, where you draw the spaces between objects rather than the objects themselves. In many ways it follows on nicely from Mark Goodwins earlier exercise in lying…sometimes, more can be revealed by reading between the lines…. Anyway, here are some of the poets solutions…

Things I haven’t brought with me today

I have not brought my seal of zeal this afternoon

As a distant cloud has dulled my mood

Also not with me is my beloved darling

Who has in-fact not been with me for quite sometime

My watch stands still in the glass vessel on the coffee table

This was too big to put into my folder

However, I did bring my pen but not the lid

As this hampers writing for me

I haven’t brought my CD collection which is growing out of all proportion

As these can now be stored onto my MP 3 player

This happens to be plugged into my friend’s ear and not mine

Alas neither my friend nor his ear is here so lend an ear

And spare him a thought.

Sean Benjamin 2007

More ‘not’ poems to follow….

Here’s what we’re going to do then. We’re going to hold our next facilitated poetry session on Wednesday 20th December, 1-3pm.  The second session will be held on Wednesday 10th January, 1-3pm.

In between these 2 dates we’re going to trial run an informal writers group (Wednesday afternoons 1-3pm) where poets can catch up informally, share work, collect exercises, etc…the detail’s up for grabs!

If you’ve already been attending, just turn up. Otherwise, register your interest by emailing us here (secretagentartist@hotmail.com) or by leaving a comment below - we’d love to hear from you! 

Brightsparks Poets…and potential Brightsparks Poets…we need your thoughts…

Following the resounding success of our poetry workshops, we have funding to pay for 2 more. After consulting existing attendees of the course, Wednesday 1-3 seems to be the best slot to plan around. So, interested parties have a choice. Would you prefer:

This coming Wednesday 1-3-followed by Wednesday the 20th December OR
two consecutive Wednesdays in January.

Your comment, emails and pledges of interest would be appreciated…

The 4th and final week of the BrightSpark Sessions has swung around, but due to popular demand we’ve been able to extent professional facilitation for 2 more weeks. So, if you live in the area and haven’t been lucky enough to get along to one of the sessions, then get in touch via comment or email and we’ll see what we can do…

Meanwhile, back to the lighthouse. This week the BrightSpark Poets were asked to help publicise Lighthouse Learning, the social enterprise charity. The charity was holding a conference on the evening of our workshop day and needed us to come up with work to decorate their fully working (well, nearly) lighthouse sculpture.

Once again, Mark Goodwin, our poet in residence excelled himself in the genius of his exercises. Try this one at home

Take a piece of A4 paper. Fold a margin off behind, then fold the remainder, vertically down the middle. At the top of one half write the word ‘House’. Write as freely and nonjudgmentally as possible under this heading until you get to the bottom of the page. On the top of the other side of the page write the word ‘Light’ and repeat.

You should now have 2 pieces of writing. To collapse and play with ideas, you can now create new sentences by combining lines from one piece, with lines from the other. You can even create a brand new piece this way. Here’s what Brightsparks ghost poet (mark. s) came up with…

house

a tortoise-the
one i’m thinking
of has no more
idea of how to
spell tortoise
than i have
i’m bored with
this tortoise &
this tortoise
hasn’t even thought
about thinking
except, that
wonderous-once
when he was
in a blizzard,
of sick and semolina
he was a ghost
that fell in
love with a
wendy-wendy
whose house was
(again) wonderous
-well, just
the once before
the incident
with the puffin -
a coffin is a
house-a boat-
a tin of sardines.

light

like a laughing
lion in the dis-
eases of ducks the
light-bulb has a
good idea-yes-
just as if a light-
bulb had gone on
in the light-bulbs
head-it’s a
chimpanzee on
a dangerous
planet of trampoline
-for instance
i am clueless
as darkness,the
gallopolling
zebra-pigs can’t
find the lexical
wherewithall to
-to-ergh-
laugh like a
dandylion or
do you like butter?

seven lines to the lighthouse

a tortoise like a laughing
lion one-the one i’m thinking
in the diseases of ducks-i’m
bored with the light-bulb yes
spell this budgerigar for the
goose-guessing ghost-the one
wonderous one with the sudden glees
of an univited albatross in
dismay-for instance, i am
cluless as sick and semolina-
a coffin galloping like zebra-
pigs
we’ll invite them to tea &
have them bring the lexical
wherewithall of the puffin
incident - the tea &
crumpets are lit by idiot-
angels playing toy-trumpets.

 or…

lighthouse

the lighthouse is
laughing -if you don’t
believe me i don’t give
an albatross, much less (or
more) a budgerigar-but
listen -
ha-ha-ha-ha
hee-hee-hee - tee
hee-ho-ho the lighthouse
is laughing as you may see-
side by the sea-sad - see?
ha-ha-ha-ha - the
lighthouse is made of
papier-mache - hee-hee-hee
-me
-head fulls off, notwith-
standing

my own Light and  House can be found at my blog- www.secretagentartist.wordpress.com

Keep writing, wherever you are! 

Last week the Brightsparks Poetry sessions focused on editing skills. Having absorbed the lesson like a karate kid in training one of the attending poets went away, wrote a piece, then with a little feedback from another Brightsparks Poet, came up with a possible alternate version. Version one is written up in the previous post. Version two is set out below with its edits in bold. The edits were made to maximise contrast (happy housewife/frustrated subtext) and also to maintain momentum, pace and rhythm.

Which do you rather? Can you see any other ways the piece could be edited? Let the author know by leaving a comment… 

The Housewife

Alarm set, alarm rings
Breakfast made, breakfast ate
Kids awoken,
kids packed up and off to school.
Pots washed, dried up and put away
Weather forecast says fine today.
Dirty clothes piled into the wash,
A few minutes alone, so you switch on the box.
Fern tells Philip about dresses and soaps.
Up next there’s a phone-in
“How do single mums cope?”
You think about preparing something for lunch.
and go to the shops though you’ve plenty of stuff.
When you get back, all the washing is done.
Hanging it out in the garden is ever so fun!
Watching the elderly creep past the gate
You look in the mirror,
but can’t see your face, then
before you know it’s a quarter past three
and the kids come home shouting
“tea, tea, tea!”
they start to fight
as you’re making the dinner, and
your husband arrives,
with a mood like a hitter
“You stupid cow,
what’s this muck on my plate?”
“Fine then you bastard
just throw it away!””
A little while later when the kids are asleep,
you go to the bathroom and you start to weep.
You get into bed, your eyes are all wet,
And then you remember,
the alarm needs to be set.

James

This week, The BrightSparks Poetry Sessions turned their attentions to editing skills. The once again packed group, sat back and explored a number of different points to consider when redrafting. From the difference made by an and and an a to the success of a line , to the merits of making yourself remove 10 words from a first draft…then another 10…then another 10..to try and get to the nub of what your trying to say, Mark had some pretty good suggestions.

Our two hours were over all too quickly and next week we have a choice. In what may be our final funded session we will either generate new writing on lighthouses, for a specific conference being staged by Lighthouse Learning, or we will work on performance skills using the work written in last weeks session. Hmm. Decisions, decisions…

I’ll leave you with a piece by Linda Hart, written in response to last weeks telling lies exercise. 

Running through
lush swathes of grass;
feel the sun, warm my body,
hear the gunshot
as it sears past my head,
each and every blade
a killer’s knife, a bayonet
that twists, then turns
my belly.
the blood feels warm;
my guts lay proud and red
spilled in the green, green grass.

Linda Hart
02.11.06

Packed full of writing, this week the group channeled their creativity through 2 fantastic exercises. The first was a warm up and involved poet Mark Goodwin, playing a pen across his fingers like a magician mesmerising a chicken. A member of the group was then asked to volunteer a word in response. Tim picked the word Fanand we all wrote for 2 minutes on it. The exercise worked to loosen our inhibitions, as to do it we had write non-stop, without crossing out or censoring what we wrote. 

In exercise 2 we played with the idea of poetic license. We all wrote down ten objects of our choice - then constructed a lie about each. The results of both exercises were mind-blowing. Next week we’ll be working on editing them but below you can read a few in their raw, (mostly) un-line-divided forms.:

FAN… 

-tabulous as maybe’s evers
the amoeba have broken quarantine
-oh,
I’ve fallen in love with a dog called Ludwig 
-but from the bus and the then
and nows of townscapes -
tired and ridiculous-
Mark.S

Fan is blowing away the cobwebs in a very old house. There are mice and small insects in the house which are trying to fight the force of the fan . There are no problems to remember as they are all blown into hand.
James

Fan is a fantasy fantasy is based on dreams dreams come from fantasies fantasies build up from dreams I dream a fantastic dream dream of love dream of hate and peace on earth.
Phil 

Fan of cult fiction based on
Factual subject matter
Always culturistic and vulnerable
Too slow too fast
I can’t think
I just pull everything to bits
Then I can’t stand myself when I’m being whatever
As I put myself back together
Putting it all back together
I will not be loved… 
Nick

10 Objects….

Guitar, mug, orange brush, paper, pen, glasses, stone, diamond, tree.

A guitar-no sound, no music, no string attached
Mug-no drinks, no tea, no fools
A brush that I cannot paint with
Paper that I cannot write on
And a pen I cannot write with
Glasses that I cannot see better with
A tree growing on the moon flourishing in summer and winter
A warm stone full of warmth like a diamond that can sing
and dance and feel and love but still it is worth nothing.
Jenny

Sink, guitar, apple, head, swing, pot, clock, towerblocks, moon, bicycle.

The sink can be found underneath the garden
A guitar can be used to paint pictures
An apple is used to throw at soldiers
A head is found under a shoe
The swing is round and smells of fruit
The pot is made of strawberry ice cream
A clock is like a Christmas party where people have had too much to drink
Towerblocks can be purple in colour
Moon is made of Gorgonzola
The bicycle was used to build Egyptian pyramids.
James

Why not have a go at the above 2 exercises? Don’t forget that the Brightsparks Blog is now taking submissions of writing so you could even send them in. Just completely let go, don’t judge as you’re writing - and have fun!